As we drove by the old house I said to the farmer, "I've always loved old houses like that. I wonder what it looks like on the inside." He looked over at me sitting in the passenger seat, "Want to check it out?" I nodded excitedly & he pulled into the yard of the old house. It was one of his relative's home's from sometime back in the day. From the outside, it was just a basic little farmhouse. Wooden exterior, two front doors, a wide porch. It was so simple, yet so pleasant. I moved through the wildflowers and the farmer helped me up onto the porch. "Wow. I feel like I just stepped back in time." I walked through the door and fell in love. Suddenly I forgot my farmer was there and I was whisked away back to a simpler time. The original flooring was in perfect condition, I marveled at how beautiful it could be if it was polished and cleaned up a little. The old bathroom was still intact. It was as if whoever lived there last had just gotten done with a shave on a Sunday morning and just left the house. The razor was still in the sink.
I went into the living room next. An old recliner sat by the fireplace and above the mantle was a photo of Jesus. I walked around the living room touching every piece of history. I felt like I could almost see a family living there and I could feel them going through daily life. I sat on the living room floor and ran my fingers across some misplaced floral tile on the floor. This place was beautiful.
I then went to the dining-room where the black and white checkered wallpaper (if I'm remembering correctly?) was still on the wall. I stood looking out the window. Someone ate dinner here, they ate breakfast here, they looked out this same window as I am right now. That's so exciting to me!
I turned to the kitchen which still had the cabinets and looked as if someone had just prepared to can some goodies. There were jars everywhere! This kitchen was a time capsule. Clothes still hung in the wardrobe!
I took so many photos that day but can't find a single one for some reason. 😢
Months later we were driving the tractor down the road and I took the photo you see in this post. I didn't know that would be the last photo I ever got of the old house. When we rode back by, it was being torn down by an excavator. Now me being the historical nut that I am, I was heartbroken, I pressed my nose to the window and cried. All that history, gone. All those memories, forgotten. The house, gone. I was devastated. But in the weeks following I spent some time cleaning up the yard. I realized that memories were in the home, yes. But many more memories were in the yard. I called some friends who are great with metal detecting. We found coins where the front porch was, we found an old mason jar lid with a picture of a farmer on it, I found an old oven rack and an old mayonnaise jar lid. We also found a wooden cross there in the yard. The lot we live on is full of memories and good times, you just have to open your eyes to them. There have been many times that I just sit on my steps and look out over the old oak tree and think of all the memories that I don't even know about that have happened on our little farm. It is wonderful to know so much history has happened on the ground that I walk on every single day.
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