This Old House

It’s not been that long ago that I visited an old farmhouse where a good friend lived. She had painted the two story house a barn-red color and trimmed the long narrow windows in white. The house sits between huge swaying cottonwood trees – trees that are likely as old as the wooden structure they frame. On the drive to this house  you must cross a bridge that spans a quiet stream of water, then turn down a winding lane. It’s a quiet isolated piece of property; unable to be seen from the main road. My friend loved this old house where she and her husband raised their five children – where the walls ricocheted  laughter, love, and occasional tears. It’s just an old farmhouse with some character, but oh…how it bursts with memories.

I spent the first eleven years of my life on a farm in northeast Nebraska. It too had a creek, a lane, and an old house with character. It now resides in a deep corner of my mind and houses the memories that were made there.

Like my friend’s home, this was a two story house with narrow windows – and plenty of them.  The cold drafts that whistled around the edges in January and February have stamped this memory into that deep corner of my mind.  Each window was divided into four panes by narrow strips of wood – originally painted white – but now were rough and gray with only a few thin strips of  loose white paint – often picked off and dropped behind the couch when Mom and Dad weren’t looking.

Two large bedrooms and one storage area made up the top floor of the old farmhouse. My brother and I were given the largest room which we divided by an imaginary line into his side and my side. Woe to anyone that crossed the line! Three or four heavy comforters provided the only heat upstairs, except for a very small amount of heat that escaped upward from the stoves downstairs. My collection of unforgettable memories reminds me how I would snuggle down deep into the soft bed with only my mouth and nose visible. It was great fun to blow my visible breath out into the frigid  room. To this day I prefer a cold bedroom with ample covers. My brother and I shared this bedroom with one small turtle that took up housekeeping in a shallow aquarium that sat atop my brother’s dresser. Dave remembers the morning he awoke to find the turtle frozen in place with his small snout  barely poking above the ice. As the day warmed up, so did the turtle; no worse for wear.

The old farmhouse had a built in alarm system; every bit as good as the high tech camera surveillances we have today. The creaky old staircase would have alerted us of any burglars in an instant. (Can you call them burglars if you never locked your doors?)  I became highly skilled at determining the family members ascending the stairs as I laid in my bed and listened. Dad’s heavy footsteps created a thud amongst the creaks while Mom’s steps generated a light patter. Dave had a hurried gait, sometimes taking two steps at a time, and my three year old sister possessed a slow, cautious step as she heaved herself up from one step to the next.

The living room became the hub of the home, especially through the winter months. An  oil stove kept the room comfortably warm. By opening up one of the two doors on the front of the stove, it was easy enough to assend to my favorite perch. Many cold evenings found Dave and I warming our bottom sides on the top of the stove.  The only TV in the house – a black and white Zenith – sat near one wall of this room.  A well used, but comfortable couch sat on another wall and a soft chair or two rounded out the furniture. Often the card table was set up near the stove where a Monopoly game or Uncle Wiggily took residence.

New houses have charm, but old houses have character and memories. This is why my friend posted the “For Sale” sign at her current residence. She hopes to move back to the old barn-red house she loves.

Until next month… keep on readin’ and I’ll keep on writin’.