Retirement hasn’t come easily for Paul and Sheila Collis. When they purchased The John Light House and its 300 acres in the quiet village of Bedington, their vision was a peaceful respite for retirement. They were in for quite an awakening. Paul, a Martinsburg native and former senior vice-president of a bank in Washington, recalls, “I bought this place in 1976 as a place to hunt and fish, and I haven’t been hunting and I haven’t been fishing yet.” Dreaming of a day when his banker’s suits would be replaced by waders and camouflage, Paul’s daily attire has actually become denim and flannel – clothes fit for his new vocation: raising cattle.
But it was Sheila who set the tone when she “retired” first from her job with the National Security Agency. Fixing up the circa 1810 stone house on the property became a full time job when she realized that, if the house was ever going to look the way she envisioned a historic farmhouse, she was going to have to take matters into her own hands – literally. “I did pretty much all the work, you know, jack of all trades, master of none. I had never done it before, but no one wants to work on old houses. If it’s not square; if it’s not plumb – forget it – they don’t want anything to do with it. I said, ‘Paul, I’ll be working on this house until I die!’”
The property was originally part of the Lick Plantation owned by Peter Light, Sr., who, in 1790, deeded 366 acres to his son, John Light. Typical of many houses during this time period, the original stone house consisted of one room over one room and a kitchen that was separate from the house. Later additions turned the home into the 2-story, five bay, L-shaped house that it is today. The first floor contains a formal parlor (the oldest part of the home), a library, 2 kitchens, the family room, and an enclosed porch. The original six bedrooms on the second floor have now become three bedrooms, two bathrooms, and a couple of sitting areas.
The old windows still hold much 19th century glass, a wavy distortion framing a pastoral scene of mostly undeveloped surroundings. Many of the rooms still hold the original random width pine floors, worn to a warm golden glow from years and years of foot traffic. Most of the doors still wear their original hardware; a couple of upstairs doors feature large handmade wrought iron hinges. Where moldings are not original, Sheila replicated the patterns herself. “I followed the old. I made it as much like the old as I possibly could.”
One wall in the library contains a ceiling-high Federal-style mantle on the fieldstone fireplace. The opposite wall holds a large hand carved bookshelf with a twisted rope pattern framing the opening, a piece from an old bank building in Shepherdstown that the couple owned.
Each room prompts memories of toil for Sheila. When looking at the central stairway pieced together by pegs and handcut, square nails, dating it to the early 19th century, Sheila recalls three weeks of intensive labor stripping layer after layer of paint on her hands and knees. Bedrooms that were made into bathrooms remind Sheila of plumbing decisions, laying tile, hanging wallpaper. The massive, exposed beams in the ceiling of the kitchen and family room summon up memories of the job that Sheila considers the hardest: cleaning the beams of nearly 200 years of soot and smoke using a wire brush on the end of a drill. “It was a dirty, dirty job. I’d look worse than any coal miner that ever came out of a mine.”
The jobs that Sheila found the most challenging have also led to the most pleasing sense of satisfaction and accomplishment now that the work is finished. And the oohing and aahhing of guests doesn’t hurt either. They opened their home to the public during a fall festival in Bedington, and also shared their house with hundreds of other old house lovers during a spring House and Garden Tour.
This year Paul and Sheila will celebrate 52 years of marriage. They have one daughter, Vickie, who lives in Texas. They also have a grandson who will be graduating from law school this spring. They spend their time these days waiting expectantly for the five or six calves that will be born each day on the farm for the next few weeks. Anxiously and excitedly, they scan the fields with binoculars, wondering if that little black spot way over in that pasture could be a new addition to their herd. No, this couple won’t really be retiring any time soon, and they like it that way.
