I woke up this morning, and embraced the fog. I dare you to find anyone who relishes spring fog as much as I do. Maybe except for Old Greg. He definitely loves fog. I drove my son to school this morning, as I normally do, but the trips of late have found a more focused driver behind the wheel. Not that I'm paying attention to the road necessarily, rather my eyes are darting back and forth, through the woods and the prairies, over fields and under bridges. My focus is sharp, and my vision narrowed. I'm watching snow, and piles of snow, and I'm watching them very closely. My reason? Well, for starters, I'm an unapologetic, post-January hater of snow. Holiday snow is great, but by February, I'm pretty much over winter and anxious for spring. And we all know who shows up once spring fades.



Piles of snow here and piles there. Snow cowering on the south side of roads, and littered over fields and yards, clinging to existence as if they can hold on forever. They are doomed piles, but wherever they may be- hiding in the shade, or pushed into drifts by the winter wind, they cannot outlast summer. This isn't Colorado, and I certainly have no use for spring snow. So the miserable leftovers of a forgettable winter might remain for a while longer, but the real enemy of a summer lover is the ice that holds my lovely lake hostage.

The ice this year has been particularly formidable, even though it arrived quite late in the season. Still, with warm, windy days, we'll get rid of that shroud of ice, and our lake will once again be returned to those of us who love it so dearly. A key ingredient to shedding ice is rain. Rain weakens ice like green glowing rocks weaken superman, and it's rain that I love in the spring. Don't get me wrong, I'm not really "in love" with rain, I'm just using her to get rid of my larger enemy, ice. Once the rain has done her job, I'll kick her out so fast it'll make her head spin. If I pass her on the street, I'll just stare right past her. I have little use for rain, and would prefer that she only show up when it's dark. I'm aware I need to stop assigning animation to inanimate objects.

All that to say this- it's time for another contest. My contests rarely go well. The goal is to endear through a fun process, but since no one has actually won a contest yet, it's a little disheartening. Hopefully this time, things will change. The spoils of a Neal Aspinall Lake Geneva Antique Boat Show print (like the one pictured here) will go to the person who correctly guesses the ice out date on Geneva. For the purposes of this competition, the ice out date will have arrived when the ice is broken up all the way to the Williams Bay shore. Since the ice in the bay is usually the last to go, this will be our criteria.

To reiterate. Send me an email containing the date that you think the ice will finely release it's numbing grip on Geneva Lake. Someone looking to win this fine print would do well to consult the forecast, and ideally look for a period of significant rain. In order to make this even easier, you should know that ice out last year was on 3/23. Best of luck, as I have a stable of these beautiful Lake Geneva prints, and I'm feeling a bit like an art glutton. Remember, these prints look particularly classy on the walls of Lake Geneva vacation homes, so if you don't have one of those yet, I know a guy who can help.

When Josh Flagg, of Million Dollar Listing "fame", climbed up on a table during negotiations with a lady Realtor, the staged hysterics translated to little more than a classic attempt to add some TV flair to an otherwise boring procedure. Most negotiations are fairly tame, and when contracts are written, deals generally only fall into place after compromise by both parties- significant compromise. When Josh climbed up on that table- no word if he needed a ladder to do so- and pranced around in front of that aging Realtor that Bravo tried their hardest to depict as some sort of siren, the scene reinforced why I so loathe agents in general. It also helps to ease my curiosity as to why Realtors are so often maligned. Hint- we're maligned, because most of us deserve it.

And so, Josh is who came to mind last month as I was in the middle of a most unusual negotiation on a most unusual property. Without getting into confidential details, the lengthy negotiations failed to produce a contract. So what went wrong? Why couldn't we put the deal together? If we had a seller who wanted to sell and a buyer who wanted to buy, what was the hang up? Well, in short, the deal was stifled by poor negotiating techniques on behalf of the seller. That's my opinion of course, but I'm the guy who verbally danced on the table in hopes of getting the deal done. When Josh danced he made like a hundred zillion dollars. I didn't even get a participation ribbon.

I was sitting at birthday party last summer, and I started talking with a woman who was attending the party with her son. I knew she had her house for sale in Geneva National, and she knew I had sold my own Geneva National house the previous summer. I was ribbing her about her house not selling (I know, I'm a jerk), and it was then that she uttered the words that increased my internal body temperature by at least 11 degrees. "It really doesn't matter what Realtor you hire, they're all the same". I think a little blood may have trickled out of my left year, but I limped through the dirt back to my car, intent on not letting her see my possibly mortal wound.

Fast forward to my negotiations last month, and I can tell you without equivocation that it most certainly does matter what Realtor you hire. There are deal makers, and there are procedural drones. Increasingly, Realtors are becoming drone-ish, unable to negotiate with skill and unwilling to let market conditions affect their actions. Need an example? Imagine a property priced at $2MM. Everyone knows it's overpriced, and it should be worth $1.5MM. I write an offer on the property for $1.4MM, which is fair, given the actual value of the home. Next is what happens in many of these negotiations that consumers won't ever see, but agents see all the time. Value at $1.5MM, asking $2MM, offer $1.4MM. The listing agent will say "thanks agent XYZ for your offer, we're countering you at $1.9MM. You know, the market is improving and before you know it, this place is going to appreciating like crazy" Me now, "Yes, but agent XYZ, the value is only $1.5MM, and everyone knows it. Your seller would do well to jump on this deal before my client loses interest". XYZ agent "sorry, but the price is the price, tell your buyer thanks for his interest".

The negotiating tactics that worked in 2003 now look as old as a painted wooden buoy. They scream that the agent is out of touch with the new market, and yet, buyers and sellers blindly put their faith in some of these agents. Perhaps they have huge amounts of exposure, or perhaps your son goes to school with their daughter. Maybe the agent used to work at the grocery store you shop at, and now she's wearing a platinum name tag. Whatever the case, it's vital that you do some research to see if your agent really does understand the current market. I'm not talking about knowledge of a market, I'm talking about wisdom. Wisdom in real estate is knowing which button to push when, and if your agent doesn't possess that wisdom, there's a chance that a deal can slip right through your fingers.

You see why my hair is gray and my synapses fire in carpet bomb style patterns? The market is testing agents, and unfortunately, many are failing to see where value is, and are mishandling offers that should turn into deals. So when I sat on that park bench with that home selling mother (sounds off, I know), I should have told her a story like this. I should have screamed, "of course it matters what agent you choose!", but I didn't. Because I was being nice. This market requires savvy, and agents who have always made a fine living by performing the role of tour guide and cheerleader, would do well to adjust to the realities of a market that is tough, and at times, downright cruel.

I was showing a property in Fontana to a client on Sunday, when the conversation turned to the South Shore Club. As I sit this morning, searching the vast expanses of my brain for a subject matter, the only thing on my mind, besides the fog outside and a hope that I don't have to use the Z key, because the Z is now missing from the keyboard of my aging laptop, is the South Shore Club. I've chronicled here how I didn't care much for the South Shore Club when it was first developed. I never saw a reason to share a pool and a pier and a tennis court and a putting green and a fleet of boats, but that might have been simply discernment on my behalf given the price structure and how the SSC originally fit into our broader market. At the time the South Shore Club was developed, $4MM would buy someone their own pier and pool and tennis court and boat, and I couldn't quite figure out why someone would prefer to share all those amenities with others when they could own them outright.

That was then, this is now. The market has changed significantly over the past seven years, and not in the way you're thinking. The estate level of the lakefront has escalated in price from where $4MM would have bought an "estate" in 2003, to a price structure that now largely demands prices in the $5MM+ range if a buyer is seeking a true lakefront estate. At the same time, pricing in the South Shore Club has fallen from original values in the $3.75MM to $4.5MM range, to a much more reasonable $2.5MM to $3.9MM. I'm taking some liberties with that pricing, as current active inventory runs from around $2.5MM for a home on Forest Hill (not on the horseshoe that makes up the lake view homes), to mid and upper $4MM's for some of the better located homes. I still think values have a ways to go in the SSC before the market there will rebound, and it wouldn't surprise me to see 2010 finish with extremely anemic sales totals in this prized association.

Much of the problem lies with the cost of new land in the club. There are nine vacant parcels currently on the market, all but one look to be owned by the developing partners. An example of the strange price structure exists on Forest Hill Circle, the southern-most road in the development that ends up by the tennis court and playground. This road has a handful of parcels, including a couple of homes that are already built. One home on the road is on the market in the mid $2.5MM's, making it the cheapest home for sale in the SSC. This home, by the way, is quite beautiful. But I'm not interested in the home today, I'm interested in the vacant land.



There are at least two lots for sale on Forest Hill Circle, one priced around a million bucks, the other, less than $600k. Two lots, in the same association, with access to the same armada of boats, membership at the same sparkling swimming pool, admission to the same clubhouse, on the same street. A price difference of around 40%, for what reason? I see. So you don't know either.

The reality of the South Shore Club as I see it is this. What was once a club with a perceived price of admission of at least $3MM, has now seen that figure cut by as much as 50%. I'm here to tell you that you very well may be able to be all in to the South Shore Club, the most impressive association on the most impressive lake in the Midwest, for a total price of around $1.5MM (+/-). How so? Consider purchasing the vacant parcel in the upper $500k's. Build a 4000 square foot house, modest by lakefront standards but still more than ideal, for a cost of around $1MM. Total package price for your brand new, overtly magnificent South Shore Club manse? Possibly around $1.5MM. Not including the cost of your golf cart, which you're going to load the kids or your friends into for the short motorized jaunt to the lakefront or the pool. You came to me looking for value, and here it is.


Of course, I'm not a builder, nor do I own any of the lots in the SSC, nor do I work for the SSC, so this is simple a theory with some hypothetical numbers, so don't call me asking about the $1.5MM package. I can however negotiate a vacant land deal for you, hook you up with a builder, and pat you on the back when you're spending your weekends lakeside at the South Shore Club, content to swim and boat your way through your summer in the most discerning of atmospheres. If the SSC has always seemed unapproachable to you, as it has to many, it's time to pull back the curtain and look at the association for what it really is. What is it that it really is? It's a dynamite association with unheard of amenities, on the best lake in the entire Midwest, and the price of poker, 2010 style, just might be to your liking. Long term, the development will be a stalwart on the lakefront, in the mean time, the growing pains might be presenting you with an unbelievable opportunity.

(Remember, I'm not a builder, and I'm not associated with the SSC other than through my ability to sell the properties there. I do not represent the developing group, nor do I currently represent any of the active inventory in the club. These opinions on pricing are simply my opinions based on the way I see the market, and are given with implied pre-agency. Happy now? )

An Early weekend re-post about a beautiful hammock that I rescued from a hammock shelter last summer.


I like hammocks. If you really think about it, it's probably a near impossiblity to find someone who exceedingly dislikes hammocks. Inanimate object? Sure, but there's little doubt that hammocks matter in this world. If they don't matter to you, chances are you're not a vacation lover, and that's just fine. It's just that your backside is angry with you for your apparent disdain of the relaxation that you're depriving it of. Hammocks come in all shapes and sizes, that much is quite obvious, but there's more to a hammock than the material it's made out of. Everyone who's ever owned a hammock knows this much- the quality of your hammock is only as good as the spot it calls home.

Take a look at that hammock up there. All blue and white and smug. Swaying gently in a mid summer Lake Geneva breeze. Nestled not more than 100' from the most amazing body of water in the entire Midwest. I'll bet when most hammocks die, they really hope they can come back as our arrogant little friend up there. The hammock below is pretty nifty too, resting lakeside on a beautiful white pier. The striped hammock isn't without a story, as is the case with most of our woven friends. I was driving towards Williams Bay one day in early June when that stitched beauty caught my eye. I immediately swerved to the side of the road to get a closer look. It was as I suspected. Beautiful. Artfully designed, with sturdy wood base and a soft padded suspended mattress where a difficult mess of woven ropes would typically reside. The colors were perfect, and it screamed summer. There was even a built in pillow. My mind instantaneously flashed back to my foreclosure home, and I mentally dashed around the yard thinking of where this prize should rest. After a few moments of contemplation I came to a cold hard realization. This hammock was too good for my yard. It was too good for me. It deserved better than I could give it right now. So I did what any lover of the lounge would do. I called my mom.

I rushed through the description like a 6 year old recalling Christmas morning gifts. It's blue and white. The stand is curvy and it's wood. It's striped! You just have to have it, mom! My powers of influence over my parents soundly intact, the hammock came to rest in what will be its eternal resting place mere hours later. I had succeeded in finding this creation a proper home, and like someone adopting a dog from a rescue, I think I saved this hammocks life.



It could have been bought by someone who might have driven it home to the suburbs. Worse yet, someone might have put it on a deck overlooking a fenced back yard. I can picture it, bumping along in the back of a pick up truck, peaking around every corner for a glimpse of where its new home would be. He would have been scared to death I'll bet. Perhaps mistreated. Obviously mis-located, but possibly even neglected. Forced to spend a lifetime staring at the woods. Staring at a yard. Being beaten by high, dry winds, without a lake in sight. Life's too short to let a hammock face that fate.

The hammock now rests. Asking nothing of my parents, and all too willing to provide a quiet spot to read or rest, no matter the time of day. Regardless of the reading material on hand, the backdrop is always the same. A beautiful lake. A beautiful day. And you. Here's to the hammock. Buy yourself some Lake Geneva real estate this summer and I'll buy you your very own hammock, maybe even one with stripes.

Anyone driving a boat or car through Williams Bay has certainly noticed our two brick behemoths. Built in the 1970's, the two condominiums on the west bank of Williams Bay, just north of Gage Marine, are a rare site along the Geneva Lake shoreline. Geneva Towers is the only building on the lake that is taller than these two seven story buildings, and Fontana Shores falls two floors short of keeping up with these west bank studs. The buildings aren't romantic. They aren't inspiring, and they certainly aren't classic. They are, however, they have long been extremely attractive to condominium buyers.

Today, we're only talking about the north building, affectionately and legally known as Bay Colony. The south building is Bay Colony South, a name that is both apt and sort of boring. Was Bay Colony Awesomer already taken? The north building is the cheaper of the two buildings, owing to the fact that the south building offers garages, and the units all have spectacular views of the lake. On average, I would guess Bay Colony South is worth about $100k more per unit. Even though most people (ahem, agents) think the buildings are somehow related in an association, they are not. Each building is self contained, and does not have anything to do with the other. The north building was built on an angle, presumably to take advantage of the views to the southeast. Even with the best of intentions, this angling of the building turned out to be a horrible mistake when the owner of the residential parcel that exists in between the north and south buildings refused to sell. Instead of looking out over manicured lawns and perhaps a tennis court or two, the southern most end of the north building stares almost directly into trees.



The angled nature of Bay Colony is really only an issue to the "04" units. Picture this. The building is only one unit deep as it faces the lake, and the units stretch from north to south along the lakefront. The "01" units are the northern-most units in the building, and also the only units that have three bedrooms. Working south toward the view blocking trees, the "02" units are next, followed by "03" units and ultimately, "04" units. The "03" and "04" units have some view difficulties, but the view problems are largely relegated to the "04" units. Make sense? I hope so.

The building is rife with amenities, and most buyers will find the indoor pool quite appealing. Unlike some other complexes in the area, the pool at Bay Colony is right inside the building where the units are, so there's no reason to bundle up when you head over towards the pool in January. There is also covered parking, and while it's not a garage, it's better than nothing. Each unit at Bay Colony has a boat slip, and the building is positioned very close to the water, with a completely level front lawn. If you're not a fan of steps, this is a great property. The views from most units are amazing. The middle units (02 and 03) have huge balconies, with sliding door access from both bedrooms and the living room. In addition to the pool, there is a lounge area (of sorts), and a brand new billiard room with wet bar. There is also a basic exercise room with a couple of all in one style machines.



The building has always been a light volume building, with several years passing between offerings. I sold a unit in this building back in 2001 for around $400k, and several units sold over the past couple years have sold for around $600k, including a unit I sold for that price back in 2007. The units that have changed hands have been fairly original, which in the case of a condo built in the 1970's, is not really a good thing.

As luck would have it, I just listed a two bedroom unit in Bay Colony. It's one of the original units, so it will need some updating, but the space is good and the views are tremendous. The price is $649k, which is about $100k cheaper than the only other unit for sale in the building. The nice thing about updating a two bedroom, two bath condo is that the alterations are fairly simple. Two new baths, new trim, a new kitchen, new flooring, and new paint later, you have a dynamite residence right on the shores of Geneva Lake. The unit has a transferable boat slip as well, and a buyer who doesn't mind doing a bit of work will be rewarded. Email me if you'd like more details.

Summer should contact the police department and make public the domestic abuse that she has so sheepishly absorbed over the years. Summer doesn't deserve to be mistreated, yet each year, most of us throw her down the stairs at least once a week, and even the most reserved among us give Summer an unprovoked slap once in a while. Summer needs a spot on The Oprah's couch. And a box of Kleenex. Not the scratchy kind either- the kind with aloe. Summer is the victim, yet we force her into the line up with Spring, Fall, and Winter, and treat her like she's as guilty as those unruly months that bookmark her seasonal would be reign. Ask kids to list the seasons and they'll rattle them off, in order, without any particular reverence paid to the season that deserves the most respect.



When Summer arrives, we complain that she's too hot. Or too humid. Or other times, we complain that she's too long. When late August comes around, we're in a rush to try out our new fall wardrobes. Shorts have long lost their allure by September first, and we're already looking forward to changing colors and falling leaves. Eeek! Don't these new Frye boots just, like, scream autumn?! While we're in an ADD inspired hurry to usher in the next season, Summer is just trying to figure out what she did wrong. Was she too hot? Did she overstay her welcome? And why is it that on 82 degree summer days when there's seldom a cloud in the sky, why do we ignore her? When we choose the inside of office buildings over her on Wednesday afternoons, that's one thing. But when Saturday afternoons are spent inside suburban mansions rather than under her radiant warmth, well, she just feels like dying. Maybe Algore is right, she thinks. Maybe people do hate Summer.

We didn't always ignore her. When we were kids, we couldn't wait for her to arrive. By the time she just started packing her things and turning the keys back to the landlord of the apartment she sublets every winter in Sydney, we were anxious for her return. We watched for her out the windows of our homes and the windows of our schools. In fact, May was a mess as we counted down the days between whatever day it was and the day she would finally arrive. After all, when Summer returned that meant we could stay outside later, swim longer, sleep later, and lose track of time. Winter makes you keep the time. Summer? She doesn't even wear a watch. She does love hammocks though, unlike Winter- he can barely stand the sight of them.



Summer is everything to us in our youth. We know exactly when she's going to show up, and we dread the day she leaves. My younger brother was a particular fan of summer, and at a young age he seemed to know her better than I ever did. I spent my summers playing in much the same fashion, but I was a busy boy, always in a hurry to grow up. When some children spent their adolescent evenings falling in love under the Summer stars, I was doing simple math, figuring how much I'd need to save in order to go to college and buy a car. When some kids day dreamed, they drew childish pictures on paper. I drew numbers and dollar signs and charted how many lawns my hired help could mow in a single day. It's not that I didn't love Summer then, I just took her for granted. My younger brother didn't have time for work, instead preferring to acknowledge Summer in a way that I never really did. He'd wake up on Summer mornings and eat cereal. Then he'd watch cartoons. And then he'd put on his swim shorts, and he'd swim. Whether it was Tuesday or Saturday, the routine was the same.



He didn't swim for an hour or two. He swam for the entire day. As long as Summer was sharing her warmth, he would indulge her, and he would swim. It was more of a wallow, mixed with floating and diving, but he was always in the water. He laid claim to the shallows at the Loch Vista Club pier, and we'd affectionately (jeeringly) call him a walrus. Or a seal if we were being kind. That was when seals were seals and Heidi Klum had no interest in them. And it wasn't only because of his build, it was because he was always either in the water, just out of the water, or just about to go back into the water. He played a mean game of Marco Polo. My grandmother would sit in the cool shade of the pier and sing (unknowingly) perverse songs about diving between the legs of bowl-legged women, and my little brother would swim.

My brother, one of the biggest fans of Summer I ever knew, doesn't even know her name any more. I doubt he'd recognize her if he ever did take the time to look. Summer comes and Summer goes, and my younger, now grown brother hardly notices. I shouldn't say that, because he complains that the place he works gets too hot in the summer. He sweats a lot at his job, and I imagine he curses Summer on those days when she's particularly assertive. I used to do the same, but during my four month long shouting match with Winter, I realized something about Summer. I saw her in a different light than I had previously. Like a girl you've known for a long time, but she just did her hair differently and that little tweak compounded her beauty ten fold. I always liked Summer, but I haven't always respected her.

Chances are, you've been neglecting Summer too. Treating her like she's just another season. Lumping her in the same category as Spring (with her multiple personalities), and Winter with his steely exterior. Worse yet, our nonchalant attitude towards her may very well be affecting how our children view her. Instead of letting our children be children, we encourage and back-slap to the point of fault. Too many sporting events, too much structure. Lazy summer days at the lake should be hallmark of any privileged childhood, yet as parents we've over-scheduled the joy right out of Summer. We've made those lazy afternoons where naps come easily after a morning spent swimming, fishing, and sunning, all too difficult to schedule. People with summer homes can be guilty of it, and people without summer homes use their schedules as an excuse as to why they shouldn't buy. Too busy with this and too busy with that. As if being over-scheduled is a badge and special blue ribbons await those with the most ink on their Pottery Barn calendars. Tennis practice for the kids on Wednesday, baseball on Saturday, football on Sunday. Curling on Monday. And don't forget all that Wii playing in-between. The very Summers that are the source of extreme, pleasant nostalgia for many of us are the same Summers that we schedule right out of existence for our own children.

We live our lives as though we're immortal, turning an inattentive shoulder to the proven fact that our lives are short, and our Summers even shorter. In the same paradoxical breath, we pretend to understand that life is a gift, and no one is promised today, let alone tomorrow. Our actions and willing nonchalance towards Summer proves that we may speak like we understand the fleeting nature of life, but our schedules continually adjust for a tomorrow that is never promised, but always scheduled.



I have an idea. Let's welcome Summer back this year. Let's not just exist in our Summer, let's own it. Let's put out signs and banners and welcome her with lit charcoal grills, open arms and shirtless backs. Let's beat back our schedules so that Summer can mean something- not only for us, but for our children. Let's take back our Summers. Let's stop throwing her down the stairs. Let's stop treating her like she's just another season. In the very best of situations, we have around 80 summers that we're all hoping to enjoy in life. Yet, time and time again, we tell Summer to just hold on a bit. We'll be ready for her someday, but not now. Maybe next year. Then we'll have time for her. Then, when we're too old to thoroughly enjoy her, then we'll make time. We promise.

Take back your Summer. She's been waiting this whole time, ready to forgive and forget. She won't brow beat you for ignoring her for the past umpteen years, and she won't shame you into admitting that you've yet to introduce your own children to her. She's waiting with her tanned shoulders and the last bites of a summer night ice cream cone that's melting over the paper napkin and down her fingers. She's there, ready to entertain, ready to thrill, and I know from personal experience, Lake Geneva is one of her very favorite haunts. Oh, and I just talked with her- she'll be here in 86 days.

Rumor has it that the Oak trees that surround Geneva Lake kept Mayor Daley and his family from vacationing at Lake Geneva. I've rarely heard of someone being allergic to an Oak tree, but apparently the younger Daley's sister was allergic to the trees that surrounded a vacation home the family once owned in Country Club Estates. And so they sold that house and moved to the dunes where nary a tree could be found. If Daley and family didn't like the Oak trees in Fontana, then they certainly wouldn't like the exclusive association known as Oak Glen on the north shore of Geneva Lake. Their Oak tree intolerance is your gain, because although most people have never heard of this enclave, it's a real gem.


Geographically speaking, this association is quite ideal. The location off of prestigious North Shore Drive is both glamorous and yet rustic, positioned roughly half way between Cedar Point Park and Knollwood. Upon leaving Aspen Lane (the association's private drive), you could head East and within six minutes be downtown Lake Geneva, or you could head West and be in Williams Bay within three. The association is private, but the location is still convenient to restaurants, shopping, and general aimless wandering. At one point in my nomadic existence, I lived not more than a half mile from this house, and thoroughly enjoyed walking (driving) down North Shore Drive often. Watch this video I shot this winter where I drive through Williams Bay and Cedar Point and ultimately end up at the Knollwood lakefront. The stretch of windy road that looks quite private is North Shore Drive (starts at 2:50). The video is pretty lame, but just trust me, the road is really nice.

Oak Glen is made up of only five homes, and all homes share a 70' lakefront park and private, decidedly uncrowded, pier. The real bonus is that each home has a transferable boatslip. Since Aspen Lane is a private road, golf carts are permitted, even though all of the homes are within easy walking distance of the lake. Whereas most associations around the lake are quite old, Oak Glen is relatively new in comparison, with home construction taking place largely in the 1970's and 1980's. The lots are larger, and so are the residences. Homes in this association have typically sold between $600k and $900k.



A home in Oak Glen just came on the market yesterday, and it's a winner. The home is quite large, with an almost lodge like quality, and though it's a far cry from the cottage designs that are near and dear to my heart, I really do like this house. With four bedrooms, four baths, a three car garage, 80' long deck, and four fireplaces (great winter house), it has room for even the largest family and gobs and gobs of entertaining space. The house is positioned on North Shore Drive, so while it is further from the lake than the other homes, the location on North Shore gives it a bit of prestige, and the golf cart ride to the lake still only takes a couple of minutes. Priced at $795k, it's not only a good deal, it's a great deal. Normally I think most list prices are intolerable, but this price is right in line with the current market, and will help this house sell fairly quickly. Besides the fact that I never lie to my customers, this home isn't even my own listing, so you know I'm telling the truth.

So who's the prototypical Oak Glen buyer? It's probably someone who has been looking at cottages in the area and doesn't find the size constraints to their liking. Someone who wants to be by the water and have a boatslip, but who isn't willing to sacrifice square footage in order to do so. Since this house is of modern construction, renovations and alterations will more than likely be limited to cosmetic issues, including paint, flooring, and finishes. It's a great house in an even better location, and if you've been contemplating a vacation home at Lake Geneva in this price range, it's well worth your time.

If you were just about to call me to buy a very expensive home in Abbey Springs, well, then, crud. I have some harsh words for Abbey Springs, and writing this feels very much like how I imagine my mother felt when she'd spank me and then mumble something about it hurting her more than it hurt me. In other words, this pains me to write, but not really.

Abbey Springs may be in for a rough year. After a blistering 2009, Abbey Springs turned the calendar to January 2010 with two deals already pending, leading almost everyone to believe the pace of 2009 was no fluke and that 2010 promised more of the same. Fast forward to the first of March, and there doesn't appear to be a single unit pending in Abbey Springs (per MLS). Inventory has swelled from around a dozen properties in early January to 29 properties on the market today. I wrote earlier this year about what I saw as a troubling pricing trend, and rather than my trend identification radar being a bit off mark, it proved to be as finely tuned as advertised. The influx of 2010 inventory has largely come to the market at prices that are more reminiscent of 2007 than they are 2010, and that just might be a problem.



Last year, many Abbey Springs properties sold at buyer pleasing levels, even though several did sell for prices that would have been stiff even for 2007, successfully bucking the broader market trends. This year, it appears as though sellers are thoroughly convinced that the broader market softness isn't able to extend past the front gates of Abbey Springs. I have a feeling they're going to be wrong.

It's not just me with this opinion it seems, as I would guess we'd have several properties under contract now if the recently added inventory had come on at prices more in touch with buyers and their hesitant ways. Abbey Springs is lucky to have 29 properties on the open market, as that inventory is of good quality and boasts plenty of options in each pricing segment of the market there. To be fair, some of the entry level properties in AS have dropped quite a bit in price and buyers aren't exactly gnashing their teeth to buy those either, so the lack of activity may be more a symptom of time of year and buyer complacency than an indictment of the current pricing structure within Abbey Springs.



Even so, I think Abbey Spring has some adjusting to do- particularly in the upper reaches of the market there that includes properties priced between $500k and $1MM. Of course, in the very real Lake Geneva grudge match between affluent sellers and affluent buyers, more times than not volume will suffer long before sellers agree to reduce their asking prices. For buyers watching this spectacle with a wary eye or two, don't lose hope. If you'll remember a post I wrote last year about list prices in Lake Geneva and how they compare to sales prices, you'll recall that even sellers who are unwilling to reduce their asking prices may actually negotiate deals that buyers will find acceptable. So even though asking prices may be higher than buyers would like, there's a chance that final sales prices may be much more realistic.

I'll be curious to see what happens in Abbey Springs over the next 75 days. By then we'll be frolicking in mid-May, buyers who have bought will be gearing up for summer, and buyers who have not will be pouring more chlorine into their suburban pools, and maybe buying a new trampoline, and we'll have a great idea as to how successful the spring selling season was. If prices sag at Abbey Springs as sellers attempt to attract buyers, and AS registers a few deals as a result, that will be a welcome development. If sellers remain resolute and price reductions don't occur, it'll be interesting to see what the result is. Will buyers negotiate deals and find actual sales prices are to their liking? Or will prices remain stiff, and will buyers remain aloof, allowing volume to complete dry up in Abbey Springs, even as March turns to April and April gives way to May? Only time will tell, but all signs point to a very intriguing spring at Abbey Springs.

(This rerun is from a post I wrote last summer about entertaining, Lake Geneva style. If only more of my city friends would understand this...)

You have little doubt figured out that I love food. I love cooking food. Eating food. Reading about food, as my subscriptions to Saveur, Food and Wine, Bon Appetit, and Gourmet attest. Talking about food. I think people who don't like to eat food live miserably lonely existences (not unlike the life that Michigan accuses me of leading), and it's a certainty that their dull, uninterested palates leave their soul craving the spice that their mouth forbids. It's the best time in our history to be a foodie, and I find myself far from alone in my pursuit. I may in fact be the only Realtor in Walworth county who has a whole pork belly hanging in my basement gloriously maturing into pancetta, and I'm certainly the only Realtor in Lake Geneva to have a whole pig outdoor rotisserie on order, but this love of all things food has pervaded our entire culture. Just this past weekend I was reading in the Trib magazine about the entertaining and pig roasting escapades of Chicago's own Steve Dolinsky, better known as the Hungry Hound to my Chicago friends. Steve has a block party in Bucktown every year, and throngs of people, including celebrity chef Rick Bayless, turn out to eat roast pig and other delicious accoutrements. It's a summer time party, full of laughter, wine, and kitsch. It's a bash that city folks might generally love, and country folks might generally abhor, but it's a bash no doubt. I get why it's fun. I get that it's cool. I would love to be invited, but I think I have a better idea.

Not that green indoor outdoor carpet lining a city alley doesn't sound campy and sort of cool, but I just can't shake the thought that there has to be a better venue for this sort of party. Warm alley breezes are certainly not on my list of must smells, and the heat that a city generates in the summer pervades every nook and cranny, no matter how strong the breeze may blow. The carpet can only cover so many potholes, and while eating succulent pig with friends and family is definitely my bag, there's just something missing. No matter how friendly neighbors are, and no matter how much wine flows, there's no escaping the heat. The heat that wafts through a city and provides a sweet smell as only neighborhood dumpsters, heated to the point of exhaustion can emanate. The party sounds great, but I think our Bucktown friends need to add a little lake to their lives.

I hope now I've sufficiently convinced you that I "get" the whole city block party thing. I hope you don't think I'm a countrified hick that just wouldn't understand the merits of a good old fashioned sweat fest in a back alley, because it does sound like fun to me. The problem is that I've enjoyed way too many food based bashes in my life, and I know where the best place to hold one is. Sweet alley, sweat inducing breezes are nice, but nothing beats a cool lake breeze on a hot August afternoon. Nothing beats the feeling of cool as you prepare food next to a lake that promises refreshment for all without a moments notice. A roasting pig, a few dozen friends, kahki shorts and loose white polo shirts, cradled lakeside on someone's real lawn, now that's perfection. See, city folks, I get the funky coolness of green indoor/outdoor carpet dressing up the alley, but don't you see that naturally cool green grass on the banks of a beautiful lake is so much more refreshing. The vacation home provides that, and the atmosphere and enjoyment experienced at a lakeside cookout is aggressively better than any city cookout imaginable.

This summer, let's put some real grass under foot. Let's relax on the shore, knowing that if it did indeed get a little too hot after working over a roast pig all afternoon, a dip in the lake is far more fun and festive than a cold tile lined shower could ever be. If you want to impress your friends and satisfy your neighbors, find a lake home, and move the alley bash to the shore, and see which party your friends speak more fondly of. (Rick and Steve, I'm talking to you). You guys are great, but you need to add more lake to your summer, and I don't mean the big angry green one.

The Olympics have been pretty tough on me. Well, not so much on me, but they've been tough on members of my family. You see, my in-laws reside in Canada. My sole brother in law also calls the "great" white north his home. While I'm not a huge hockey fan, I did grow up playing the game on the gravel and ice parking lot near the Williams Bay Field House. I played on the frozen lake as well, but there seemed to be more time spent on rink building than on actually playing hockey. With the help of my brothers, we'd shovel a rink on the ice in front of my parent's house. We'd form up "walls" made of snow, so as to contain the puck, and then we'd bring over buckets of water to turn those walls into ice. So that, in theory, the puck would deflect off the walls rather than become embedded into them. Now that I look back at it, we had loads of fun. Until the fun was over and someone was running up to the house crying because someone else hit them in the face with their Easton hockey stick. It wasn't me.

My hockey history substantiated, the hockey wars of this Olympics have driven a wedge between me and my previously affable Canadian brother in law. We exchange vicious text messages during the games, and my only response to his relentless barrage after the Canadian women beat the American women last night was simple and juvenile. At least our girls are prettier. And with that, he was silenced. Hopefully we'll have a gold medal bout on Sunday to heap insults upon one another, but for now, I choose to remember a more peaceful time in our relationship.


Last summer my brother in law and his family traveled south to the land of promise and I willingly provided him with a window into the utopic existence that is a David Curry dominated Lake Geneva summer. Oh, sure we went to Wrigley and stuffed our faces before and after at Bar Louis, and we played some golf at the splendid and varied Lake Geneva courses, but one summer morning, I really let him in on my secret. It must have been a Friday. The water was calm, the pier still dimpled with dew as we walked down to uncover the boat. Within minutes we were cruising over to Gage to pump some delicious $5 per gallon marina gasoline, and then slipped east along the north shore, towards the city of Lake Geneva. I pointed out what it is that I usually point out, and told stories about current and previous residents of the shore, many of which were true, others that I may only believe to be true. Psst. See that? That house has a foundation built of pirated gold. Not really.

My brother in law wasn't appreciating my eastward morning route, as in all of his Canadian inspired genius, he did not wear sunglasses on our journey. If you know many Canadians, this is classic Canadian behavior. They're so used to ice and cold and igloos and seals, that many times they will forget the proper accoutrements that Lake Geneva summers require. If we had been on a lesser lake, or just about any other lake in the Midwest (Chain- you're not a lake, you're a clogged up river), we would not have been able to do what we did next. Fearing for his ocular safety, we arrived in Lake Geneva, parked at the Riviera pier, and walked up Broad Street. Within a couple hundred feet of the boat we had two different stores that carried a plethora of sunglasses, some expensive and some cheap, and within moments he had purchased a pair of super sweet black plastic frames, complete with a skull on the widest part of the arms. The skull was also on fire. Canadians...

Having successfully avoided any permanent retina damage, we bought a couple boat drinks and happily strolled back to the pier. We proceeded south along the east bank of Lake Geneva, where I lobbed a nice little story about Tony Rezko and our president and their Stone Manor connection at him, and then further south past Maytag Point and beyond Big Foot Beach. We followed the shape of the lake west, never wavering from my preferred lane, just a hundred feet beyond the slow-no-wake buoys. I couldn't see any joy in my young compadre's eyes during that stretch of our trip, but only because I was so distracted by the burning skull.



We stopped at the South Shore Club piers and walked up the gracious lannon stone steps towards the lavish clubhouse. The pool was empty on that Friday morning, but the lifeguard sat in her chair, with the Lake Geneva sun on her bronze shoulders, and a beach book in her hand. I thought that should have been me some 16 years earlier, but instead I was out mowing lawns 5 days a week. Ah, a youth wasted with work. Such is life. We walked a little more, my brother in law pretending not to be impressed by the structures and the lifestyle that this gorgeous development certainly affords, until it was time to move on.

Back into the boat to continue our journey westward toward Fontana. It was nearing noon by now, and the sun that had previously attempted to blind my young companion was now content, high above us, warming our shoulders and burning the tips of our noses. There's something about a Lake Geneva sun burn that never bothers me, and that day, as I felt the subtle sting, I didn't fight it one bit. By now my deck hand was enjoying himself thoroughly, and I could see that he was slowly being overtaken by the alluring pull of a Geneva Lake boat ride.

Never one to miss a meal, we pulled past Glenwood Springs a little before noon, which meant a lunch at Gordy's was eminent. We tied up to the north side of the Fontana pier, pulled the key from the ignition, stepped into our sandals, and walked to lunch. From this point we could have easily walked to any number of restaurants for lunch, Chuck's, Novak's, The Waterfront - all fine options, but a Yacht Club chicken wrap was on my mind, and for that, only Gordy's could accommodate. We sat and watched one of the pleasant oddities of a summer lunch at Gordy's- the seemingly never ending parade of Gordy's employees working the lakefront. Tanned, shirtless boys, and bikini wearing girls, each one more bronzed than the next. I imagined if I were a dermatologist I'd be sure to keep tabs on those employees, and sustain my business just by compiling a mailing list of those too-tan summer loving kids.



Lunch that day was nothing short of fabulous. An order of Calamari- which my brother in law had never previously tasted- followed by the aforementioned wrap, and within the hour we were walking back down that pier, where the boat remained tied, like a resting stallion, eager to take us wherever we desired. We pushed off and proceeded north, then east, down the north shore of Fontana, to the very tip of Conference Point. By this time, it must have been around 1:30 pm, and we had sufficiently ignored numerous, rather annoying, joy killing telephone calls from our wives. As we rounded the point and sped closer to the Loch Vista Club pier, there they were. Angry to be watching a throng of children while we gallivanted around the lake without a remembered care in the world. The trip was over a mere three hours after it had began.


The point of this seemingly nonsensical drivel? Not so much the boat ride itself, but what we were able to do on that ride. Geneva is full of opportunity for those seeking to spend some real time on the water. Other lakes in the area and in the Midwest are downright small. Consider that a lake like Middle Lake is a mere 257 acres. Geneva? 5264 acres. The dining options available to someone out on the water, or a lakefront or association owner who wishes to go for a boat ride to find lunch and/ or dinner are profound. Fischer's, The Grandview, Gordy's, Chuck's, The Waterfront, Popeye's, Scuttlebutt's, Harpoon Willies, and Cafe Calamari are all waterfront restaurants, easily accessible by boat. For someone looking to tie up downtown Lake Geneva, there are literally a dozen more dining options that await within a three or four minute walk from the boat.

While a boat ride in and of itself is usually plenty of fun for most people, Geneva offers even more when you consider the dining and shopping options that are available from water based transportation. Other lakes? Not so much. The overwhelming majority of Midwestern lakes are less than 400 acres in total size, which is severely limiting no matter how you slice it, to say nothing of the dizzying affect of long boat rides (around and around and around...) With 5264 glorious acres, Geneva is not only aesthetically stimulating, the size combined with the natural beauty, added to the myriad dining and shopping opportunities available along its' shores, creates a summer playground of epic proportions. So even if you forget your sunglasses like my Canadian friend, Lake Geneva's got you covered. See you at the lake.