My childhood home is gone.
Named Morainewood on the Wabash by the couple who built it, we moved into it in January, 1970.
One of the reasons my parents bought it was so that I could have a horse.
It sat halfway up a moraine and on the Wabash River. We owned the land on both sides of the highway.
It was beautiful in all four seasons.
And I did get my first horse, Amy, shortly after we moved in.
Nick, Flame, and Pokey. (That's a hay wagon I am sitting in, not one for manure!)
It was a wonderful way to grow up.
Out in the country surrounded by woods on one side and the Wabash River on the other. Lucky, lucky, lucky.
My dad loved it so much, he said he'd die there. He didn't but he never knew that; Alzheimer's Disease had made it so that he never realized when we finally moved him into a care facility.
My mother remained in the home until 2015 when she could no longer safely live there alone. We sold the home to Wabash River Enhancement at my mother's request. (A group that works with Lafayette and West Lafayette to preserve the Wabash River corridor.)
The house sat vacant for over ten years.
In less than two years, the woods was reclaiming their domain.
It was hard to see that happen, but that was part of the plan - for the woods and riverfront to be preserved.
So it was not really a surprise when I learned this week that the house and barn had been torn down. But it was still a heavy, painful blow.
And while I had expected that to happen, after over a decade's passing I had let that thought go. As long as the house was still there, it was still home, decrepit though it had become.
The house and barn are now gone, and with them went some incredibly important memories. The last visual reminder of my parents, of growing up with my siblings, of my first horse and the others that followed her. Of bringing my kids there to visit Apple Jack and Granny Slash. So much happiness, so many memories.
Morainewood is now just a memory. But as e.e. cummings' poem alludes, I carry it in my heart.
And I always will.
You are not alone, and I am not alone in mourning the loss of a paradise of a childhood home. Lucky! In my case the house is still there, but in the hands of strangers and slated for serious makeovers and rebuilding. "Beyond recognition." To have it abruptly sold when I turned 65 has been an unspoken strain on my relationship with my father. Still, I can imagine new life being born there.
ReplyDeleteYours has endured a different fate, being returned into the land it came out of.
Oh Lynn what a beautiful place to grow up. I can feel your pain in seeing it go but it is becoming what your mom wanted it to stay, a beautiful place. It’s just a different form now. Keep your memories close.
ReplyDeleteOur lives have chapters, and when we can no longer visit the places, we have to re-read with memories alone. It was, and remains, a place of beauty.
ReplyDelete