I have memories of sitting in the back seat of a well loved car gazing out the window and watching the world flash by while my Mom winded and whirled around the mountains. Every so often we would pass an old, decrepit house or barn and my mom would exclaim with so much enthusiasm I thought she had seen a bag of money on the side of the road, “look at that beautiful house”! Was there a home on the hill behind the sad building that I could not see? Was she looking across the street in the opposite direction? Was my lack of height preventing me from seeing this lovely structure? No. She was talking about the very house that looked straight out of a horror film. You know, where the zombies/vampires/murderers live while they plot their next kill. A house with paint peeling like your skin after the first sunburn of the season. A house where the shutters (what’s left of them) are hanging by a single nail, giving it a sad face like Munch’s “The Scream”. She was talking about the very house in front of us.
I would smirk and say with the confidence of youth “that is the ugliest house I have ever seen”!
“Why would you say that?”
She had the same answer every time. “It has character”. We passed so many old homes on trips to my grandmothers, to the beach trailer, to our local general store and the answer was always the same. It has character. I never fully understood what she saw in these rotten, porch hanging off the front, houses.
That is, until I got older and wiser.
After I started design school I quickly learned about houses and their structures. We learned about what influenced certain styles throughout history. We learned about the important events during that time that created a necessity for mud rooms or even fall out shelters for example. My education started to create an interest in “old” homes but it wasn’t until it started to happen in front of my own eyes did I see the beauty and what gives a home character. It is the people and stories that happened in these homes. Right before my eyes I started to look at my grandmothers house in a new way. The mint green tile and knotty pine walls that I always overlooked were so beautiful to me. They reflected a piece of history that can never be brought back. If only the walls could tell stories.
When walking around my grandfathers property you can see the Byland homestead of my grandma Grace in the distance. An old, two story, white house on the hill probably built in the 1800’s. At some point in the late 80’s, cows got into the house and destroyed it which is a shame. I need to make a point to go up to the house and take photos. My sister and I would sneak up there when we were younger and walk room to room, dodging cow patties on the floor. The walls were thin and the glass windows (when not broken) seemed to have morphed with time. It sits in the middle of the field, surrounded by grazing cows and yellow daffodils. This is beauty. My grandmother grew up in this home with several brothers and sisters. Waking up early to help with the farm and walking to school. Stories like these give a home character and you can tell when a home has a story to tell.
I brake for old houses now and I have turned into my mother. Don’t we all eventually turn into our mothers?
John and I knew we wanted an older house when beginning the home buying process 5 years ago. The very instant we walked into our current home, built in 1976, we knew it was the one. It wasn’t just the Ranch home qualities that we loved, it was the glow and warmth we felt when we walked in. The previous owners put love and time into fixing up and maintaining the home. It had stories to tell. For example, the skinny pantry door has children’s height marks penciled in all along the edge. I can’t wait to add our future children to it!
We need to appreciate and love the older homes in our communities. We need to band together and do everything we can to preserve them and the memories they hold. Check out the great Preservation NC website to learn more about historic preservation in our area.
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