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.
There it sits, awaiting a new home. Left on its own to weather the elements as best it can, beside disused railroad tracks. It could be a great future studio, garden shed, bunkhouse or some such useful space. Who knows what the future holds for this tiny shed.
This building is located in a town that made a name for itself making barrels. It has been an antique shop for as long as I have lived in the area. TAPS (The Atlantic Paranormal Society) did a show here, and though they didn’t find any evidence that this building was haunted, the Reed homestead, located out of the photo to the left, certainly gave them what they were looking for. As you can see this building is cantilevered over the falls, which send the vibrations up through your feet when you are in that section. Opposite this building is an old grist mill and on the other side of the water is a house that was once a tavern and inn. There are numerous old structures in this end of town along the old rail line in what was once a thriving industry, barrels were used for packing all sorts of things and Townsend was the barrel making capital of the world. A different world in many ways, and not so much in others.
I’m starting off the 2nd half of the year on an upswing with this image that won a red ribbon at the Chelmsford Art Society 4th of July show. I walked by this building today and the windows are all covered up. It is being changed into something new. This was one of those lonely, Edward Hopper like scenes that I enjoy taking. There was just something so forlorn about the forgotten umbrella in the closed diner that felt very symbolic to me. I also had the following piece sell, which has a totally different feel to it.
Though this 2nd piece is going in a community health center, so I guess this would be a happier one to look at while sitting in the waiting room or exam room!
I love this old workshop with all the metal components so perfectly arrayed. It was a building on what was once a dairy farm, though no dairy barn was there anymore. The house was empty, the garages and sheds full of “stuff that might be needed later” I had thought the place would be torn down for the land it sat on to be developed, but surprisingly the house and most outbuildings remain. The house is rented and the rest of the property is used by a landscaping firm for their equipment. To me a much more satisfactory use of the old farm than more cookie cutter homes, or one large “look at me” house. I love to poke around old places and see the structures, the debris and feel the history. As this workweek starts I am trying to get in the mindset of work, to get a bunch done at the studio before the “in office” hours start tomorrow. But as I only have 2 open hours today I am fighting the ticking of the clock, and I already know how that ends! But I will get done what i can and maybe this afternoon get out with my camera for a bit. Who knows what the next few hours will bring!
It is midweek, my quiet morning as I go to work in the afternoon. I putter around doing a bit of this and a little of that, feeling time pass at a different pace than on other days. I hope to get a bit of work done on my painting, I only gets about an hour of straight painting time a week, something I hope to remedy. I also hope to get out in the woods for a bit before lunch, I have a trail just up the street that I hope I can access now that the banks are receding. Right now though I am enjoying a cup of tea before donning boots or picking up a brush. I can choose either to go first, much like the stairs above give the option of going up or down. But not both, choices must be made and things arranged around the decisions. If you couldn’t guess these stairs are ones at the studio that I climb on my many indoor day walks. I can’t imagine how many feet have traveled up and down on these treads, might it be over a million? Maybe more? It does make one pause to think about all those people that used these stairs, the lives they lived, the thoughts they had. That is what I love about old buildings, the stories that have have seeped into the structure and become part of it.