|
(Freeman Patten House on the right. “Property of F. F. Patten” ) Set on a hill, overlooking an operational woolen mill, the house has stacked floor-to-ceiling bay windows that smile over the veranda. It is a happy house. Well-maintained and loved with many original aspects, quirks and all, still in place. Including a rather grumpy heating system. We toured on one of the coldest days of the year. As we walked around, crystalline January light flooded the house while cold drafts reached through the floor like bony fingers clutching my ankles. It immediately felt like home. Like the house wanted us to stay. And so we did. If you’re like me, you might imagine houses as sentient beings with stories to tell and lessons to teach—and not just of the people who lived in them—but the structures themselves. Their beams and planks and moldings. Stairwells and pass-throughs. Garrett rooms and dank cellars. What the windows have seen, hidden, or exposed. The arterial system of pipes and wires flowing in the walls. Filigreed gratings and faulty doorknobs. Creaks and moans and swellings. Stains and gouges like bruises and scars. How did they get there? The house wants me to listen. Thank you for joining me. In this newsletter, every month I’ll share a little of what the house shares with me—what it whispers through the grating.
|
