The House

Everybody probably has a memory of "the house" in the neighborhood that always seemed to be abandoned. For me it was the old Bradley place at the end of Smith Road where the bus used to drop us off and we'd set about walking 3/4 of a mile up the hill to my house. The abandoned Bradley house and barn presented a tempting target for a 10 year old boy (or was I an 8 year old? or maybe 12?). My young pitching arm got some practice on what few windows remained and occasionally, if I was alone, I'd wander around inside wondering what it was like to live in this house prior to the great abandonment. It all seemed so ancient, and definitely scary.

Years later the Bradley house was purchased by an out of town family that spent months rehabilitating the old farm (it would always be the Bradley place to us) and they made it come to life again. My parents befriended the new family and I remember as a college freshman going down to their house for a visit. It was strange walking through the house and seeing it like I'd never known it before - all spruced up, but with original details intact. I kept wondering if, while remodeling, they had ever spotted my initials carved into what was now the pantry door in the kitchen, or if they ever would have imagined that I had terrorized their home with rocks and a pocket knife so many years earlier.

I drove past the abandoned house in this photo on my way home from work today. It reminded me so much of the Bradley place that I could barely control my urge to pick up a rock.