It wasn’t so much a house as a shack. Ramshackle and falling apart. Tin hanging asunder from the roof. Gutters were still up though, and the rain barrels were still there too. Small porch and the remains of what had surely been a swing. We dared not go inside for fear of falling thru the floor. My Paw was grinning and walkin fast as we approached.
“This is it”, he said. “The Old Moore place”. “We fed the chickens thru the floor boards when we lived here”. “So cold in the winter that you couldn’t turn over for the pile of blankets on top of you”.
We walked around the old place as best we could. It was pretty overgrown. I asked where the old path led out back. To the stream was the reply. Had to haul water. Off we went. Wasn’t too far. Just long enough to be annoying. Sure enough there was a spring with an old pipe affixed so you could direct the flow into a bucket.
Back to the old place we walked. Paw remembering the whole time. We walked around the old place one more time. Then as the rest of us walked away, he stood in front of the house and just stared. It hit me then that this would probably be the last time he would see the old place. I know it held many memories for him. Not all bad. He pulled out his handkerchief and daubed his eyes. Turning and seeing me looking he grinned again. I waited on him to catch up. As we walked back towards the road he looked back one more time. Used to feed the chickens thru the floor back then. On we walked, out of the past.
