On a road trip with the window down enjoying the warmth of the sun, the smells of spring, exploring the countryside with my eyes as I travel. My eyes venture to some old wooden buildings accompanied by a few tall, worn out cottonwood trees, the remnants of a yard fence, a rose bush in bloom. No sign anyone has traveled to the house or barns in years. I stop the vehicle to respectfully look, staying outside the barbwire fence surrounding the area.
There was a time someone had taken great pride in this home and barns. The rose bush more dead thorny stems than green, yet manages to bring forth its bright red blooms. Where once stood a gate, white iris peak out from the mound of the irises of yesteryear. Someone appreciated beauty around them.
There is not much water in the area as it is semidesert terrain. Yet, the cottonwoods trees show life water flows under ground, but the trees are ancient shown by their monstrous trunks, bending limbs and peeling bark. The house is surrounded by these old gnarly guards, who have stood guard so long their trunks press against the worn sides of the home. The yard fence only stands in the corners, the spans have fallen from weak disrepair.
The home door is closed, remnants of fabric represent the curtains that once hung in the windows that are have been reduced to frames without glass. Do I smell apple pie? A rock chimney and fireplace stand strong, the way the home was heated from the bitter cold of winter. The strength of stone will outlast the wooden sides of the home. The roof is complete but dips like an old swaybacked horse. How many more rain storms or snow falls will the old roof hold?
The barn is not guarded by any cottonwood trees. It stands alone to face the wind, the storms and time. The sides have missing boards, one door has fallen in defeat, the other hangs by a hinge clinging to the barn for support. The roof is half gone. The barn has been lowered to the status of only providing meager protection and comfort for the wild animals who may find this worn out shelter.
Who were these people who chose to make a home hundreds of miles from the nearest town? What were their hopes, their dreams that would inspire them to this place to create a home? Were their children who played in the yard? I think I hear laughter on the wind. Why did they leave?
I love old buildings, any where and anytime. I enjoy visiting ghost towns and learning the history of the individuals who lived there.
Hope you enjoyed this short adventure.