Homefires Rekindled 10/2/2022

By: Jennifer Richardson Holt

On my drive several mornings this week I have noticed something. Now, it is not something I haven’t noticed before but it seems that it has apparently been a rather long amount of time since I gave it what I feel is the appropriate amount of attention. What drew my eye more than once in a single commute were overgrown homes or the remnants thereof. My gaze was pulled in more so than usual because I noticed that the structures seem to be even more discernible than they used to be when I last took note. The underbrush was thicker and the bits of house that were visible were significantly less.  I thought I actually looked at these sites rather often so I was surprised to see just how quickly these bits of brick and wood were being overtaken by the surrounding nature. Seeing all this and its uncanny progression has me thinking about something I think of often.  If I could, I would find every old home place and restore it to glory. Clearly I do not (nor do most average people) have the time or resources to take on such a monumental task. But I am still such a sucker for an old house and all the possibilities that lie within its walls be they standing or even if they no longer exist.

It probably doesn’t help that I watch entirely too many television shows that feed my imagination in this matter. With the popularity of “flipping houses” these days it takes virtually no effort to find programs depicting people making old dilapidated residences into basically brand new homes. While that is all well and good I am more a fan of taking an old home and making it into a brand new old home.  Perhaps I need to explain that statement. I would love to take an old run down house and really study it. I want to get to know why it was built the way it was and what the purpose was for each room. Then, with that mindset I want to take all the comforts of modernity but mold them into what still feels like history.  I am not entirely sure that makes sense so I will simplify. I want to take a home and while making it structurally sound and filled with modern convenience, have it retain the character, charm and history that made it the hidden gem that it is. Yes. That came across much better. I wanted to be sure that I made it clear that while I do love history I certainly have no desire to forego plumbing or electricity to stay true to the period. History is a place I love to visit, I don’t necessarily know that I want to live there.  I am a nerd, but a spoiled one.

My husband is very opposed to my ideas. He wants new everything. I suppose he might be willing to get on board with my ideas if we tore the house completely down and just rebuilt it in a similar shape and called it old. Of course this completely defeats the purpose that is in my head. What can be kept and preserved I would love to do so. Again, I reiterate, we’re replacing the wiring that could burn everything down, we’re obviously doing away with the asbestos and there will be insulation. But I cannot help but envision chipping away, in an especially old home (think a couple of centuries), at a fire place and finding the original stacked stone or perhaps an ancient timber beam that once framed the hearth. My heartbeat very literally just quickened as I typed that. Of course it would be refreshed and repaired but imagine sitting before that fire where it has burned for centuries.  It would almost tell you the stories itself.  I can only imagine the joy of perhaps finding little notes that were written on boards long ago during construction or even bits of newspaper used in the walls. I personally believe, that it is the stories that are within a place that give it its “feel”, almost a “personality”.  I think most of us have seen some old cartoon where the windows of the house are the eyes and the door is the mouth.  To me trying to retain the stories of the house are what really make it come alive and be more than just nails and boards. I want there to be the possibility of that cartoon house and that he would have tales to tell.

One house I passed was being eaten by river cane. It had the appearance of a roof floating in the midst of a bamboo sea.  It wasn’t even that old of a house, I’d guess it was built in the 50s perhaps. I used to be able to see the full front face and its little porch but no more. The other house, well, I suppose describing it as a house is generous. It was a chimney and that is all. If I had to guess there may be a few piles of stones that once held up an actual structure but since only the top two feet of chimney were visible at this point, discerning anything on the ground is a bit beyond reckoning now.  But in my mind, the potential beyond that chimney is limitless. My imagination has rooms where children played. Perhaps a Christmas tree was put near that chimney. I can almost guarantee that Santa made a few trips down it even. You see, it wasn’t just a house.  It was a home.

The way I see it, once you’ve made some decaying dwelling comfortable and safe it would be the equivalent to living in a time capsule in the best possible way. If I had my way, all the finishes and décor would give nod to the time from whence they came. I know this will sound silly but to me that is what would make the house happy. It would understand that it wouldn’t be lit by oil lamps or have an accompanying out house anymore. But giving it touches that reminded it of its origins such as stone hearths and warm wooden floors would make it be able to live happily. The house itself would be comfortable as a home as much as for those living within it.  And maybe, just maybe, if you looked at this new old home in just the right light and from the right angle, it would almost seem that the weathered front door was smiling.