The farmyard as it looked when my parents made this their first home. \240
Notice the two stacked windows on the home. \240The lower window was the kitchen. \240The upper window was a sleeping loft. \240
(These windows can be seen in the picture below.)
My parents had my three brothers while living here. \240Me, being the youngest, never lived in this house. \240I came along after they had moved to the main homestead less than a mile away, when my grandparents moved off the farm and into town. \240
No one has lived here since my parents left. \240We noticed the older tools and antiques were amongst the items still in the buildings. \240
My family moved the barn off of this farmyard, to the main homestead, \240in the 1960’s. \240
Today all that’s left is the house and a few outbuildings.
My parents first home. \240
A toy car from the debris on the floor. \240Probably belonged to one of my brothers.
View into the kitchen. \240My aunt told me today that for a modern look, the walls and ceilings were covered with “stoneboard”. It was a smooth plaster like finish. \240That was preferred to the wood ceiling. \240
Over time, the stone board has disintegrated and fallen to the floor, exposing the wood ceiling. Crazy that today we would find the wood appealing, back then, it was something to be covered up.
Enlarge the pic to see the crank laundry that still sits down the hallway.
See what I see. \240
My reflection on walking on my parents first homestead on the prairies. \240 I went back home to Saskatchewan 🇨🇦 last week, where I was raised. \240I didn’t live at this homestead, I grew up about a mile down the way, but the overwhelming desire to learn more about my folks and their life hit me hard. \240Both my parents have passed. \240Dad at 57, mom recently at 87. \240 Honestly there are so many stories I don’t know. \240 Makes me sad as I reflect on that and penned these words.
****
Adventure
Sometimes adventure
opens doors to adrenalin rich experiences.
Sometimes adventure
takes you to the
quiet places of your past.
Peering through windows
that once held glass,
touching walls you wish could talk.
Your heart yearns to know
so
much
more,
yet the ones who could make these spaces come alive,
aren’t here.
With their last breath,
their touch,
along with the stories
of their joys
and their sorrows,
will never reach our ears.
Sometimes adventure
breaks your heart.
Not for what you learned or experienced,
but for that which you
will never know. 💔
****
My parents first home.
I am walking to the overgrown farmyard of the place mom and dad made their first “home” so many years ago.
Oh if the walls could talk…
