Why twelve streets

I spent my first three years in real estate the usual way: chasing leads across four towns, learning a little about a lot of places. The year I sold a house two doors down from my own, I noticed something. I had priced it right on the first try, I knew which inspector to call, and I knew the buyers would want the story about the cherry tree out back. None of that came from a database.

So I quit the four towns and kept the twelve streets. Fenwick Park is small enough to know completely and lively enough that knowing it matters. I walk it most mornings. I have watched roofs go on and porches come off, and when a house here sells without a sign ever going up, I usually know why.

Pick a neighborhood you love, then be honest about it. That is the whole method.

Honest means telling a seller their asking price is a year of Saturdays wasted. It means telling a buyer that the prettiest kitchen on the block sits over the dampest basement. It costs me a commission now and then. It is also why most of my clients arrive already knowing my name.

When something needs doing outside my twelve, I will say so and hand you to an agent who works that ground the way I work mine.