Seven months after we made our offer and signed the “compromis de vente,” a commitment to buy, the old house is finally ours. A couple days ago we had our final signing, called the “acte de vente,” at the notaire’s office. A notaire is a French official authorized to oversee real estate transactions.

It was quite the occasion. Crowded into the notaire’s small office were eight of the eleven siblings who owned the house, plus the two of us, and Connie, our friend and tireless translator.

At the end of the meeting, the notaire announced that the house was now ours, and the sellers stood up, one-by-one, and handed us all their keys. It was a tender moment and I could feel tears welling up, but I managed to keep it together.

Eleven children lived with their parents in the 2 bedroom, 1 bath house for 50 years. Most of them are retired now, and all but two still live in this village of 900 people. Sitting there in that room across from these lovely, kind people, I wished I could have asked them about their childhood growing up there. I could see their emotions in passing ownership of their childhood home to us. We asked Connie to tell them thank you for selling to us, and that we would invite them to see the house when we are done with the renovations.

As is the custom here, we bought them all drinks in the local bar/restaurant after the signing. Connie was kept busy with translations in both directions as we chatted and toasted to the future. At the end of the evening, we left there knowing we had a few more new friends in our village.