A History of the Walls

A few weeks ago a house burnt down. It was late at night and my sister woke me to show me the orange flames that lit up the black sky. Panic is my first instinct. But, we soon learned it was an abandoned house, and the entire thing burnt to the ground that night.

I am thankful the house was abandoned and that no one lost their home that night, and that no one was hurt. But, it was kind of sad at the same time. Because, at one point that was someone's home.

I love old things...I know this sounds silly, but I do. I love elderly people and find them fascinating to speak to. I love to listen to their stories, even when their memory fails them. I love how the look at me with eyes that have been clouded with passing time. I love how the call me dear and hold my hand while I talk to them. I love the wrinkles that are on their face and on their hands because it means they have lived a life that may have not been easy, but was worth it.

I love antique things. I love the history that is told in every scratch and scrape along a tabletop. I love the imperfections in the make of an old chair that means it was made at home, with hours of labour. I love the way antique stores smell and the people who own them. I love that if the furniture could speak they could tell me stories of babies being born, or children with a hurt knee and the Momma who kissed it better. They could tell me of the smell of the kitchen while bread was baking and about the hands of the farmer who guided the plough.

I love old houses. We have a lot of these where I live. Big, old farm houses that are stunning. I love how these houses were made to withstand the tests of time. I love how the floors are crooked, and the stairs are steep. I love how the windows make the world look like you are looking through a fun house mirror, and how the pains rattle when there is a storm. And, I love the stories the walls could tell if they could speak.

Imagine...

Think of all the memories you have with your own family. Imagine what the walls could tell you about everything they have seen in the last 200 years, and of the families who were raised there. They could tell you about the people who walked through the doorway and about the laughter that filled the home. The could tell you about the support the offered when men and woman leaned against them as they gave way to sorrowful tears. They could tell me about babies that were rocked to sleep and that grew up into handsome young men. They could tell me about young ladies dressing in an upstairs bedroom in a beautiful wedding gown. And about how all the crops died one year, and there wasn't enough food on the table. They could tell me stories of love, sorrow and joy; of family, friendship and romance; of laughter, tears and hiccups. Wouldn't that be neat??

I love the memories, stories and history that is held within an elderly person or an old home. It is a beautiful legacy of life and death and one that should be treasured.

-Emily xo