Month: April 2015

The Spirit of a House

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Fireplace Before

As the renovation project continues I’ve spent a lot of time on a ladder, paintbrush or putty knife in hand, thinking.

We moved into this house in 1967 when I was 11 years old.  We drove by this house every Sunday for years before because my mother lusted after it in a huge way.  Why, I do not know and never will.

On moving day we were allowed to pick out our bedrooms (although I have an idea they were already picked out for us).  The exception being the room I’m currently doing which is adjacent to the bathroom.  The master bedroom, also known as the creepiest room in the house.

I believe an old houses has a spirit that is palpable when you walk into it.  I think it’s part of the appeal to those of us who live and love these old places.  We can feel the lives that have been lived in them.  The house in Enfield is truly one of the happiest buildings I have ever been in.  Friends have commented on it and it’s the reason we fell in love with it.  Good things had happened in that place over it’s 176 year life.

The house on Fort Pelham Farm is not the same kind of place.  I felt it the minute I walked in 48 years ago.  It has some bad juju and we all know it, just ask my siblings.  I’ve done the genealogy of the place trying to figure out what could possibly have happened here that could give it such a sad vibe.  You know, it’s not just sad, it’s a little angry as well.  I’ve never found anything in particular and sometimes think it’s spirit comes from neglect or “improvements”done by people who knew not what they were doing or were just plain lazy.

Bill and I have done a lot to this place over the past few years.  In the back of my mind I’m hoping that renovating in a thoughtful way will help to disperse some of the bad vibes that have been felt here over the years.  The living room, with its 3 year project coming to a close was the scene of friends dancing on its expansive floor before furniture was returned.  Walls had been replaced, sanding, painting and general TLC had come to an end with a smudge stick of sage from the garden burned to exorcise the demons.  I truly believe the act of lovingly breathing new life into the building itself helped its spirit.  That and lots of laughter with family and friends.

Upstairs the woodwork has been painted, the plaster patched, the wallpaper begins to go up today.  Just painting has made the room feel lighter.  I think as we continue to improve the structure itself and bring in laughter and love the spirit of the place can change.  Once the garden is in full swing I will also be rolling a couple more sage smudge sticks because you never know.

Signs of Spring

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150403 Redwing Blackbirds (4)

Nothing says spring to me like the sound of a redwing blackbird.  The past few days they have been in my yard by the hundreds

150403 Redwing Blackbirds (7)

They’ve been cleaning up around the feeders.

150403 Redwing Blackbirds (8)

Although there’s safety in numbers they are a cautious lot and spend much of their time landing and taking off.

150403 Redwing Blackbirds (9)

The sight and sounds are amazing.  Add it to a 60 degree day and I can almost breathe a sigh of relief but there’s still way too much snow.  Mud season has only reached my driveway.

 

Lace

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140325 Huck (2)

 

I grew up and currently live in a town with a population of a little over 300 people.  Although many of the faces have changed over the years I still am connected to the people who were a part of my childhood.  I remember when I was in the sixth grade there was a total of 32 kids in the entire school.  We didn’t have a third grade that year because there weren’t any kids that age.  My mother was “the chief cook and bottle washer” (her words) at the school so I remember the number of people she fed daily.

To say we were close with our peers at the time doesn’t really do justice to what our relationships were.  Yes, we went to school every week day.  We all were involved in 4-H in one way or another.  We spent time at each other’s homes, knew their parents, their extended families.  It was as though we were all related.  I figure there’s about a 15 year span on either side of my age of people I feel a certain closeness to.  These are people I always felt I knew better than the people I went to high school with.  When we are reunited for one reason or another it’s more than seeing a long ago friend, it’s more like reunion with a family member you haven’t seen in quite some time.  We have a tight, collective history.

I always think of my life as a woven piece of fabric.  As time goes by weft threads are added that represent the relationships I have.  Family, friends, acquaintances are all represented in one way or another. When I lose someone who is part of my life it creates a hole in the fabric itself.  Sometimes it ravels a little, sometimes the hole is so large it threatens to undermine the integrity of the fabric itself.  In the past few months three people I grew up with have died, all in their early 50’s.  It initially comes as a shock and for me it puts a little hole in the fabric.  Those holes are also where their threads end.  What initially starts as a fine fabric builds into a heavy, substantial cloth and I feel as though by the time it’s done it will be a beautiful lace.  With time the holes become less ragged and are transformed by memories into something beautiful.