The house, built in 1929, has 1,290 square feet - Its architecture would better fit in North Chattanooga than in the sticks of North Georgia on the back of Lookout Mountain. It’s an odd duck. The Bluehouse, which locals commonly refer to by name, is not on any registered historical sites but it should be, not for its geographical or historical significance, but for its humanitarian accomplishments for wayward souls.
The porch, which faces east, is designed like a ski chalet in Colorado.
The porch alone is worth a million bucks. The house is worth much less. Drinking a cup of coffee on a spring morning, being warmed by the sun - the breeze being tempered by the enclosed area - priceless.
The house, with nail-proof Cherrywood extracted from disassembled homes from the 1800s, is a fortress. Large homes were disassembled during the early 1920s near the Durham coal mines to make way for more mining operations. Shortly afterward, new structures popped up with the ol’ petrified timbers nearby. The Bluehouse will survive me unless Dollar General wants to buy me out. But they will have to pay my price for the porch.
There’s no fee to convalesce in the Bluehouse. Any old friend who is down on their luck has squatters’ rights here. There’s something about this place. A friend called me the other day and asked hypothetically, “If my wife dies, would it be all right if I move in with you, or could I just park an RV beside your place?” I told him, “Don’t kill your wife. It’s illegal. But yes, the blue flop house is always open to you.”
The unpublished sales brochure for the Bluehouse reads, ‘A place to commiserate about convoluted stories that begin and circle and end with no dots collecting anywhere in a coherent sequence - all the while sipping a beverage that makes things warm and fuzzy. And it’s free, as long as you let your host do most of the commiserating.’
You’d be surprised by all the applicants I have - with zero marketing in place.
The most independent people I know still want a place to fall back. It’s more about the idea - exercised in theory only, a fail-safe home like the one you had growing up - knowing someone still has your back gives a sentimental soul a glow.
So when you’ve been through it, your tail is dragging, your wallet’s empty, you're swinging at wild curve balls, and your home team can’t appreciate your effort, come on up - the Bluehouse is always open.
Stacey Alexander