There it sits, ready for use in the empty house. The air is still as if the room is holding its breath, the exhale and sigh held in bay until its fate is decided. There is a slight eerieness of suspended activity, even the dust doesn’t dance in the sunlight. Or perhaps I am reading into the scene, knowing the house has sat for years slowly sliding into the ground a piece at a time. The owner will not to return in corporeal form to light this lamp or take a seat at this table and ponder the events of the day.
I noticed that an old house I have photographed in the past is now under deconstruction, and so, of course, I had to stop and investigate further. This room is the one behind the door on the cape, the oldest part of the structure.
In my post back in 2015 (https://wordpress.com/post/becswindmill.wordpress.com/2880) I stopped by Asa’s house after seeing the barn get taken down. I had kept tabs on it since I first saw it 7 years back. Anyhow, this weekend was my chance, possibly the only one I would get, to see what the inside was like.
The first room felt more like a shed, yet had clearly been used as living space. The pink room was the next room I stepped into. The door in the pink room opens right onto the road, you can see the white line on the pavement outside the window. It makes me wonder how long it was just a path before it encroached on the house. Built in 1758 it must have been many years that passed. The pink room had the usual odd assortment of debris in it, plus a long dead raccoon which had clearly lost the battle.
The front hall showed just as much wear, and each room had sadly been visited by a teen with a can of spray paint and a lack of original thought. The floors were a bit spongy, the left behind dressers numerous. It felt more like a place that had been passed through by inhabitants than lived in for generations. There was the odd working in of indoor plumbing for bathrooms and kitchens. I make it a policy to never go in basements, and rarely upstairs, especially with spongy floors on the main level. But I doubt I would have found much of interest. The house was devoid of presence, just a shell of abandoned stuff no one cared enough to take or toss. The good news is the property, while it will come down, will not become a neighborhood of overpriced cookie cutter mansions. A beekeeper who pulled up as I was getting a full shot of the exterior said that he will be using the land for a nature/education area and store for his expanding beekeeping business! That seems to me to be a sign of progress in the right direction.
Our trip to NY allowed for some back road driving and empty house finding. Always a favorite past time of mine. This is the front room view into the parlor of the house in the previous post. The curtains in the far front room obscured a clear view from that end, which is disappointing as it looks as if there was much to see. The debris of life, jettisoned as life moved on. Things once important to the fabric of home, now cast aside and cloaked in dust. What magazines once resided in the rack? What stories were told around the now sealed hearth? It is even hard to tell how long the place has sat empty.
Winter is over in this house, the skates lie on the floor unlikely to see another season’s use. The house likely seems to seem headed to a final season, empty and decaying, no sign of saving in sight. Books are stacked by the old chair in the parlor, mason jars sit unused and a pair of old shoes reside unused in a box. Who were the occupants that these remnants remained behind when they left? What lives were lived within these walls that now are silent? What we leave behind, what we leave behind. My desire to wander these rooms was strong, but so was my sense of caution. Though the house was unoccupied, the ones around it were not, and you never know who is keeping an eye on things.
The house is now listed as condemned, there isn’t even part that is worth salvaging which is a shame. The film projector was left in freecycle.