Left behind pieces

Our home is really a combination of more than one old house.  A common practice not too long ago.  You settled your land and built your home.  Your neighbor did the same and then you both farmed or ranched and made it work or not.  The one who didn’t make ‘it’ moved on to greener pastures leaving the home behind.  The neighbor left behind went and helped themselves to the left over house, moving it and adding it on to their home.  This old home has had at least 3 other homes pieces added on to it, which shows up in our roof line and the height of the attic floor.  It also explains why we have 3 front doors (although we can only get 2 opened), a door for very small people that does not work at all in the mud room, 3 porches, and no foundation under our pantry and cold storage room (which we call the ‘fat’ room as the walls are ‘fat’ being a foot thick).

Living in a historical home in a small town is a privilege and a responsibility.  We don’t feel like it is ‘our’ house, rather we are the home’s current caretaker.  It is our job to restore it, improve it where needed and share it with others.  We are so delighted with the comments and praise we’ve received for the hard work we’ve done so far.  Our home needed (and still needs) a lot of work.  The previous owner’s son came by and was impressed with the work we’d finished.  He expressed how grateful his parents were that we were willing to restore the home.  It pleased us both so much.

From one family to another…

On the kitchen porch a well used croquet set was left behind for our family.  Our lawn will host an incredible game of croquet!  Growing up, many of our family gatherings included a game of croquet and more than one of our mallets bore the mark of my brothers’ zealous competitions.  One of our projects here has been to remove a giant bush with lots of thorns.  It took a chain saw, a tractor and 4 days working on it to finally level the old bush.  Peaking out of the dirt was a spot of bright green.  Ah, the green croquet ball!  I can just imagine a bigger brother knocking his younger brother’s ball into the monster bush of thorns.  Slamming doors, crying to the parents, no one willing to dig for the ball.  It was gone… until now and another family takes their turn.