My Aunt & Uncle lived in the Laurentians when I was a little girl - in a cabin in the woods owned by my Uncle's family -
They were going through hard times financially and gratefully accepted the free cottage but as soon as they were on their feet they quickly moved back to the city - quite literally walking away from that little gem.
It was too lonely, my Aunt explained - there were no phone lines - no electricity - no modern conveniences, so I completely get that it must have been difficult with 3 small children.
But it had the most magnificent fireplaces - and an Aga stove in the kitchen - there were 4 bedrooms with dormers under the rafters - and there was such a feeling of warmth in that little house.
As a teenager we went back to visit this abandoned cabin - which had long since become a hunting cabin (or a place for vagrants to come in from the cold. )
My family was horrified at what had happened ( what did they think would happen, I wonder? )
but I was completely mesmerised - and my strange love affair with abandoned buildings began.
They're all hauntingly beautiful - and though I'll likely never know any of the stories that go with these places, they still manage somehow to speak to me..............
As for me?
I was almost moved to tears seeing these.
This is my art - this is what moves me immeasurably.
So to think of such beauty - such craftmanship - such memories being left to return to the elements is difficult to see.-
It's as heartbreaking ( in my world ) as seeing a Rembrandt tossed in a bin.
Of lives lived - whether happily or sadly - lives were touched by all of these walls in some type of capacity.
Hide & seek was played
And curtains swayed with Spring breezes after long cold winters
Music echoed from the parlors
Meals were prepared
Messes were made.
And tucked upstairs in bedrooms, big or small, dreams were dreamt .........
A Father's of providing for his family
A Mother's of her babies
A Daughter's of marrying Prince Charming
A Son's of setting off to see the world.
Did the young daughter marry her Prince ?
Did a son march off to war ?
Did he return ?
Did grandchildren grace the rooms ?
Did they despair?
Did they stoop as they walked up the staircase with worry ?
Did the children slide down the bannister , blissfully unaware ?
Did a pipe rest on a table in the den ?
Did aprons hang on a hook in the kitchen ?
Was there chintz wallpaper in the girl's rooms ?
Was there a lake or a swimming hole nearby ?
Were there home made swings hanging from great oak trees that had been around longer than the home ?
Were mittens and scarves knit ?
Was there bread in the oven ?
Did the radiators hiss on cold winter days ?
Did the floors gleam from wax ?
Did laundry sway in the breeze ?
Did families gather around the piano to sing Christmas carols ?
I'll never have the answers to those questions but what I do know is that at some point in time - long before I was born - someone sat on a porch - looked around with contentment and maybe a little awe and thought..............
" I'm home " with appreciation, pride and a sense of being blessed.
They'd have thought their lives weren't interesting enough, I'm sure.
But they'd be wrong.
More Abandoned beauties on my PINTEREST page.
Have a great Wednesday everyone
SHARING HERE !!!
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