At the end of a quiet dead-end road in Sandisfield, this c.1892 four-bedroom farmhouse sits less than twenty feet from the wild and scenic West Branch of the Farmington River, a federally protected, free-flowing trout river. Four bedrooms. Two full baths plus a half. 2,516 sq ft. 4.61 acres. Beautifully transformed interior: a granite-island kitchen rebuilt from the ground up, wide softwood floors, working brick fireplace, cast-iron clawfoot tub, first-floor primary opening through French doors to a stone patio, stairs to lawn and river. Kitchen and dining open to a deck over the water. Quarry-granite three-car garage, studio cottage with grandfathered footprint, and a second river parcel with 19th-century mill history included. Flood Zone A12, elevation certificate available.

The river is twenty feet from the back door. Not a view of the river, not near the river. The river, close enough that you fall asleep to it in summer and wake to it in winter, when the ice shelf forms along the near bank and the hawks work the open water downstream. This is the thing about 14 Roosterville Road that no description fully prepares you for: the Farmington is not an amenity. It is the address.

The sellers transformed the interior thoughtfully and well. Wide softwood floors, exposed ceiling beams, and a working brick fireplace anchor the living room, which easily holds two seating areas.

The kitchen was rebuilt from the ground up with a granite island, slate-grey open cabinetry, and windows on three sides that keep the hills and water present while you cook. It is the heart the house always deserved. The kitchen and dining room open onto a deck over the river. The first-floor primary bedroom opens through French doors to a stone patio, with stairs down to the lawn and the Farmington just beyond. Up the painted black-and-white staircase: three more bedrooms, a family room, and a full bath. Two full baths total, one with a classic cast-iron clawfoot tub, one newly tiled. Propane hot water heat through a Viessmann boiler. High-speed internet.

Spring means trout stocked at the Clark Road Bridge, right at the property's edge, while hawks and bald eagles work the calm flat water below the house. Nights belong to the fire pit and the sound of the river under a sky without light pollution. Across the road, a neighbor's hay fields roll toward a long mountain view. The property abuts Army Corps of Engineers land on the river side, no development possible, ever, and connects without crossing private land to an old stagecoach trail and the climbing ledges of Hanging Mountain.

This stretch of Roosterville Road exists because of two floods. The first came in 1938, the second in the twin hurricanes of 1955. Together they buried the old road that once ran through here and left this place at the end of a quiet dead-end, closer to the river than to the rest of the world. It is one of those rare cases where a natural disaster produced something worth keeping.

The outbuildings are exceptional. The three-car garage is built of hand-cut quarry granite, the feather marks of the quarrymen's tools still visible in the stone. The Little House, a sweet clapboard cottage with a grandfathered footprint, has served as a painting studio. What it becomes next is entirely up to you: guest suite, Airbnb, home office, art studio, or something not yet imagined.

Included in the sale is a second parcel just north of the Clark Road Bridge, once the site of a Trip Hammer Shop and Saw-Mill advertised in the Connecticut Courant in 1833. The old mill channels and stonework are still legible in the earth. It is a remarkable piece of history to walk, and a beautiful private place to sit by the water.

This property is located in FEMA Zone A12. Flood insurance is required for mortgaged purchases and advised for all. An elevation certificate is available.

In 1918, a young Italian immigrant named Dominic Campetti, who had once sailed back across the Atlantic to find his sweetheart Caterina Consolati and convince her to begin a life with him in America, purchased the old Elizur Deming Farm on this stretch of the Farmington River. Their descendants farmed it for years after. In the cellar, beneath a trap door in the corner of a first-floor closet, hard cider barrels once kept company with a 50-gallon press and loyal customers from miles around. The state police came. The Berkshire Evening Eagle covered it with evident local enjoyment.

The trap door is still there.

The river is still there.

The next chapter is yours.

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