I’ve always loved old things. As a kid, I was enamored by antiques shops and salvage yards. I was so fascinated by the quality, craftsmanship, and story behind who owned the objects. So I knew I wanted a historic home in Connecticut. There’s so much rich history here, given that it’s one of the original colonies and the British marched through our area during the Revolutionary War. And pre–Revolutionary War homes are an endangered species—there’s so much new construction going up that’s ironically made to look like farmhouses. I’ve always felt called to conserve and protect an old jewel of a home. 

So when a historic 1700s one came on the market not far from the mid-century house where we currently lived, I dragged my husband kicking and screaming to go look at it. We have three kids and were not necessarily looking for a new place, but when we walked through the property together, we were both awestruck. It’s funny because the two of us couldn’t be more opposite: He’s a marine, and everything is very planned and methodical, and I’m a fly-by-the-seat-of-your-pants kind of girl. It’s rare that we agree on the same thing at the same time, but the house had so many little twists and turns and original charm that we both thought was so, so, so special. 

This was in 2021, when there was a mass exodus from New York City to the suburbs, so there were 15 showings for the house in one day. We never in a million years thought that we were going to actually get it, and our agent told us that ours was the lowest of five offers. But one 600-page inspection and mentions of the word asbestos later, the city couple who originally got it bailed and everyone else had moved on to other offers. Luckily, the homeowner was eager to not go back on the market, so she took care of all of those scary things for us. I firmly believe that this home picked us.

A few months after we moved in, I started exploring the yard. Someone had given me a metal detector—I don’t even remember when, for Christmas or something—and I thought, this property is 300 years old, maybe there are some old coins. Now just to be clear, you’d be way more likely to find me at Bloomingdale’s than you would me metal detecting, but I really got into it. I’d have my hat and fanny pack on, and I would wave this thing around my yard like a lunatic. One time, I did find a coin from 1787 that’s specific to New Jersey, which means it predates the U.S. Mint. That really got me excited. I even started an Instagram account, Peter Thorp House, to document my findings. 

Not long after, I discovered the midden. I was metal detecting around the corner of a stone wall, and I found a simple pewter spoon. As I was digging for it, I came up with something else: fistfuls of oyster shells. I remembered someone saying to me that when you find shells, keep digging, because it could be a trash heap (also known as a midden). There weren’t garbage cans in the 1800s—they just dug a pit in the back of the house and hucked things into a hole. So of course I got my shovel out. What I found was amazing. I’m talking platefuls of pottery and animal bones and glass. I couldn’t keep up. What started out as a little hole is now about a 6-by-6-foot trench because I just kept finding stuff, like the pieces of almost an entire teapot. 

I reached out to the town’s historical society and did a little research to track the lineage of the land ownership from 1739, when the house was built by Peter Thorp—though he never lived in it—all the way through to present day. There’s this family, the Browns, who lived here for more than 100 years, and they’re the ones who passed it down to their children and built this massive farm. I always felt like there must be a connection between the things I was finding and the Browns, given how long they lived here.

Soon enough, I became addicted to finding treasures elsewhere on our property. There’s a root cellar underneath the barn, and in the fall, I went in there to clean up. I brought my metal detector, a lamp, and a fan because it was September and it was really hot in that tiny room. Within two minutes, the metal detector died, the fan turned off, and the light drained of its battery. I yelled to my husband, “Why did you turn the fan off? It’s so hot!” But he wasn’t outside. Could it have randomly happened? Sure. But what are the chances that all three of those things would malfunction at the same time so quickly? 

It’s strange—ever since I started bringing objects out of the ground and into the house, little occurrences started to happen. But also, any logical person could explain them away. We live in an old house! It crunches! It makes noise!

But then, weirder things started to happen. I was talking with some friends, and the topic of ghost stories came up. My little guy looked up at us and said, “Yeah, that happens to me, too.” We all looked at him and said, “What happens?” And I’ll never forget what he said, so matter-of-factly: “There’s a shadow that walks into my closet.” 

I thought it was strange; kids say strange things, right? But then there was another instance when I was taking my daughter on the stairs in the main house to her room—at the time she was 2—and she looked right at me and said: “Can he come, too?” It was one of those parenting moments where you’re like, I feel like I shouldn’t freak out because then she’s going to freak out, so I’m just going to smile and we’re going to keep moving. It made me think: Gosh, is there something here that I’m not seeing?

I kept digging in the yard and collecting things. I know this sounds insane, but sometimes I’ll go in a new direction, almost like I’m being guided to a new part of the property, and I’ll find something cool. I can’t really explain it.

The kids were one thing, but one night, my husband and I were winding down for bed around midnight, and we heard a loud piano note, an E, clear as day. It was as if someone put their finger down right on the key of our piano, which is directly below our room. We both shot up in bed, like, What on earth was that? When multiple people witness something, you know you’re not losing it.

A few mediums reached out to me online after I shared everything on Instagram, and two of them had very consistent stories they told me over the phone: There is a woman, a nanny or a nursemaid, here. They both said there’s also a farmhand who didn’t own the property but took tremendous pride in it who is just here keeping tabs on it. The mediums mentioned water, but there’s no water on the property, so I don’t know where that comes in.

We’re noticing that a lot of incidents revolve around the original staircase. Most recently, I was away with my sons in Florida and my husband was home with our daughter when I got an alert on our Nest camera saying there was motion detected in my daughter’s room. You can see a shadow near the staircase that couldn’t be my husband because it’s too small—and because he was downstairs watching TV. He’s very pragmatic about all of this, but I think it’s a lot of coincidences. 

You know, I hope whatever spirits that may be around here know that we’re going to take care of this property and shine it back up. I choose to think that it’s someone just doing their rounds, trying to keep an eye on us and the house. Truly, I’ve never felt scared or intimidated. You know that creepy feeling when you’re turning off all the lights at night and you need to run up the stairs? I’ve never felt that here. I am totally comfortable being here alone walking around at night. Whatever does exist around here—I think it exists with love. 

I joke that this weekend is opening season for me, and I’m going to start searching the yard again. After a thaw is actually when metal detecting is at its best. The ground churns and purges, and new things come to the surface. 

To learn more about the Peter Thorp House, visit the Weston Historical Society starting on May 18 to see an exhibition of Maryclare Roos’s findings. Her home will be featured in the upcoming book The Heirloomist: 100 Treasures and the Stories They Tell by Shana Novak, out April 30.