Today, October 6, 2012, my husband and I went to the Barn Party up the road. It was delightful…we met many neighbors, not common here: living on a busy road, we seldom meet each other. The hosts have owned their land for 195 years. This is not something I’m used to, 195 years ago, my ancestors were in Italy and Ireland.
The party included old neighbors and family members who no longer live in the neighborhood. Two of the women, the grand daughters of the owners of our home played here as children. I thought the former owner of our home, Clara, had only foster children. The granddaughters shared vivid memories of playing at our home and they may even have a picture or two to share with us.
Finally, I asked our friend who invited us, where he grew up. It turns out that one of the houses he lived in was the one which I pondered when I started this blog over 2 years ago. It warmed my heart, thinking that the camaraderie we experienced today has a local history and that the spirit of what I projected onto this disappeared home survives.
For fifteen years I drove by this house. I imagined many scenes taking place here.
Other people tell me they do this. They make up vignettes when they see people, places, and things. I think at one time I saw lights shining through the windows. However, for most of the time this farmhouse, barn, and the silos stood abandoned.
I liked this farm sitting up on the hill and removed from the road. I took scenes from old antique photographs and wrote them on the place. On a crisp fall day, I imagined people filling the silos in the 1930s. At twilight on a summer night, I saw Mary Ellen swinging under the tree while the little sisters and brothers played tag in the yard. And in the winter, traveling down the snowy road, I saw a Christmas tree in the window and a farmer with weather-beaten skin…
View original post 93 more words