Memories of Home
It was 10:00 a.m. when Ray and I sat down on the porch for a Saturday morning breakfast. Before I took a bite, I saw a car drive slowly along in front of the house. I didn’t know who it was, but since we live in the South, I waved. It’s what we do.
Then the car turned into the driveway. A couple I didn’t recognize got out. We put our breakfasts on the porch and walked over  to meet them.
The Mrs. introduced herself and I immediately recognized her name. I’ll call her Mrs. Applegate. It’s been a while since former residents have stopped by, but it has happened many times since we found this unbelievable bargain and moved into it in 2004. We are only the third family who has lived here since the house was built sometime between the 1840s and the 1880s. This lady was from the second family, which moved here c. 1929.
We four walked on the driveway and I pointed out the storm damage that we had back in February. I thought about what I needed to do on this busy Saturday, but then I asked if they would like to come inside. I barely had the words out before Mrs. Applegate jumped at the opportunity.Â
As we went from room to room, she told us stories about what used to be here and what used to be there. We had heard most of them before from other visiting family members, but some were new; and I always love hearing them.
Mrs. Applegate said things like, “This was Mother’s dining room . . . I was born in this room . . . This was Mother’s living room.” Sometimes her husband joined in: “I put these [locks] on these doors . . . We used to sleep in this room.” She chimed in: “He went to Tech and we spent one summer here.”
When we finished downstairs, I started upstairs. Mr. Applegate asked, “Are you going upstairs?” She replied, “I’ll go anywhere she takes me.”
We didn’t find any hidden money or other valuables in this old house, but we have found a few things that are treasures to us, like this pot rack that Ray pulled down one day when he reached up into a fireplace.
When we were getting the house ready to move in, we pulled up an old piece of carpet and underneath was this rug. It is not vinyl or linoleum which predates vinyl. It is a type of material made before linoleum, but it can’t be older than 1903. Can you find the bi-plane above the stagecoach?
When Mrs. Applegate saw the rug, she remembered that this was “the boys’ room.” She pointed to the fireplace and talked about warming up there when she came up to see “the boys.” I don’t remember any past resident ever talking about this old house without mentioning being cold! We understand that completely ourselves!
Mrs. Applegate loved being in her childhood home and reliving memories of her family. Mr. Applegate enjoyed remembering days when he and his wife were newlyweds.
As Mr. and Mrs. Applegate left, she did one more thing that her relatives have done. She talked about the crack in the rock step by the porch where our breakfast waited. According to the story, this twelve and a half foot long piece of hewn rock stayed in one piece during its journey by wagon across the river until it was laid at the base of the porch. That’s when it cracked.
I wonder if anyone would ever mention the rock step if it hadn’t cracked. Your family is making your memories every day. Don’t worry if some of those memories aren’t just right. Sometimes it’s the “cracked stuff” that makes the best memories of all.
Beloved, let us love one another, for love is from God;
and everyone who loves is born of God and knows God.
1 John 4:7
Hi Charlene,
What a fun entry. Oh, how I would love to see my old childhood home. I can imagine that lady saying, “yes, I am going upstairs!” as she looked at her husband incredulously for asking. I also love the “rug” – wow, what interesting designs.
You are a kindred spirit for writing about this and for allowing that couple a walk down memory lane.
Thank you,
In Him,
Wanda
This reminds me of when my daughter was very young. She used to worry over the mistakes in her creations–drawings, potholders, etc.. One day she expressed this to me, and I pointed out that it’s the little mistakes that make a project interesting and uniquely hers. If it were “perfect,” we would assume it was mass-produced in a factory somewhere, I said. And you know, I think that helped. Her creativity seems boundless to me now, whether in music, art, or writing. I am so glad she is free from the worry to be “perfect” in her projects, which can stifle the God-given desire to create. She still does her best, mind you! But only God can be perfect and she knows that.