My new home town is very small. It is filled with small neat houses with nicely kept micro yards. It is the kind of town where everyone knows everyone. It is a town where reputations can be made or broken in a matter of seconds by a well developed grapevine. When we moved into town this summer, I was introduced to one of the three city police, and she immediately asked me about the kids. She already knew where we were moving from, how many children that we had, and what we were paying for our house.
Our house was built in 1870 by a banker. He owned what is now several blocks of our town. Our yard has shrunk over the years from acres of horse barns, pasture, and outbuildings to a single city lot that is nearly filled with house. Remnants of the home's former glory can be seen in the huge pocket doors that enclose our dining room, the blinds that fold into the walls, and the height of the ceilings. However, financial concerns caused the banker to sell the house. It's next life was intended to be a rest home where ministers could come and rest from their work. Only one minister ever took up the offer, so the house was again sold to a college and transformed to a women's dormitory.
The more room was needed so the grand roof was raised another story to add a third floor. For many years, the halls rang with the sounds of the college students. Eventually, it was sold and an annex was added to the back of the building. The lovely side porch was closed in to form bathrooms and nine bedrooms were added. The home found new use as a nursing home. The town laundrimat sat at the rear as did the town barbershop. Later it was converted to a home for individuals with intellectual disabilities who had no other options. That closed 7 years ago and for 6 years the house was vacant. Time is not kind to vacant buildings. The seasons of hot and cold led to broken pipes and peeling paint. This summer I moved up and began the process of restoring the home. We lack resources to restore it to its former glory, but gradually it has ceased to look like an institution and is becoming a home again. The barbershop is now my husband's office and hopefully the birthplace of his dissertation. The laundry-at will become my workshop and a guest house for visiting relatives. My renovations, however, came to a screeching halt in mid July when I had a pulmonary embolism. My recovery has been frustratingly slow, but I am blessed to be alive and functioning. Friends stepped in and continued to work on the house as I recovered, making the house ready for the family to move in.
Our family was initially a bit unsettled by the amount of space available in the house. Faced with their own rooms, our older sons continued to share rooms so that they could play x box and chat before bedtime. I will have to admit, that after living in the woods off the beaten path in our former house, it has been an adjustment for me to live so close to a city street and neighbors.
In our town, people walk in the morning and evening. Sitting on the porch, we have met many of our neighbors as they walk their dogs, walk for exercise, or follow their children in their play. Kids play on the sidewalks and in the street or play catch on the lawn of the nursing home across the street. A block away is a small park where many children play in the afternoons and evenings while parents or older siblings sit nearby. It is nice to live in a town where more bicycles, tricycles, and scooters pass than cars. From time to time the train whistle can be heard as trains come into the town.
In many ways, our town reminds me of life in a bygone era. Stepping out on the porch you never know if you are going to smell the dairy farms that surround the town, the smell of horse droppings left in the road by passing Amish buggies, or someone's backyard barbecue. The town's two grocery stores open and close early On Sunday, most of the town is closed. Driving 2 minutes in any direction takes you into corn fields and past Amish farms with laundry flapping on the lines on Monday. In the summer, produce was plentiful and nearly everyday one neighbor or another would drop off delicious home grown tomatoes or freshly cut corn.
Recently the town held an annual event - a huge multi acre yard sale. Families set up booths and a huge tent covered the dining area where hot meals were sold. Nearby was the Ice cream vendor selling home made ice cream in a freezer propelled by his tractor engine via a system of pulleys. My son, Matthew enjoyed sitting on the tractor, pretending that he was driving. Across the street the fire truck was parked and crowds of little boys, flocked to check it out. I wish that I had gotten a picture of the small Amish boys holding onto their straw hats as they gazed up at the fire truck.
While I am not naïve enough to imaging that I have found Mayberry, I appreciate the opportunity to raise my children in a small town.
Our house was built in 1870 by a banker. He owned what is now several blocks of our town. Our yard has shrunk over the years from acres of horse barns, pasture, and outbuildings to a single city lot that is nearly filled with house. Remnants of the home's former glory can be seen in the huge pocket doors that enclose our dining room, the blinds that fold into the walls, and the height of the ceilings. However, financial concerns caused the banker to sell the house. It's next life was intended to be a rest home where ministers could come and rest from their work. Only one minister ever took up the offer, so the house was again sold to a college and transformed to a women's dormitory.
The more room was needed so the grand roof was raised another story to add a third floor. For many years, the halls rang with the sounds of the college students. Eventually, it was sold and an annex was added to the back of the building. The lovely side porch was closed in to form bathrooms and nine bedrooms were added. The home found new use as a nursing home. The town laundrimat sat at the rear as did the town barbershop. Later it was converted to a home for individuals with intellectual disabilities who had no other options. That closed 7 years ago and for 6 years the house was vacant. Time is not kind to vacant buildings. The seasons of hot and cold led to broken pipes and peeling paint. This summer I moved up and began the process of restoring the home. We lack resources to restore it to its former glory, but gradually it has ceased to look like an institution and is becoming a home again. The barbershop is now my husband's office and hopefully the birthplace of his dissertation. The laundry-at will become my workshop and a guest house for visiting relatives. My renovations, however, came to a screeching halt in mid July when I had a pulmonary embolism. My recovery has been frustratingly slow, but I am blessed to be alive and functioning. Friends stepped in and continued to work on the house as I recovered, making the house ready for the family to move in.
Our family was initially a bit unsettled by the amount of space available in the house. Faced with their own rooms, our older sons continued to share rooms so that they could play x box and chat before bedtime. I will have to admit, that after living in the woods off the beaten path in our former house, it has been an adjustment for me to live so close to a city street and neighbors.
In our town, people walk in the morning and evening. Sitting on the porch, we have met many of our neighbors as they walk their dogs, walk for exercise, or follow their children in their play. Kids play on the sidewalks and in the street or play catch on the lawn of the nursing home across the street. A block away is a small park where many children play in the afternoons and evenings while parents or older siblings sit nearby. It is nice to live in a town where more bicycles, tricycles, and scooters pass than cars. From time to time the train whistle can be heard as trains come into the town.
In many ways, our town reminds me of life in a bygone era. Stepping out on the porch you never know if you are going to smell the dairy farms that surround the town, the smell of horse droppings left in the road by passing Amish buggies, or someone's backyard barbecue. The town's two grocery stores open and close early On Sunday, most of the town is closed. Driving 2 minutes in any direction takes you into corn fields and past Amish farms with laundry flapping on the lines on Monday. In the summer, produce was plentiful and nearly everyday one neighbor or another would drop off delicious home grown tomatoes or freshly cut corn.
Recently the town held an annual event - a huge multi acre yard sale. Families set up booths and a huge tent covered the dining area where hot meals were sold. Nearby was the Ice cream vendor selling home made ice cream in a freezer propelled by his tractor engine via a system of pulleys. My son, Matthew enjoyed sitting on the tractor, pretending that he was driving. Across the street the fire truck was parked and crowds of little boys, flocked to check it out. I wish that I had gotten a picture of the small Amish boys holding onto their straw hats as they gazed up at the fire truck.
While I am not naïve enough to imaging that I have found Mayberry, I appreciate the opportunity to raise my children in a small town.
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