We are approaching year end, and the statistics for 2019 will be available to me in January 2020. So, my first blog in January will be recapping the past years real estate statistics for the Fort Collins, Greeley, and Loveland area. The market still appears to be very quiet. Homes tend to be sitting on the market longer than we are used to from the past few years. Builders appear to have a growing supply of inventory. I believe there is a lot of apprehension in the market because of the time of year, the escapades in Washington, and the potential of a looming recession. However, as I’ve said before, there is always opportunity. So, I’m going to leave this blog on a lighter note with the poem:
Real Estate Lament
I hesitate to make a list of all the countless deals I’ve missed; Bonanza’s that were in my grip I watched them through my fingers slip; the windfalls which I should have bought were lost because I over thought; I thought this, I thought that, I could have sworn I smelled a rat. And while I thought things over twice, another grabbed them at the price. It seems I always hesitate, then make my mind up much too late. A very cautious man am I, and that is why I never buy.
When tracks rose high on sixth and third, the prices asked, I felt, absurd; those blockfronts, bleak and black with soot, were priced at 30 bucks a foot! I wouldn’t even make a bid, but others did, yes others did! When Tucson was cheap desert land, I could’ve had a heap of sand; when Phoenix was a place to buy, I thought the climate was to dry. “Invest in Dallas – that’s the spot!” My sixth sense warned me I should not. A very prudent man am I, and that is why I never buy.
How Nassau and how Suffolk grew! North Jersey! Staten Island, too! When others culled those sprawling farms and welcomed deals with open arms, a corner here, 10 acres there, compounding values year by year, I chose to think and as I thought, they bought the deals I should have bought. The golden chances I had then are lost and will not come again. Today I cannot be enticed for everything so overpriced. The deals of yesteryear are dead; the market soft, and so’s my head.
Last night I had a fearful dream, I know I awakened with the scream; some Indians approached my bed – four trinkets on the barrel head [in dollar bills worth 24 and nothing less and nothing more] they’d sell Manhattan aisle to me. The most I go was 23. Redman scowled “not on a bet!” and sold to Peter Minuit. At times a teardrop drowns my eyes for deals I had, but did not buy; and now life saddest words I pen – “if only I’d invested then!”