A Summer Place

A bit over half a century ago, this was our summer house. Actually it was my grandparent’s house down in Bedford, Virginia where my younger brother and I stayed during my ninth summer. The front porch railings when they were all there, were covered with kudzu vines. The way that weed grows it might have been their weight that pulled the missing railings down. In the gable at the top you see two boarded up windows. The one on the right was the window off what we called the front bedroom.

That was where my brother and I would sleep because that was the only one that ever offered any semblance of cross ventilation during the humid Virginia summers. We would get our faces as close to the open window as possible and any tantalizing hint of a breeze was as welcome as a sip of water to a thirsty man. As I recall there was only one fan in the house and 9 year old and 6 year old boys were off the bottom of the list of fan users. We used to lay there at night and listen for the sound of approaching cars, trying to guess whether it was going east or west on Route 221 or as it’s called now Old Forest Road. We lay so close to the screen that we could actually smell it or the dust on it anyway. To this day, if I press close to a window screen, the smell of it reminds me of those simple summer nights when our biggest worry was whether or not we would catch a few seconds of summer breeze. 

When you pass an old house on the road that looks as if it’s hanging on to existence by the skin of its teeth, be kind and remember that it had happier days that someone someplace remembers.

There are more things to tell you about our summer house but I’ll hold them for later perhaps.

Comments

[Nikki]

Jim,
I now exactly what you mean. The smell of the dusty, rusty screen does bring back memories - for me, I remember being grounded - oh so many times - having the window up and pressing my face to the screen watching my cat play just outside my window. The sorry little fur ball was just rubbing it in.

[Lisa]

Jim, I'm so glad you posted this. I can not TELL you how many times I've driven by an old house and wondered who built it, and when, and what their hopes, dreams, and lives were. That's a great old home and a great story. (And I, too, know the smell of a screen window in summertime. They smell best if some ancient cotton curtains are fluttering along the side of your face at the same time).

[Ruth Barrow]

Oh Jim, I do remember those times.
My sister, brother and I, along with assorted cousins would spend part of our summer at my grandparent's farm in a small farming community in South Georgia. It was very much like the old homeplace in Bedford and the same timeframe.
After supper on Sunday night we would sit in the living room watching television with my grandparents and the old hassock fan would bring inside that distinctive smell from the leaves on the large fig tree right outside the two windows.
When I moved to Athens a few years ago I planted a fig tree just so I could be reminded of those good times and smells.
Well, maybe for the figs too.
Thank you for reminding of those summers,
Ruth

[Susan]

I never had anything other than kind thoughts for old houses, I actually used to love to go snooping through old empty houses and see what stories they had to tell. Thanks for reminding me of this.

[Pam]

Old houses, old barns etc. - love them! Your post, and the comments are great. I love driving through the countryside (anywhere) and seeing the "old home places" and barns. When I first moved to Virginia, at a very young age of 20, we rented an old family farmhouse. Heated with a coal stove, no a/c (but did have fans and the occasional summer breeze), and a TIN roof. Nothing better than laying in the bed on a foggy, rainy night, listening to the raindrops on the tin roof AND hearing the train whistle as the RF&P Tropicanna Express made it's way north or south!

Old home places, birds, fresh air, summer and fall smells and sounds (like the "peepers" in the early spring!).

Love your site.

Pam

[Portsia]

My mom's house has definitely seen better days. Although she's been gone for almost 8 months now, the house still smells like her. WHen my sister and I first went there after she passed, the shutters were falling off, mildew had covered the walls and the wooden deck was rotting. It hurt to see "the house" in such bad shape. Now, we've gotten a big chunk of the repairs done and it at least looks livable now.
We spent the night in the house for the first time this weekend since she died. Just like when I was a little girl, we slept in the same bed because there was a storm going on. Neither of us like the roar of thunder, so we both camped out in my mom's old bedroom and--like old times--fought over who had the most cover.
My sister and I are 10 years apart, but that weekend we never felt so close.
I can't wait til the house is done and we can move in again.