How I Sold My House on Facebook Marketplace in Three Days (2025)

My house in Marshfield village was small and a century old — hardly deluxe. But when I decided to move last fall, I had a feeling I'd have no trouble selling it.

I settled on an asking price of $225,000, which seemed fair for a cute but aging structure with few modern conveniences, nor space for them. But I knew that would be considered a bargain. A three-bedroom home under $350,000 is a rarity in the coveted "missing middle" category of Vermont's overheated housing market.

I thought briefly about hiring a real estate agent, but it seemed like a lot of money for something I could do myself. I'd bought the place without an agent in 2020 after learning about it from friends — the way a lot of homes seem to change hands in small-town Vermont — and it had never been listed on the MLS.

Instead, I decided to post my home on Facebook Marketplace and Craigslist. I'd listed a lot of stuff with success on the former, from light fixtures to rug-hooking wool, and I reasoned it couldn't hurt to use the latter.

My first step in the process was a photo shoot. I boxed up my knickknacks, art supplies, kids' artwork, and a picture gallery of long-gone dogs and cats. Mindful that strangers would soon be viewing the tiny bedroom I used as a walk-in closet, I stashed most of my clothes in the car. I pushed a bunch of bike tools under a bed and recycled a few of my grown kids' books and other stuff. (Kids, if you're reading this: It was time.)

For my neighbors' sake, I wanted the house to go to people who would live there, not to part-time residents or investors. So when I wrote a description, I mentioned the close-knit community and the school bus stop, just steps away.

The house is warm and cozy, with nearly an acre of lawn and gardens and a huge flowering crab apple tree out front, but it has issues. There's no dishwasher in the outdated kitchen, nor counter space to roll out a piecrust. Many Vermonters will not be surprised to hear that the basement is floored with concrete, dirt and rocks — but home shoppers from New York and Massachusetts were. The floors are sloped, and the stairs are steep.

The bright side: The neighbors are friendly, there are a lot of activities at the nearby town library, and the house is in a great location, just a few minutes from the railbed that leads to Groton State Forest. The backyard is a portal to thousands of acres of woods, largely untouched by roads.

Months after posting my ads, I'd received only a few responses on Craigslist, most of them spam. But about 30 seconds after the listing hit Facebook, my phone started to buzz.

Most messages were urgent and friendly: Could they see the house right now? Could they drive up from Rhode Island tomorrow? Some were beseeching: Could I do owner financing? Rent-to-own? A huge price cut?

Many callers seemed to know without being told that I hoped to find a buyer who would be present in the community. They described themselves accordingly. Others did not intuit as much. A few people called from southern New England wondering if the house would make a good short-term rental; I said it would not.

Some skiers who must have been pretty desperate — the closest ski area is Burke Mountain, 45 minutes away — peppered me with questions about local dining and attractions, of which there are practically none, unless you count Sunday pickleball and the waterfall up the road.

One Massachusetts resident seeking a place near Mad River Glen drove up to Vermont anyway and was visibly shocked at the rural setting where he found himself. He left without touring the house.

I expected to hear from people who had lost their homes in last summer's Plainfield flooding, but only one stopped by. A neighbor displaced by that flood told me that as much as she wants to buy a house, she'd never again live on a hillside like mine, under threat of potential runoff. (In the spirit of full disclosure, I showed buyers where and how I pumped out the basement after the 2023 flood and warned, "It will happen again.")

It was unnerving to have the interior of my home visible to all on Facebook, but it was also rather festive. Strangers messaged me solely to say they liked the wall colors and décor, including a one-of-a-kind recliner that my daughter Sophie reupholstered. A long-ago Associated Press colleague in upstate New York saw the posting and got in touch to say hello. Work contacts galore mentioned the house — or my blue couch — in between otherwise mundane topics.

The listing exposed some of the craziness that our tight housing supply has created. A guy in the Philippines phoned from an outfit called sold.com that's buying up homes for institutional investors. He claimed the company wanted to make a cash offer and could send a "local expert," a Realtor from St. Albans, to inspect the house the next day. I declined. I don't understand how, with no contacts, no manager and no other nearby inventory, a remote investor could make a profit selling or renting the place.

I posted the ad on a Wednesday. Within the first 24 hours, I heard from several dozen people — a depressing reminder of how broken our economy is and how many Vermonters are waiting for a home.

By Saturday, I had two offers above asking price. I chose a young couple who have Vermont jobs and who graduated from North Carolina's Warren Wilson College, which my daughter attended — a random fact that immediately endeared them to me.

Placing the ads on Facebook and Craigslist was free — and allowed me to avoid paying a real estate agent a 3 percent seller's commission of $7,200. I did pay $1,000 to a lawyer who completed the transaction for me. And the buyers' agent, Libby Ratico, helpfully explained some of the contract language to me.

I care about Marshfield and feel good about the new owners. When I was chosen as the buyer for the house in May 2020, I felt as though I'd won a lottery; it was a prize that enabled me to continue living in this state. Last fall I sought to pass on my good fortune to someone else who wants to make a life here. Marshfield is still a place that feels like home, even though I'm ditching it to live in Barre, closer to work, town and friends.

Plot twist: I found my new home on Craigslist.