See the following posts for memories of the house where I grew up…because today it was torn down. A giant bulldozer and truck came in and leveled it, and the rubble was hauled away, including the hand-stained paneling my dad made for the kitchen, the heavy iron floor vent covers, the crate in the basement addressed to a returning GI who lived at the house in the 1940s.
Gone are the rose bushes in the front, the wood floors, the shelves my dad put above the kitchen windows, and the scorched attic beams that reminded us of the house’s survival of fire back before our family bought it in 1968.
Gone are the ferren brick tile basement walls, the giant old furnace, the cast iron bath tub in the upstairs bathroom. Gone is the smooth plaster lining the stairway, the wavy glass window panes upstairs, the wide planks of pine wood covered in old linoleum that we walked on in the upstairs bedrooms.
In my heart, there is a spot that will forever be occupied by the big white frame house on the corner of Chapin Street in that small western Nebraska town. In my memories, it is clean and tall, with roses and lilacs, irises and tulips all blooming. Mock if you will, but to me it was a living and breathing thing.
Sighs of the Past (excellent photo)
Too Late Schmart (great picture)