About 100 years after my ancestors built the house and began to farm the land, my Grandparents and their children moved into this small town and off of the farm that both my Grandpa and Great-Grandfather had grown up in. From what I can gather, the farm house stayed in the family until the 70s--with different tennants, before it was bought from my Grandfather by a friend.
In the 1990s, both men well into their seventies, struck a deal where the farmhouse would go back to my Grandpa. The house is about 30 years past being livable, and probably a few more years past that of being "nice." Over the years, my Grandpa has done all he could to repair the home of his youth and his children's youth, but unfortunately the house needed much more than the paint and the patch-work a 70 and 80 year old man could provide.
Usually, my parents and whichever grandchildren want to participate, head out with my Grandpa to the farmhouse about once a year. Generally, we walk around the outside while Grandpa or Dad tells stories. On much fewer occassions we're allowed inside to roam what once was your typical Iowa farmhouse. I suppose, in a way, it remains the typical Iowa farmhouse--abandoned and falling apart.
Over the years, my Grandpa has brought odds and ends out to the old farmhouse. The living room is practically furnished with a chair and a sofa and an incredibly old piano with keys and pieces missing. Grandpa likes to go out here and tinker around, play the piano, and I suppose remember what it once was. At 84, with numerous physical ailments, there's very little he can do to avoid the continual decay of his beloved home.
Saturday morning we drove out, and after walking around the home that I could so easily see as once being beautiful, we assembled in the living room as if it were a functional room. Grandpa and Dad told stories and, for me, it was so easy to see what once had been. While they were remembering, I could imagine. As my Grandfather turned to the piano and played a hymn on sticking keys, I felt tears in my own eyes. The sadness in the room was overwhelming. It was as if the air was full of all the people who had once lived in this home---who had once so lovingly cared for it--were all there mourning the decay and loss. For every time I could see it's potential in my minds eye, reality was right there waiting with rotting walls and caved in ceilings.
There are places in this world where I feel connected--but it's more of a belonging--as if I was always meant to be there. But this was new, different--it was more a connection to the people of my past. I'm not much of one to believe in ghosts or spirits, but in that room there was a presence from people long gone. A sad, mourning presence that sunk over me in a way that was both comforting for it's connection yet... devestating from its sadness.
There's always talk in my family, if we ever have some disposable income we'd fix up that house. I think as much for Grandpa as for ourselves. But, disposable income isn't easy to come by in this world. The time and money and effort to fix a house so far gone is well beyond our abilities. But I know, when the old question comes around, exactly what I'd do if I had a million dollars.
My Grandpa and Dad discussing property lines
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