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Sometime back in the 1970s I remember watching an episode of All in the Family in which Archie reached the end of his mortgage payment booklet and was holding what was then known as a ‘Mortgage Burning Party.’ Neighbors would gather, bring a dish to share, and the now free-and-clear owner of his home would burn the empty mortgage booklet out of which the last payment coupon had been torn free and mailed, in front of assembled guests with a great cheer.

It occurred to me, in my own way, that I hold a similar party, celebrated alone, on the the last cold morning of new year. But there is no empty paper booklet to burn, only a disreputable, dirty pair of quilted Carhartt coveralls to be thrown into the industrial washing machine—the one used for horse blankets—for its twice yearly cleaning before being hidden away until sometime next November.

Despite Paul telling me each year that there will always be an Easter freeze and only once that holiday is observed, is it clear sailing with rising temperatures, I allow myself glimmers of hope from tauntingly warm days in March. I’ve been so confident—not to mention, suckered, that I’ve given the coveralls an early wash, only to miserably have to drag them out again for a string of unseasonably cold April mornings. 

But, oh, like Archie, the glorious freedom— his from debt, mine from layers of hoodies, sweat pants, thick socks, gloves and muck boots. Stretching luxuriously as I step out the mudroom door, clad only in Tshirt, gym shorts and beat up tennis shoes, I stride into the soft warmth of a southern morning. No more frozen pipes, no more horse blankets to readjust before turning each eager equine out into the field. Just warmth, glorious warmth that, whilst mucking out each stall and scrubbing each water bucket, turns into soul sapping, dripping heat within a couple of months.

Complete with flies and horseflies the size of a Kia.

Ah, but for now, I shall rejoice in the same heady bliss which Archie enjoyed. Here’s a fun fact: Archie’s house in Queens probably cost him around 30k when he bought it. His mortgage payment was around $120 per month. That same house today would be on the market for $800k. 

I’m going to guess that mortgage burning parties are pretty much unheard of these days. I can just see the look of incredulity on the faces of young couples upon learning of this long lost custom that joins the ranks of rabbit ear antennas, Dippity-do and lunch boxes.

“You mean people actually paid off their mortgages?” they’ll gasp. “You could actually buy a 3 bedroom house for $30,000??”

Yep— and they weren’t built on a slab, either…