In a tiny village situated in the woods of South County below Sharpsburg stood an old two-story log house. It was situated behind several tall trees and a lilac bush in front of the structure.
A rusty roof covered the top of the building and old greenish/gray tinted shingles decorated the outside. The roof seemed made special for raindrops that often made some delightful music every time it stormed. A light and sound show followed, outside the green window blinds next to the small metal bed with thin mattress at no extra charge.
I suspect this old structure had sat on the little knoll since its construction sometime in the early 1900s; when and who built this house is unknown.
Sweet smelling honeysuckles lined the dirt lane to the house.
An elderly married couple lived in the home, and two grandsons were raised there.
The house had seen many things and provided support and protection for the makeshift family over the years.
Winters were kind of tough with electricity going off fairly often as the strong winds, snow and icy conditions came to the woods. The walls and attic in the house had little, if any, insulation.
The seasons would come and go, and stories were told of days gone by.
The home had no bathroom, and “nature’s calling” really had special meaning back in these days – a two-seater outhouse. The spiders there slowly waltz back and forth spinning their webs. It was situated just across the way from the family garden, and a small path had to be shoveled in the deep snow to answer “nature’s call.”
A home chamber pot existed for emergencies.
The outhouse had no temperature controls either; Mother Nature would adjust those settings.
Reading materials were provided there, but you better bring some glasses and maybe a flashlight.
As the temperatures began to drop, wood that was stacked neatly in a nearby shed was fed to the stove for warmth in winter. The Home Comfort stove would serve as the home’s furnace.
Drinking and cooking water was carried to the home from a spring in the woods in a 10-gallon metal can by the grandsons. Laundry water was collected in a barrel under the porch tin roof.
Meals were prepared on the Home Comfort stove in a cold black skillet until heated and the lard melted. Fried chicken made Sunday afternoons some kind of good.
Tooth brushing occurred on the front porch.
Spring brought some nice relief from the harsh winters with the budding of the trees. March winds would lead the locals to summer.
Morels would soon be popping in the woods.
The rich earth was plowed by horse to make a family garden near the front porch. Assorted vegetables would soon be planted and growing.
In the summertime, when the outside was hot, the inside of the house was hot too; a little fan helped make some wind inside the home; screens were placed in the windows; no air conditioners would ever cool this house.
Summer was a fun time, complete with thunderstorms, birds, bees, snakes, fishing and lightning bugs; baseball games on the school ground were well attended. The return home was special too.
Fall delivered beautiful colors to the surrounding woods, and a time for school in the nearby two room school house.
The grandsons were up early, as the home’s little white basin with water would serve as an early morning shower; no indoor water lines to freeze up in the winter season.
Grandad left the family in the spring of ’59 for higher ground, and his body was brought back to the old home to lie in the back room for a few days before he was buried.
Grandma did a most difficult job raising the two grandsons in that old house, but together they managed to survive and negotiate the seasons on a meager income.
Friends and neighbors would often come by to visit; no ringing phones and only voices could be heard; a unique memory.
The small TV showed only black and white pictures.
That old house could tell you many stories not generally believed by today’s youth, if only old houses could speak.
Memories were made there like burnt pancakes on that cook stove with the smell of lilacs out back.
I drove by that old house yesterday in Dargan, but it was gone.
It was once my home.
