The practice of ending life in order to relieve pain and suffering.

Old House – November 2012

It very well may seem a peculiar viewpoint to some that in one way I consider the demolition of my sisters’ and my childhood home as an act of euthanasia. The house was in such a state of disrepair that I could not finance its renovation. The decision to tear it down was not an easy one to make, in fact it was a sad, painful decision.

The land my parents’ owned has been improved, thus its value increased. In heaven, I believe Mama and Daddy are very pleased.

The farm has been given a name to honor my mother and father. Yet it is sad that its condition made it no longer feel like the home in which I grew up. Pieces of it will live on because they will be given new life in Stella. I hope to use old doors to make a coat rack for the mud room. I hope to use old shutters as shelves and I hope to spruce up two of them to hang on the exterior of the family room windows where they’ll receive long term protection under the screened-in back porch. The old mantel and other doors will find new uses in Stella. Work benches, bells, the Hall family marker, and an outdoor swing are among other things from the old place that will be incorporated into the new place. We hope to use the old well as an irrigation well, and of course there are many wonderful, fond memories that will live on as long as there is someone to recount them, not only the memories from my siblings’ and my youth, but from our children and their youth too. I’m so glad they have their own treasure chest of memories from time spent at Grandma’s and Grandpa’s.

My brother and I not doing a very good job of helping our mother shell peas. I have fond memories of the bounty from the gardens of my youth and the bountiful love and laughter shared with my parents and siblings.

My husband, John, taking a moment from a backyard game of Kadima to pose for the camera. So many, many family and friend picnics, crab pickings, and fish fries took place in the backyard of my parents’ home.

Both my little sister and I held our wedding receptions at our parents’ home. Peggy’s reception was held outdoors, mine inside.

The tearing down of the old place happened, I imagine, in much the same way it went up – piece by piece and not in a day. I also imagine the building transformation was as eye widening as the demolition. Just as the house grew as it was being constructed, it shrank as it was being deconstructed. My sisters and I all commented on the incredible shrinking house. We looked with astonishment, wondering how a family of seven with constant company, both day and overnight guests, lived in a house so seemingly small. When the siding came off, the house lost inches. When the front porch came off, it looked anemic and anorexic. As the house sat with only the black insulation paper on its exterior walls, my little sister, Peggy, teased that the saying, “black is slimming” clearly had been proven and that she’d start wearing more black outfits.

My childhood home missing its front shutters.

My incredibly shrinking childhood home.

No windows, no doors, “open air” attic — all so surreal.

And then she was no more. Bittersweet.

While the demolition was taking place, the shed was moved to behind Stella’s carport. New doors, a new ramp along with new paint, are needed for the shed. During the time this was happening I was on steroids for a muscular issue in my back. Those around me probably thought money was wasted to move the shed, feeling that while on steroids, I could have strapped the shed to my back, walked it from its old location, and set it in its new. I was wound pretty tight and had the energy to light New York City.

Shed gets a lift.

Shed takes a ride.

Shed moving version of a “throw down.”

Time marches on. People and places change. Some changes are welcomed and some are not and some are for the better and some are not. While the changes to my parents’ land and the demolition of the home where they raised my siblings and me may not have been initially welcomed, I believe it has been for the better and I pray, as I believe is so, that Mama and Daddy are pleased and proud and that they share the gratitude I have for John Lennerton for the role he has played in making the improvements possible.

In 1995 Bette Midler released an album entitled “Bette of Roses.” “I Know This Town” from that album quickly became a song that provides me a lift even when a lift is not necessary. Hearing the song made me think of my youth and growing up in rural Virginia. It was included in my playlist for my road trips to visit Mama and Daddy from its release date forward. Now when I hear the song I won’t just recall riding my bike or the falling down barn or the boy who broke the fence, I’ll also recall the house from where I’d start and finish those bike rides.

I Know This Town and even though it’s no longer in our front yard, I know the house that once was there. The neighbors and the passersby may no longer be able to see it, but I still can.