Custom woodworking and art
When one contemplates the sale of one’s house one invariably has to contemplate the selling of ones memories. In the late winter early spring of 2006 my wife and I bought our home. Way over our head the true american way or should I say more specifically the “Jackson way”. I remember it like it was yesterday my brother and his then wife came to visit soon after we bought it. No furniture yet so we sat on the cold floor and drank beer. We were happy and they happy for us and for the first time in my life I noticed my brother looking upon me as a man rather than just his little brother. A huge milestone for a little brother and certainly for one that had always looked up to his big brother. I will not have the luxury of having another moment like that for he has left this place and left me holding on to this memory and many others like a kid holds on to a melting snickers bar, sweet tasting but messy to deal with. My sister came over soon as well to document the before pics knowing there would be many after. Each visit always chronicling the new changes and subsequently making me recognize my own journey ,that I was often to busy to recognize myself. Mom and Dad were there as well, helping in any way they could. Dad immensely proud of his son being able to purchase such a fine old house and also proud of passing the love of old things down to his son. My wife recognizing my obsession with old homes and having her own romantic sense of adventure was there every step of the way. My right hand assisting me anywhere and anytime I needed help. Always there to awaken me from my work and usher me inside to eat and then always allowing me to go back out to continue even when the sun had long since been down. I don’t think she always understood my voracious hunger for working on the house but always supported it. That support was crucial. Our home bared witness to the love we shared and the two babies that were created from it, that we were very much blessed with. Someday I hope that somewhere deeply encoded into their D.N.A they remember this old home that gave them shelter from the rain and that they remember the way their little bare feet felt when running on those original long leaf pine floors. I know this old home will remember us because I believe all homes have memories both good and bad and this one has many memories to pull from starting soon after the civil war. We have represented merely a long vacations worth of memories to this old home in the scheme of things but secretly I hope we mean more. From 2006 to present I have worked on this home like it was struggling to breathe and I was the only one that could keep it alive. It was a obsession that left relatively little time to enjoy my product. Always scared to stop in fear that I might not start again. I missed many important events in my life because of it. An abridged list as follows, re-finished all of the wood floors,complete renovation of bathroom,addition of 300 sq ft,kitchen cabinets,exterior paint,interior paint,library,closets,decks,fences,shop/garage redo,re worked the transoms,landscaping and just in the last few weeks built front stairs as a gift of sorts it never had the stairs that it truly deserved. During this time I never really stopped to smell the roses to busy moving on to the next project. But at last I know it’s time to move on because our adventure does not end here I know it deep in my soul. I can only hope l I have made this old home understand its own brilliance and importance.I hope.
The potential sale of this home may be quick or it may take time but whatever happens to this grand old home I wish its next 150 years treat it as well as its first 150 years. As for me I know that I will keep holding onto this melting snickers bar and keeping an eye out for my next adventure.
|“When a writer knows home in his heart, his heart must remain subtly apart from it. He must always be a stranger to the place he loves, and its people.”|
|William Morris quotes|