In 1993, after my private practice in Long Beach, Ca. collapsed overnight because people were suddenly afraid to venture into my neighborhood due to the recent rioting there, my wife and I declared bankruptcy, loaded everything we owned on a leaky 75 foot U-Haul and headed north to Tehachapi. The three-year distraction which followed has already been detailed in The Mother-In-Law From Hell so we pick up the story at the point when I finally secured a professorship in Eugene, Oregon and we make our way there, as we'd originally intended to do. It was January and it poured rain and snow on us the whole way. My wife, ever game for absolutely anything, drove the truck. Our first cat, Capricorn--a feisty black Bombay who thought he was human, rode on the oversized dashboard the entire trip, ducking every time the inevitable eighteen-wheeler ahead of us would toss a snowball or a chunk of ice into our windshield. Each night, we had to sneak the little guy into a 'no pets allowed' motel room in a suitcase. He learned to LOVE that suitcase. Mind you, we had done our research in advance and carefully selected the tiny hamlet of Cottage Grove, nestled in the Cascade Foothills at he southernmost end of the Willamette Valley, as the setting for our Marvelous New Life. We pulled into town in the throes of the worst blizzard I have ever experienced--before or since!--and stopped at the very first realty office we came to. They only had one house listed within the city limits (read, NOT on a septic tank!) that we could afford. We went to see it immediately, waded through three feet of standing water in the flooded front yard, sloshed into the house and plunked down our cash on the barrelhead. Our troubles were over, at last! Uh huh. I had offered the owner a thirty day escrow, but she insisted upon two weeks. Fine, I said. We contented ourselves, during this time, by hiding Cappy in the one decent motel in C.G. and schlepping back and forth to Eugene...the only speck of true civilization for forty miles in any direction. I busied myself acquiring Star Trek books and collectibles, and my One True Love puttered through the sewing and craft shops. Of course, I phoned the homeowner every couple of days to check on her progress; she, assuring me repeatedly that everything was 'right on schedule'. Escrow (finally!) closed on time, we pulled up to 'our' new house with our by now thoroughly sodden possessions, only to discover that this despicable creature had done absolutely NOTHING about packing up her stuff and taking it away. Never having been one to suffer either fools or lazy procrastinators gladly, I proceeded to pack her entire household in garbage bags, rent her a storage space in town and deposit her stuff in it...while SHE thanked me by going next door to the neighbor's house and wailing, "He took my house!" No, Lady, I BOUGHT your house! Think we're done yet? Not a chance. Once we had her junk out and our stuff in, we commenced to realize just what a renovation project we had on our hands! The now-prior owner had claimed to have refurbished the entire place, having proudly declared that she held a B.S. in Home Design. Now I know what the B.S. stands for. Cosmetically, it all looked pretty good at first but, ultimately, we had to redo EVERYTHING! Roof, floors, carpet, drapes, windows, doors, plumbing, wiring, heating, foundation, counters and drywall--the WORKS! The project took three years and cost a small fortune! We LIVED in the house the entire time, and we hired the only 'available' contractor in town; a meth addict who lied to us about actually having a license! In my defense, he had VERY good references but, unsurprisingly, much of the redo had to be redone. Two decades later, it's a pretty nice place. So much for due diligence. Welcome to paradise.
It sounds like you put a lot of hard work to make your paradise. Thru all of the hard times you kept you eye on the prise and came out ahead.