Misty, watercolored memories. Not really. Vivid, oil painted memories.
The Autumn always makes me think of growing up in our old Victorian house. I’m not sure why – there’s something about the leaves crumbling underfoot and the smell of the wind and grey days that just brings it all back to mind. Since I am a Cancer, and love all things old and filled with treasured memories, I thought I’d share some of our house. The only house I ever really loved. (Sniff, sniffle. Boo-hoo, emo boy.)
The house (1) was situated at the bottom of a huge hill, called King’s Hill. I don’t know why it was called that. …Maybe Kings were buried there! Or maybe it was actually Keene’s hill, or something boring. I like my story better.
We had a great backyard. It went all the way up to the big tree (2) at the top of the hill. I used to sit in that tree and read books until the sun went down and my mother called to me to have supper. Yes, I was a little nerd.
I’m not sure what the round fence is (3)? Maybe someone has horses there, now. It wasn’t there when I lived there. Neither was the other fence (4). Stupid new people, screwing up my memories. Nothing must change!
There was a sandpit (5), and a forest that had an old rusted out iron bedframe in it (6), and an apple tree swing (7), and the garage (8) roof sloped down to 2 or 3 feet above the ground in the back, so we played on that, too. Which was probably dangerous, since the house and garage were around 100 years old when we lived there, and we could have fallen through the roof at any point. Good times!
There were quite a few strange divots and weird depressions in the ground heading up the hill. I used to image that it was built over an old fort, and that if I looked hard enough I would find a busted up old iron door somewhere. Maybe under the sand in the pit!
This is where my Mother’s strawberry patch (9) was. One year I mowed it down. I was a little poopy head.
This tree (10) is about 60 feet tall. One afternoon my friend Jason and I tied a long rope to the top of it, and tied the other end to the clothesline post, and slid down it in with leather work gloves. I’m surprised that we did not die. No way that kids would do that nowadays. Kids these days are wusses.
I mowed all of this, up to where that new fence is. I reiterate, kids these days are wusses.
Please note that this picture does no justice to the colors that were evident when I lived there. It doesn’t show the vast panorama of golden browns and verdant greens and vibrant yellows and reds. Ah, the colors of childhood. (Emo!)