Relics of the Past, or Lives Lived Well

During one of my forays into the yard, I have found things. Relics of lives past, memories forgotten, and mementos that I don't really understand. However, I do like to think that within my yard (and my house) there have been many happy memories made. It is a happy place, despite its current under-construction condition. Even the lady who sold it to me said she was really sad to sell it, but her life led her south to Alabama. I've given her an open invitation to visit anytime, and I don't doubt that someday she will come knocking on the door. She is still here, in essence - immortalized (along with her cat, Twiner) in the names and pawprints on the concrete floor of the basement.

Here are some other things I've found around the house. These came from the yard:

The Clam Shells

The story? I think something like this:

"Honey, what are we going to do with those clam shells we brought back from the beach?"

"I thought they would look nice out around the flowerbed, you know - with maybe some hens & chicks around them. Or maybe just put them around the rosebushes."

And that's where I found them.

The Silver Tablespoon

For some reason I hear this dialogue in Granny Sue's voice.

Mom: "Tommy, have you seen my good silver serving spoon?"

Tommy: "I think Aaron had it out in the yard by the Water Maple. He said something about digging a hole to China."

Mom: "That boy! Always messin' in something!"

The Zinc Can Lids

My parents star in this one.

Husband: "Are you sure you want to throw these out?"

Wife: "YES. They don't hold a seal anymore. See how the metal has worn out around the edges. The milk glass inserts are slipping out of the one. Everything has a lifespan, honey. Let it go!"

The Red Glass Slag with the Yellow Streaks

Mother: "Emmy goes everywhere with that piece of red glass her father brought her home from the glass factory. Carries it around everywhere, and calls it her Princess Ruby."

Aunt: "Ah, to be that young again and full of imagination. And energy! If they could bottle that, they could make a million!"

Mother: "And she does have an imagination!"

The Broken Gas Line

Father: "We were lucky. The fire was only small, but it did a number on the boiler. I'll have to replace it."

Neighbor: "Lucky for you that your house was saved. It could have burned down your whole house - good thing you thought quick and turned off the gas."

Father: "Yes, the fireman called it a "flash burn"*. It did a number on the basement ceiling, though."

*There actually is a flash burn on the basement ceiling, from where the former boiler exploded. It could have happened...*

The Green Croquet Ball

During a summer family evening, full of lightning bugs, the smell of lilacs, and laughter:

"Anyone seen the green croquet ball*?"

"Nope. We've looked everywhere and no one found it."

"Oh well, it will turn up eventually!"

*(I found it in the hostas by the back porch.)

The Blue and White China Bits

Great-granddaughter: "I hate that I broke grandma's china bowl. My stupid, slippery hands! She'd be so mad at me if she knew I broke it!"

Mother: "I don't think she'd be mad at you, honey. She used her dishes - and she'd be happy to have you use them. She never did put things up to collect dust. 'Use yer dishes' she always said! So no, I don't think she'd be mad at you."

Great-granddaughter: "Still... I hate that I broke it..."

The Clock Weight

Grandson: "Grandpa's clock is off. I've got to go get a new weight for it, I think."

Mother: "Well, are you sure you know what you're doing? You might make it worse."

Grandson: "How? It don't keep good time now. What could I mess up? Maybe make it go back in time?"

Mother: *laughing* "Maybe! Crazy as he was, his clock might actually do that!"

Grandson: *laughing* "Yeah. I think I'll get a new weight for it."

Now it's your turn. Everyone out there - write a story about this. I'm not sure what it is, but it is solid iron, about 3 inches square, and was lying by the back porch near the drainspout. Best story gets to pick which room of the house I write about next!

Good luck, and have fun with it!

My House

Today I would like to start out by introducing everyone to my new house. Well, it’s new to me. Built 88 years ago, this house is a real gem in the rough. Unfortunate renovations over the years have remodeled the house into a strange mish-mosh of drop ceilings, ugly light fixtures, and demolitions that removed some of the original woodwork.

On the upside, the original fireplace & mantle, staircase, and other woodwork (such as wide window sills) are still intact. The original light fixture from the dining room is in the attic – a real gem in art deco metal and carnival glass shades. And although it’s not original, one of the previous owners did put some pretty sweet blue and white tile in the entry foyer. I wish they had done something similar in the kitchen, where they put ugly modern wide-plank white laminate flooring in.

Here are some pictures of the place:

This is the staircase, which we have begun to refinish. It was in the midst of being redone when we bought the place - in fact there were lots of unfinished projects in the house. It was like the owners just gave up. I hope I don't get that way. Below is a picture of the foyer - notice the tile. Oh, and the crutches aren't mine. They were the previous' owners.

Below is the living room, with its big bay window. I inherited the rug and the chair too, which I kept. I'm using the chair in my new home office, and the rug hasn't moved since we moved in. Notice the ugly drop ceiling and fan. It will disappear eventually - I want the house to go back to its historically accurate roots. Well, with a few new conveniences.

Below is a closeup of the fireplace mantle, which has been stripped back to reveal the golden oak beneath the three or so layers of varnish.

This is the bathroom, which was formerly a hallway leading to the attic. The house originally had an outhouse:

This is the new home office, painted guacamole green. The floors are white oak hardwood, not laminate, grown, milled, and sold right here in WV!

The other bedrooms are finished, but look stark and bare by comparison. I'm now working on number 2 of three. Rather bleak looking, eh?
I also relish in the idea of having a real garden for the first time in years, since the yard is gigantic (for Morgantown - 2 city lots). It also has old growth trees!


Thanks for taking the time to check out my house. Look for updates on how the construction is going. One thing's for sure - it's going to be a long adventure!

The Purple Irises, or More Than Zinnias

So many stories in my family’s history involve flowers. Peony, lilac, roses, and daisies immediately come to mind as characters in some of them. This particular story begins with a bed of zinnias, planted neatly inside an old tire in the front yard of my grandparents’ home near Riverton. My grandmother – her name was Virginia- was only able to keep zinnias alive, because they are hardy, tough flowers that grow anywhere - and they could survive her ten children, their pets, wild animals that ate the roots and bulbs, and sundry unruly neighbors who had turned her yard into a hardscrabble dirt path.

The years passed, and nothing but the zinnias bloomed. For a while it seemed that the world had turned against her. One of her sons, Joe, was accidentally shot and killed by his uncle in 1965. Then later, her kitchen wood stove exploded, burning her arm and badly injuring two of her children – my Aunt Donna and Uncle Tom. Her husband was often away, working in Baltimore or wherever the road led him, while she kept the family alive and happy in the holler.

Grandma was especially happy when I was born. I was the first grandson, and her favorite grandchild. I was so spoiled I wouldn’t sleep at night without being able to fall asleep in my Grandmother’s arms. I can still remember her long, auburn hair and her ever-present apron.

Soon my parents, Jake and Linda, had moved with my brother Matthew and I to Johnson Holler near Franklin. Our home was only ten miles from Grandma’s house, so we still visited pretty regularly. I was only five years old then, but I still remember my father coming home early from work one day in tears. My grandmother had died of a heart attack on the sofa. She was forty-three.

It wasn’t long after the funeral that somehow a wayward bulb found its way into the family cemetery and took root. None of us ever knew who had planted it, but it soon became a family legend. Before long, a bed of dark purple irises (that always smelled like grapes) spread its way out from Grandma’s grave and covered the cemetery. It makes me believe that my Grandma finally got her wish. She had something more than zinnias.

All these years later, I still hold the memory of my Grandmother to heart, and have always marveled at the masses of purple irises that now grow in the family cemetery on North Mountain. Over the years those flowers have spread down the mountainside into the holler, and now grow all through the old family homeplace. When my parents asked me what I wanted them to bring for my new home I bought in Morgantown, on the top of my list were some of those purple iris bulbs – so that I will always remember the magic there is in life, and that if you truly want something bad enough, it will come to you.

I Love you Grandma.