All of this recent house hunting with my sister got me thinking about the home I grew up in as a child. It was a sweet single story brick cottage on 1/3 acre with apple tree and plum trees in the backyard, and a creek across the rear meadow where we’d go exploring or fishing for hours and without any supervision.
My brother visited the house two years ago and reported that our childhood home had fallen into such disrepair that it was completely abandoned with the windows boarded up with plywood. The thought made me so sad I couldn’t bring myself to drive past it anymore (it’s in another town 30 minutes away).
As he left, my brother noticed something out of the corner of his eye, something that still remained, and managed to grab it. It belonged to us anyway, the original address plaque that hung over the door when our family lived there 25 years ago.
When Layla posted about her recent visit to her grandfather’s house, it got me feeling nostalgic once more, so I did some digging and found out through online research that someone had bought my childhood home last year and took the time to fix it up. The little brick house had a comeback story to tell.
Here are the four of us kids out in front of it in 1978, I’m the big sister rocking the floral pants, how cute is little sis in her corduroy overalls and little bro in his turtleneck and plaid pants, awesome! We’re standing right in front of the kitchen window, you can see the curtains my mom sewed and the old shingle roof that’s been replaced. There was a split rail fence too, but that’s gone and the windows have been painted white.