When I was 40 I bought the North Berkeley cottage, and that move caused a chronic small anxiety in me, about swollen creek water and the garage.

It was more of a covered bridge than a proper car house, so small it was framed on the outside, and its rear supports were in the creek. It was rotted and wobbly and frequented by rats; even after Richard brought electricity to it Katie never used it for the art studio she envisioned. It couldn’t take the weight of an automobile. We used it for storage, especially after we learned how much water the basement could host in a flood.

One inspector wrote that it was a “severely compromised structure” and should be demolished. Another labeled it an “attractive nuisance” and recommended removal.

But here’s what I have to tell you. I accompanied the inspectors both times. What they said is not what they wrote. Both guys laughed out loud at the garage, opined that it ought to be used as an exhibit in a construction class, told me what they had to write in the report, and said they’d do nothing to the garage if it were theirs. After all, each said in his own way, the structure is light and it’s stood for a hundred years – unless something big comes down the creek sideways, it’ll probably last another hundred.

So I did nothing. Oh, I made some tentative inquiries with the City of Berkeley, but I backed off when it became apparent that it would cost hundreds even to present a plan and then the likely response would be “we’d prefer that the structure be removed from the waterway.”

I did nothing, and there was no consequence in 17 years. The new owners have done nothing to the garage and it continues to stand.

I’m a worrier. I’m sorry to report that the garage kind of damped my love of rain. I have always enjoyed precipitation but I got anxious when it stormed hard. I worried too thoroughly about what would happen if that garage collapsed.

But I’m glad that I followed those inspectors around. I learned that the written report is worth very little compared to the expert’s conversation.