Tom Riecken and Mackenzie Powell thought they had found their perfect home on Whidbey Island—an escape from rising Seattle temperatures, a chance to raise their young son Robby closer to nature. However, their dream soon clouded with the discovery of an uninvited housemate—thousands of bats living in the attic. Initially, they were prepared to deal with the dust, debris, and odors, remaining hopeful even amidst surprises like Edward, the bat they found while renovating. Yet, they had underestimated the infestation.
The couple had bought the house thinking it required merely some sweat equity, but they were unaware that it was unfit for human occupancy, a fact hidden during its purchase from the previous owner's estate. Meanwhile, bats had found the house to be an ideal refuge. Featuring a unique architecture with skip sheathing allowing easy movement and ventilation, the structure offered safety akin to the forested surroundings it was perched upon. Common species, such as big brown bats, used this space for their maternity roosts, a comfort shattered by Riecken and Powell's renovation project.
Initially, the couple was unaware of the scale of the issue as most bats were migratory and not present during their inspection. However, local experts estimated thousands of bats residing in their walls, evidence of which dated back to previous attempts at selling the house. This discovery sparked an expensive and complicated removal process. In Washington, bats are protected creatures, necessitating humane methods to exclude them. Faced with a four-figure quote for bat removal and no support from insurance due to the 'preexisting' nature of the problem, Riecken and Powell were forced into action while dealing with the emotional strain of a potential rabies exposure.
Their situation was exacerbated by laws around property sales from estates which do not require disclosure of defects, a critical fact they only learned too late. Aside from seeking help from a variety of experts and state officials, they leveraged community support, drawing media attention and turning to social media to raise funds and awareness. They named their bats, crafted bat-related outreach, and became accidental advocates for these misunderstood creatures, all while chronicling their efforts. Riecken, armed with newly acquired bat-catching skills, and Lunnum's guidance from the local bat sanctuary, gradually resumed control of their home.
The journey forged new relationships on Whidbey Island, as Riecken and Powell became known as 'the family from the bat house.' Months passed with constant vigilance as they worked to meet habitability standards. Even as they returned to their home, their apprehension lingered, especially when a rabid bat was found nearby—the irony of living in a home once deemed unlivable was not lost on them. Despite the fear of burning through savings and mounting debts, they were hopeful that it would all eventually be worthwhile.
As Riecken reflected on the trials and newfound community, sending the proverbial message that even under siege from nature, dreams of living a magical life in such a setting seemed closer to reality. It was a hard-learned lesson of resilience and coexistence.
