"Four more years, and we'll retire someplace cheaper," said Fred Goodspeed, 60, a retired mainframe computer operator whose wife, a medical technologist, still works. "My friends in Pennsylvania, they're like, 'You're lucky -- you don't have to bag leaves.' We just rake them to the corner, and the county picks them up. Greedy, aren't we? We like to see values go up, but not our taxes."
In recent years, younger families have been moving into the modest, half-brick, half-vinyl-sided homes on the block, sometimes trading the 10-foot ceilings and sprawling yards of far-flung new developments for the convenience of living inside the Capital Beltway.
Charles Woody said he doesn't want to give up his neighborhood of 45 years. "Yes, I can sell, but where will I go? These are my roots here," he said.
(Lucian Perkins -- The Washington Post)
|
|
They have finished off attics and added decks but mostly have watched their assessments rise thanks to the less visible forces of supply and demand.
It was fun for a while, as property values went up and up, said Irene Treat, a lawyer, who bought her colonial in 1998 for $200,000. Then, expecting a child in 2002, she and her husband, a Department of Defense employee, began to examine the bills more closely.
"We kept saying, 'Why is our mortgage going up?' " Treat recalled.
Their property taxes, which were rolled into their monthly mortgage payments, had risen more than $100 a month since they moved in. And so, they began trimming: Banished were dinners at Carlyle Grand Cafe. Gone were movies, the Kennedy Center and Cher concerts.
"We used to pay directly into our retirement account, and we cut back on that," said Treat, 42. "My husband said we needed to go on a weekly budget, so we went from around $200 a week to $140 a week."
They comforted themselves with the idea that they could always sell. Then, a few months ago, Treat's husband was transferred to Miami, and they sold for $460,000. It was gratifying until they realized that Miami is hardly cheaper.
Other neighbors said they are determined to stay, realizing they'd probably fare no better elsewhere in the region.
In some cases, salaries have kept up. Others have refinanced and lowered their mortgage payment, only to see the property tax bill cancel out the savings. Others are simply watching their cash flow more carefully.
"We didn't consider the taxes when we bought the house" in August 1997, said Patti Gardecki, 33.
Now, the Gardeckis do. Last year, the bill came to nearly $4,700.
She works part time as an accountant; her husband is in pharmaceutical sales, and they have two preschoolers. They pay the bill twice a year out of their savings, then replenish the account when they get their income tax refund. They are frugal. They drive one car instead of two. They have no credit card debt. Like other living rooms on the block, theirs is furnished comfortably, not extravagantly. It is common to see faded couches on Jefferson Avenue.
Maria Rodriguez, 56, who moved onto the block in 2000, said her husband got a better job to help pay the taxes. He is an electrician's assistant now. They rent out two rooms, which helps, and a daughter, an IBM engineer, sends money when they need it. But if property taxes go much higher, Rodriguez will have to find a job, she said as her daughter Gisela Rodriguez, 24, interpreted.
