Tuesday, May 10, 2011


The house was built in 1928. I look out the window and wonder who the people were who looked out this same window. An old farm house now surrounded by neighborhoods. What was the view from this window? Were there crops? Perhaps livestock. What happened to the children who played in the yard? What memories will my son and his wife have over the years in this house? The view from a window.

Sometimes I think we take windows for granted. I played in the window of our old house back the lane. When I was little, I was told the house was about 65 years old. Originally, it was an old log house. This was even more of a reality to us when the kitchen was remodeled, and we saw the huge, hand hewn beams in the walls. The window sills were set as deep as the logs in the walls.

I sat in the window throughout my youth watching for sisters to come home. Watching storms and snow falling on the fields. I sat watching horses and buggies cross the bridge. And, more times than not, I sat watching for Brenda to walk up our lane.

When the farm was sold, I sat at each window in the upstairs looking out at a landscape I would never see again in the same way. I told the house that I loved it. I touched the woodwork and said I would remember. I sat in the nursery where June and I slept looking out at the barn lot where I first saw my horse. I sat in my room remembering how the old elm tree stood sentry outside my room.

My son doesn't want to walk back to the house when we return in July. He has asked if I would take his wife to see the old place. I hope we can walk into the house. I would like to show Lisa the place that holds so many memories. I want to show her the view from the window.


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