I love old houses.
Old things in general. My husband calls himself an old man, I love him. But lately I’ve had a chance to explore some of the local abandoned houses. That’s what we called them when I was a kid at least. I don’t know that there is a better term, empty, falling down old relics? I believe that my old bed and my parents bed came out of abandoned houses and some furniture. It never occurred to anyone at the time that the stuff belonged to anybody. Besides way back then it was just old junk, not antique yet.
I am fascinated by the history of these places. I wonder about the families that built them. Often Lilacs are growing in the yards and I think how much the women must have treasured the hardy bush out here in this land with out the comforts and easy growing flowers of back east. The joy of their brilliant purple blooms must have been even greater then surrounded by the bleak endless prairie. With all our modern conveniences we forget the true value of water. When we turn on the faucet to let water run endlessly on our green lawn we don’t remember the hard labor put into pumping water by hand or hauling it for miles to water a few precious flowers and a struggling garden that will have to feed the family.