In a Vacant House: Wilding with Jen

Ever see two dogs running loose, getting into trouble? It really takes two. Tongues lolling, tails high, they go looking for adventure. A dog on its own just isn't as inquisitive or fearless. When it comes to going through old houses, I'm definitely a dog. I'm not a fearful person; not given to the heebie-jeebies. I just want to have someone with me. Maybe it's to share the fun and amazement. Maybe it's for that little boost through the open window. Maybe it is a little spooky to go through a vacant house alone. It's a little spooky to go through this one with someone else!

I had a feeling my dear friend Jen would be up for some adventure. I wanted to show her one of my favorite houses. I hadn't been inside it since James came to see me, several years ago. I remember what fun it had been to finally see the inside of a house I'd wondered about for years! I knew there'd be neat stuff in there. She was admiring the house and had noted the open window. "I don't suppose you'd want to climb in there with me, would you?" I asked. "Hell yeah!" Jen answered, and we were off and wilding. 

Carpet was Jen's innovation, after I ripped my good lined trousers on a nail. That is a very small window to fit through. That's another reason to have a friend along--to help you pull your leg up and through!  

 

 First thing we saw was a mouse nest, which had once been sandwiched in between wallpaper and wall. Oops.  There was some funky wallpaper going down in this house.

 

Like I said, it was a little spooky from the inside. I've photographed this ancient Hydrangea arborescens from the outside so many times. Now here it is, in winter plumage, from the dark musty inside.

As it was in summer 2016, when Chet was with me. Sweet memories of giving him a cold drink from the well each time we came there. I loved running there with him. I've really only just gotten used to going there without him.

2014. Hydrangea and window behind. He's already so gray. 

Onward. We're in an old house, not hunkered down in the sweet July grass outside it.

I'm diggin' the little framed placard, and the fact that someone long ago rubbed the dirty glass to see what it said. I finished the job with a licked finger.

For YOU, MOTHER.

May the sun smile through your window

From out the skies of blue

Upon the world's sweetest creation

"Mothers just like you."

I think card verse has gotten better with time. I liked thinking, though, that in this house had lived a mother someone thought so well of.

 

Shaving stuff--a straight razor, Palmolive Lather Soap. Tums, $.30. And Spirits of Turpentine. People put stuff like that on their skin. Not me, not ever!

 

I looked at the massive old fridge with its supercool funky logo and said, "I bet if you could plug this thing in it would still run. Probably drive you out of the room with noise, but it'd work." Which is more than I can say of the three refrigerators that have died on me in the last 24 years. When I was a kid, you had the same fridge/freezer your entire life. No more. Planned obsolescence and crappy materials are the name of the game now. This thing is built like a dang battleship. You could go over Niagara in this refrigerator. I mean, if you wanted to. 

In the corner of the kitchen is a secret.

It's a cabinet that stays almost closed. The bottom shelf is a tumble of cutlery (I can't really call it silverware). There's a jar of washers. Oh, so many washers. My dad saved washers. Sadly, I am of the cohort that barely knows what washers are for, and rarely ever deploys them.

 

 On the second shelf are some little dishes and cups.

 

On the third shelf are some more washers and cotter pins. So many cotter pins. Again...not something most people these days collect for later use. 

  

The green milk glass coffee mug? Straight out of my grandmother Ruigh's cabinets. That was her dishware. I'm sad that by the time I came along, the last of five, my grandmother Elnora Zickefoose had only a few more years left in her little brick bungalow in Sheffield, Iowa. I never got to go through her cabinets; ate only a few meals at her table. But oh, what a cook she was. As was my maternal grandmother Frieda Ruigh. I never expect to eat so well again. Looking back, I realize what a gift those meals were, and I'm grateful that my parents took us every summer to see our family in Iowa.

I looked hard at the cotter pin can.  Recent enough to have a barcode and be called LeCafe! Somebody tell me what year barcodes happened...On June 26, 1974, at 8:01 a.m., Sharon Buchanan used a barcode to ring up a 10-pack of Juicy Fruit at the Marsh Supermarket in Troy, Ohio. Thank you, Google! So this house was occupied at least through the late 1970's, I'd say, and nosing through the Christmas letters, into the 80's. Situational awareness, my friends. More than 30 years gone from here, the inhabitants, and all this beautiful wreckage, telling of their time here.

 

On the top shelf is the best thing of all. An electric juicer (Jen thought it might be a coffee press at first and I laughed; this is definitely 8 O'Clock Coffee, ground in a can, country).  But that's not the best thing.

 

 A Carolina wren nest! It's been occupied for several years that I know of, hidden in that magic cabinet, which I mostly closed back up when I was done snooping. The parents enter the house, I'd think, through a variety of holes, and as far as I can tell they lead the babies out via the window we climbed in. That's on the other side of the house, but a trip like that is no big deal for Carolina wrens. They're brainy--spatial perception kings.  They teach their children well.

Cabinet, ready for occupancy, spring 2018.

Now for the tableaux I love so well.

That massive refrigerator, and some boots and a barrel and bucket and stool...oh my gosh. Andrew Wyeth, bar the door.

I'm always trying to get people to click on the photos in my blog to see them large and in focus. Not going to tell you what this letter says. Trust me, it's worth reading. The things you pick out of a pile of Christmas cards from the mid 1980's! And while you're at it, run through and appreciate the other photos at full size, please and thank you.

Tools on the far kitchen wall. I have always wondered if the tools hung here when the original inhabitants lived here, or whether those went up after the house became a sort of storage unit. So I gave it some thought. I'm leaning toward the latter explanation. I mean, I love the way they look but I doubt Grandma would have allowed this in her kitchen. This looks like an after-they-left arrangement to me.

We'll just hang these here where we can git 'em. Nobody hangs a saw on the very edge of a corner they're going to walk around (the basement door). Ergo: Put up after everyone moved out.

Eek. This is what I mean by spooky.

Another look through that kitchen door before we go up the creaky freaky stairs.

The light-gathering capability of my iPhone6, my partner in all crime and adventure, is such that the darkness of this stairwell is not adequately conveyed. I went first, you know, in case BATS. Note the wall to the right.

Those are ancient logs, barely covered with plaster and wallpaper. James muses,

"That log frame is something I think about often.

What were the forests where those seedlings began?

Did they know native Americans?"

 

 LOOK at those logs!! In this humble house, forest giants, felled. When??

 

 

Pretty posies, peeling, uncovering the venerable bones of a house that's not going to fall down anytime soon.

An ironing board. Wonder and trepidation in discovery. Gratitude to be able just to look at it all.

An electric clock, strongly reminiscent of the one in my Gram Ruigh's kitchen. Again, I had the strong feeling this one would work if plugged in. "I bet it buzzes like a ...." I said to Jen. I was haunted by the thought that it was 11:10 AM when it was taken off the wall and thrown into a box, to be found over 30 years later by a harmless trespasser. Telechron brand. Sounds so Buck Rogers, doesn't it?

Creepy toys and school papers. Who will ever know?

 

Hangers, breeding in dark corners. 

Big tropical leaves were in vogue in the 1940's. I wondered why there was no color to these. Understated.

 

In a corner window sash, a hand-tatted tie for curtains, long gone. Everywhere, hand-made things that are no longer hand-done. I thought at first it was a snakeskin. Jen figured out it was a curtain tie.

 

Hunters come here. This one, I think, died on its own; the skull mostly gone as it would be had something chewed it in nature.

It was time to get back out into the sunshine. There's been so little of it this spring!

 

 

May the sun smile through your window

From out the skies of blue.

We climbed back out the pronky small window, our wilding done for the day.

The golden forsythia, the blue sky, and my favorite tableau of all were calling.

 

I saw the ghost of Chet Baker stomping across this couch, sniffing for decades-old crackers in the cushions.

The couch is losing color. Chet no longer stomps. A squirrel has taken a large divot of stuffing for its nest. The couch melts away. 

Time can only keep spooling out.

 

The log cabin stands yet.

Discovering Savannah

There's never enough time to explore. I had a day and a half to myself to discover Savannah. I parked my little chocolate chip Fiat and set out on foot to see what I could see, quickly realizing it was much bigger than I'd thought. 

On the advice of a friend I made my way toward the riverfront, where ancient warehouses and shops had been made into restaurants, bars, candy stores and more shops. I bought myself some odd garments from Nepal at half price. If you want to know what Zickstyle is, this is it. Talbots material I am not. I suspect that twenty years hence I will still be wearing odd gaudy hand-pieced things, and still not caring whether anyone thinks it's age-appropriate. 

Litmus test: Walked into an Apple store upon returning to Columbus. Twenty-something "Genius" helping me stops, stares, says, "If I may say so, that hoodie you're wearing is AWESOME."

Well, all right. Thank you. That vote counts.

I lost myself in an antique mall and bought two busted up old ceramic toads. Unfortunately I somehow lost one of them. My bag was unzipped when it came out of planeside gate check, and the smaller one had fallen or been taken out. Thanks again, TSA. You suck out loud. Now you've lost or stolen a hand-made pennywhistle and a little ceramic toad I treasured. But I still have the big one, busted toes and all.

The antiques mall.  Yes, I was having loads of fun.

A late lunch at Crystal Beer Parlor. Crab stew and a Greek salad. Mmmm.

While we're on food, one of the best meals I had: snow crab and shrimp with grits and Cajun cream sauce at AJ's Dockside on Tybee Is. GA. Ohhhh my gawwwd. I ate nothing but crustacean for ten days and lived to tell about it. I was like Tom Hanks in Castaway, except that I was loving it. And didn't have an abscessed tooth I had to knock out by moonlight with a rock. Or only a soccer ball to talk to. 

Hit an art gallery and took an illicit photo of a superb folk-art osprey. I wanted it, but didn't have $1500 extra to spare. Look at that glare. Love it. He had lots of other water birds, all superb, all made by listening to the woodgrain. So good.

I walked downtown to one of the zillion parks and found a human-dog party of epic proportions.

 The dogs were milling around, and an old arthritic black Lab (yes, Floridacracker, this is for you...) was galumphing painfully around the outside of the pack, smiling at everyone.

Tons of butt-sniffing going on amongst the dogs.

I marveled that nobody was gettin' up in anybody's grille. Reminded myself that these were city dogs, used to socializing, unlike my country Boston terrier. He'd have been lining them up, taking names and kicking butt. Chet. You are such a heathen.

A beautiful pale boy was reading.

He got up, yawned and stretched, not knowing that I was admiring his long ivory arms through my telephoto lens. Sorry. No asking your name, not offering a release for you to sign. Just stealing a little  of your beauty.

More dog action. This pitbull mix was so adorable. Love that expressive tail!

The statues don't mind my taking their picture.

This city, this city. Why can't Ohio have just a smidge of its beauty?

It probably has something to do with our foul climate. Nobody has time to create beautiful public spaces. We're too busy surviving our disgusting winters.

No such problems here. It was 65 this day. Everybody was hangin' out in the park.

His guitar was well worn around the soundhole.

There's that swaying Spanish moss again. Ohhh.

An untimely bloom from a star magnolia. The people I spoke with said the end of January was a wee bit early for this to be blooming. That's OK. I'll take it. Oh, I'll take it.

A sweet presage of spring. Mmmm. More more more said the Zick.

I want to go back. Preferably arm in arm with someone I love, to stroll slowly down Savannah's myriad avenues. It's a  dreamscape for dreams like that.