Beauty in the Rubble

Our family enjoyed a little Sunday afternoon autumnal agritourism recently--hay rides, pumpkin-picking, corn maze.  But the best part was the old decrepit house!  As we walked up to the hay ride waiting area I saw this beauty basking in the sunlight. I quickly made observations to my husband--it has been moved, it's pre-1900, the little bit on the back was added much later--and before we left the farm I deposited the children with their father and went to take a closer look.

When it comes to old houses I'm like a moth to a flame.  I cannot stay away, even if they are clearly jacked-up on cinderblocks, loaded with old junk and sagging.  I have more stories of me elbowing my way up to an old house.  I may be getting a reputation in these parts.

Evening shadows and light.

Rusty chrysanthemums. 

Old tire. 

The best part is that the owner of the farm saw me taking photos and started telling me all about the house.  It had been moved in the 1960s when the main road came through, and back then it was on top of the bottom story of the house, which was stone (and thus couldn't be moved).  It was built in 1853. The bit on the back? Added-on as a bathroom.  I just nodded my head; I'm a semi-pro at this by now!

So then he took me inside!  We went across the bouncy front porch into rooms crammed with old apple boxes, canoes, construction debris.  Plaster torn, crumbling; ten-foot ceilings and thick beautiful moldings around all the doors and windows.  The fireplaces had been ripped out when the house was moved and he wanted to show me what he considered the unique construction of the interior walls--inch-thin planks horizontally placed, with some kind of mortar in between, then covered with a thick layer of plaster.  

Standing there in the dust and shadows with the fading October light outside I thought of all the families who had lived here.  Babies were born; people died.  I thought of all the griefs and the joys, the stories that are lost in time but linger in the air of the sacred space of a place that people used to call 'home.' I tried to describe this to my husband later--I just think about how the people there were just as real as you and I are now, but they're no longer here. It is sobering to think how fleeting their times were, and how fleeting our times are. It is such a privilege to get a glimpse into the past.   

I see so much beauty in the rubble of life. 

Pretty, Happy, Funny and Real: A Retrospective

Capturing the context of contentment in everyday life--this concept is perfectly aligned with my ideals.

A flower arrangement from my sweet neighbor--goldenrod, boxwood, purple weeds.  Create beauty with whatever you've got!  

This makes me happy: a flaming sky over the pond and hay field.

We celebrated the end of the first week of school last month with a water balloon war.  I filled up every balloon I could find in the house, put them in a dishpan, armed my son with a soaker-gun and we went at it.  He was a happy boy that day.  

My laundry counter has looked like this for far too long; my husband claims it began two weeks ago when we provided six days of care to my sister after she had major oral surgery, but I know the truth. The truth is that everything went downhill once school started in September and our busy autumn schedule began!  I keep washing and drying clothes, but the "folding and putting away" part seems to have stumped me entirely for several weeks now.  I shall prevail!

And one more thing that is pretty, happy, funny *and* real: 15 years ago today my husband and I were married! I will attempt to add a photo soon--we got married in the days before Digital Everything.  An anniversary is a wonderful reason to celebrate!