I enjoyed this. I grew up in an 1800's farmhouse that my father renovated. We discovered so many things while he was tearing it apart room-by-room. I especially loved the upstairs, which was finished later, when I was older and could appreciate its eccentricities more. My own home is from the 1940's and was a bungalow 60 miles outside NYC. It has taken me almost 20 years but maintenance requirements have finally led me to every corner of the house over that span. The last undiscovered bit was behind an old rusted out oil tank with a new Roth stainless. A few years ago I found a Polaroid of a little girl behind a tool pegboard in the garage, along with a note in crayon. I don't remember what it said. I should have kept it. She has to be in her 30's now. Wonder who she is and if she's OK. I heard the couple who had the house before me divorced after some financial troubles.
More pure delight. Your perspective always opens a door gone unnoticed while you take us on a journey across the transom of thoughtful insight.
Living in a hundred+ year old house for nearly 30 years has brought its share of connection to previous owners. Happily, our fingerprints will be left for those who follow and have even left a few hidden messages for the finding❤️
What a treasure this piece is. Perhaps the physical place or thing initiates the link, but it's the people and their living that make the story. Beautiful writing.
What a marvelously evocative piece... thank you. Somehow I missed the email announcing its publishing yesterday and I'm glad I did, because I've now been able to read the many touching comments written by the other readers inspired by your prose.
I felt as if I was at my grandmothers house, hiding in her closet from my sisters during a game of hide ‘n seek. The closet was full of her clothes and held dozens of boxes on the shelves. It was dark and musty. We wanted to but never opened the boxes. The smell has stayed with me for over 55 years. When she died, we opened those boxes to find yards and yards of fabric, buttons, zippers and lace for clothes she never made. Still in good condition, the fabric landed with a women’s group at her church and became lap quilts for the elderly. I wish I had one of those quilts. Great column Mike.
You have this way off articulating that thing that I think of which I am wholly unable to communicate myself. (Sorry, mouthful.)
Another gem.
Yes, please. I'll have much more of this, Mike.
I enjoyed this. I grew up in an 1800's farmhouse that my father renovated. We discovered so many things while he was tearing it apart room-by-room. I especially loved the upstairs, which was finished later, when I was older and could appreciate its eccentricities more. My own home is from the 1940's and was a bungalow 60 miles outside NYC. It has taken me almost 20 years but maintenance requirements have finally led me to every corner of the house over that span. The last undiscovered bit was behind an old rusted out oil tank with a new Roth stainless. A few years ago I found a Polaroid of a little girl behind a tool pegboard in the garage, along with a note in crayon. I don't remember what it said. I should have kept it. She has to be in her 30's now. Wonder who she is and if she's OK. I heard the couple who had the house before me divorced after some financial troubles.
❤️
Series? YES PLEASE.
awww what a lovely story. love the history of old houses. the door bell silencer is a wonderful thing!
More pure delight. Your perspective always opens a door gone unnoticed while you take us on a journey across the transom of thoughtful insight.
Living in a hundred+ year old house for nearly 30 years has brought its share of connection to previous owners. Happily, our fingerprints will be left for those who follow and have even left a few hidden messages for the finding❤️
What a treasure this piece is. Perhaps the physical place or thing initiates the link, but it's the people and their living that make the story. Beautiful writing.
Nostalgia is a potent hypnotic. Smoke ‘em if you got ‘em.
What a marvelously evocative piece... thank you. Somehow I missed the email announcing its publishing yesterday and I'm glad I did, because I've now been able to read the many touching comments written by the other readers inspired by your prose.
Looking forward to continuing the journey.
So good.
Great piece. Please write more! Will be along for the journey 🙂
I felt as if I was at my grandmothers house, hiding in her closet from my sisters during a game of hide ‘n seek. The closet was full of her clothes and held dozens of boxes on the shelves. It was dark and musty. We wanted to but never opened the boxes. The smell has stayed with me for over 55 years. When she died, we opened those boxes to find yards and yards of fabric, buttons, zippers and lace for clothes she never made. Still in good condition, the fabric landed with a women’s group at her church and became lap quilts for the elderly. I wish I had one of those quilts. Great column Mike.
This was very nice. Very very good and so was the long piece before. I like this shit Hoarse.
I love this!
Mike, Given your musical tastes, I think you'd like the song version of this story: Depreston by Courtney Barnett.