~ Echoes of an Era ~

In our line of work, history plays a great part. Our work can be intriguing, romantic, mysterious, laborious, but yet it still lets your imagination run wild as a childs. Our own imaginations often run rampant. On occasion we get a call to do some salvage work on old houses slated to be torn down. Many of these old houses are old farm houses ~ houses that were beautiful at one time...vibrant in life and with life. And still are in an eerie kind of way...a way in which only certain people can see and feel. These are houses that were full of purpose and function and served them both well. Nothing was created for show, but created for living...the show came through naturally out of love. When we first go into these houses we can almost still hear and feel the echoes and spirits of past life which now only remains as a memory in the heart of the house. It remembers and still feels the love and life of former occupants and perhaps wonders why and what happened for it to be deserted...empty...desolate. We, ourselves, still see the beauty here. Time is ageless, but as human occupants leave nature takes over and wildlife moves in closer. Deer, rabbits, raccoons, and oppossums. Birds sing loudly and freely and nest comfortably with no worries with a real roof over their heads. Quail "bob-white" with confidence from atop the rail fence right out of the back door. Barn swallows are stooping and diving in and out of a barn that in all probability their great great grandparents called home. Dragonflies are abounding over wild over growth and butterflies are visiting flowers that were planted by a life already past. They are still lending to the beauty and aura of the homestead.

As we approach the house I sense a hope flaring up...a hope of returning laughter, life, and nurturing. But it is not to be as we start dismantling piece by piece and peace by peace the doors, the windows, the wood work and trim. The house cries out and sometimes I even feel the pain and sadness it must feel. I feel guilty as I watch an era disappearing before my eyes. An era that was before my time and what gives me the right? History cries and as each piece is carried out another memory is put to rest and set free.

Meanwhile, outside and all around the birds still sing, the hawks soar above, the butterflies still drift over the flowers and the dragonflies patrol. Life...as we know it...goes on...