I'd like to be one of those people that just doesn't get attached to material possessions and cherishes her relationships and memories much more. But it's hard to stop loving the home you grew up in and visit only so often.
The house on our property was originally constructed in the early 1900s, and it was the lone farmhouse on a rather large lot...something that allowed for the retention of about one acre when the farmland was partitioned off for other homes later in the century.
Then there's the sump pump, the place we convinced my little brother that there was another older brother than all of us that drowned..."he fell in there and DIED" We were kind of macabre children, apparently...
But yes...house...I miss you.
Me and the giant in the kitchen: (ps look at his shoes! are they not the most festive shoes you have ever seen? because they are.)
The playhouse then:
and now: (birch tree long gone...although I feel I must mention that I collected sap from that birch tree when I was about 8 in the old school glass apple juice bottles in hopes of making syrup...no one told me how much I would need! I felt so proud of my full jug...then dad told me that it would make only a spoon of syrup. I was frustrated)
Eric proving he could fit into the window seat in the upstairs bathroom (note: there are no hinges on this cover. This is one of those awesome still unfinished projects in the home redo):
A view of the garage and chicken coop from my 0ld bedroom's window:
And my daddio making bacon on a Saturday morning:
Hey mom...doesn't it feel great that your parlour will never have this much of my stuff in it ever again? Wowzers...
Also, cranky-but-loveable-often-abused 1987 chevy caprice...I miss your doors that don't open, your gas mileage that wasn't that awful, and your kemps ice cream bucket full of candy.
Oh home. I miss you.
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