Louisville Magazine

JUN 2013

Louisville Magazine is Louisville's city magazine, covering Louisville people, lifestyles, politics, sports, restaurants, entertainment and homes. Includes a monthly calendar of events.

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Liquid asset: a view of the pool from Ward's loft. pool was fnished, Ward put her property on the market. At frst, her mother's deteriorating health prompted the decision. Te family thought someone should care for Mom fulltime, perhaps in the Upton, Ky., home where Ward grew up. It's not yet been determined who will assume caretaking duties. Still, Ward wants to sell. "I'm a minimalist," she tells me one afternoon as we stand on her pool deck. Te natatorium suggests otherwise. But she disagrees, citing her ability to live of her land, from the organic gardens that blanket her property to the pool that sustains her physically, emotionally. In subsequent emails, she further explains that she's a devotee of the Buddhist monk Tich Nhat Hanh. He preaches ridding oneself of "one's cows," she says, relieving clutter from the brain. She's sold most of her personal belongings, keeping only a few items: two photo albums, a Dalai Lama double DVD set. Everything else fts into a large rolling dufe bag, suitcase and two backpacks. She's ready to move on. But she'll do so at a loss of about $200,000. Ward has put nearly $500,000 into the natatorium and home renovations, including granite kitchen countertops and blond bamboo foors. Te house's asking price: about $320,000. But pools don't appraise well. People see them as liabilities. Plus, price values in the neighborhood tend to hover closer to $150,000. As one realtor told me, Ward has 32 LOUISVILLE MAGAZINE 6.13 "overbuilt" for the area. Upon learning of the fnancial hit Ward will take, one openhouse guest shakes her head and quietly utters "heartbreaking." Ward acts genuinely shocked when hearing that people have this reaction. "No, no," she says. "I'm not sad. I want people to enjoy it. I don't feel bad about it." A s a swimmer, I understand the nuisances of public lap pools: sharing lanes, bashing forearms or clipping hands with the swimmer coming at you from the opposite direction. Perhaps if I had $300,000 stashed away, I'd take the Natatorihome of Ward's hands. Peterworth admits he's seeking a "needle in a haystack": a single person, or a couple, who LOVES to swim, will ft into the small home and can aford the property. He's contacted swim coaches in the area, thinking they would surely know someone. So far, no luck. Tat father and daughter from the open house showed some promise, returning for a second viewing. However, the home just didn't have enough space for them. Still, Peterworth's confdent. "Someone's going to come in and love this place," he says. Ward believes that too. During one of our conversations, after I mention my own fondness for swimming laps, she suggests I take a swim in her pool, experience it for myself. I can't resist. I arrive on a warm Tursday evening. Te whole place glows a soothing green from underwater lights that on a diferent setting also rotate into festive purple and red. Ward has left the windows open, the pleasantries of backyard birds bleed in. Other than chirps and splashes, it's quiet. As I start my swim, I think about the solitary nature of this sport. Within the lane lines, the outside world disappears. Even at the YMCA, an old guy with a snorkel on your left, an Ironman on your right, all you hear is the percussive thumping of your own kick, water bubbling past your ears and huh! for air. Ward's creation heightens the solitude. When I fip to backstroke, I catch my refection in the skylights. It's like I'm in a giant aquarium. "I did build the natatorium so that I could experience the water by myself, year-round, with or without a swimsuit," Ward wrote in an email exchange. Recently, though, Ward's stopped swimming altogether. She says that over the course of trying to sell her home, she's grown detached from the pool. During one of our last correspondences, she notifes me she's no longer waiting around for a buyer. She'll keep her house on the market but rent it out in the meantime. She wants to move on. If not with her mother to Upton, Ky., then out West, she thinks, maybe to Colorado where she can kayak in snow-fed rivers for a few months. Ten, on to Hawaii where she can surf and paddleboard. "I'll always love the water," she says.

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