There’s a house half an hour outside of town. If you go down dirt roads, past grazing cows, beyond traffic and loud noises, secluded and surrounded by countryside you’ll reach this house with its run-down drive. The withered workshop, large garden, broken shed, and crumbling porches held many memories of happiness and sorrow. This house often hosted lunches, dinners, and family events. Children and grandchildren would come and go throughout the years to visit, run, and play. 

Now, there’s an old gentleman that lived in this run-down house. A farmer, a father, a husband, and a grandfather with a couple greats to his name. He was tall and strong with a big build even in his later years. He loved his three children and all the grandchildren they brought along through the years. His grandchildren loved this man and the amazing stories he told of when his family was young. 

This man didn’t live alone after his children left, he had his wife. She was a lovely woman who had been confined to a wheelchair in her youth. She had bright eyes, rosy cheeks, wispy white hair, a beautiful smile, and an infectious laugh. This woman was the perfect wife, mother, and grandmother with some greats to her name as well. She left this world far too soon, left a hole in her family and their hearts.

Walking through this old house and remembering was my favorite part about it. The backroom, with its stove, couch, and chair, had become the main entrance after some time. Past this room was the little hall that smelled like wood and dust. This hall led into the small kitchen where many meals, laughs, and cries were shared. There was an old, unused door that led out to the old, crumbling front porch. From there you could see the large front yard and its roof of branches and leaves. Through another kitchen doorway, you went into the living room. An old television, bookshelf, piano, and cozy couch occupied this part of the house. Random, beautiful ornaments decorated the living room along with an old globe and some dolls. There was a bedroom you could reach through the living room that the old gentleman had built for his wife. It was simple and small with few decorations and a vanity where the lovely woman could sit at. Back in the kitchen, you could find a slim green door with peeling paint. Beyond it was an old, creaking staircase, with footsteps permanently imprinted on each step, that led up to the old bedrooms of the old couple’s children and the old gentleman’s bedroom.

This house and all of its rooms held so many memories. Memories of small feet pattering across wooden floors and across many generations of family. Memories of a full, happy life shared by two people deeply in love. This house outside of town, beyond the usual buzz, secluded in the countryside was a home away from home that grew older as I grew up.