by Cynthia Gunnells
I love old houses. I’m drawn to them. I dream about them. I become obsessed with them. On any given weekend you can find me and my family barreling down Old Montauk Highway on our way to the seaside for a peek at a house behind the hedgerow -- especially if there’s a story behind it. Intrigue? Mystery? Murder? We’re there! Wrought iron gates opening to allees of trees, and gravel driveways winding to falling-down-manors can send me into such extreme euphoria that I may actually crack a smile.
I recently gave my 7-year-old a skeleton key “procured” from an old Long Island mansion and watched with pride as she researched book after book, photo after photo; investigating images of every lock on the estate she thought the key might open. I’m not sure if that love of history is in her DNA or if I put it there. Either way, I consider the job done. Once you have a love for the historic, it’s there forever.
Every house has a story. Sometimes one, sometimes two. The historic ones even more.
They are alive. You can smell their breath during humid summer showers. They communicate with clanks and bangs as hundred-year-old timber settles in for a well-deserved night’s slumber. They encourage you up century-old mahogany stairs with an aching groan and bathe you each morning with amber light streaming in through tiffany-era stained glass.
These homes have outlasted the generations of inhabitants who’ve built lives wrapped in their walls, and each one of those people left an imprint -- hidden under layers of paint and years of faded wallpaper or tucked away in dusty hope chests long forgotten in attics.
These houses have weathered storms of both spirit and nature. They’ve busted with pride standing tall above small town flags waving, freckle-faced kids selling lemonade to puckered-up parents, and laughter and lightning bugs dancing in the air at dusk, during the good times. They’ve sagged with neglect as fortunes dwindled, neighborhoods fell into decline, and people moved on to the more manageable, during the tough times.
Some Main Streets are beginning to burst with bustle again as young dreamers still fraught with naiveté and hope make their way back from big cities searching for a more idyllic life. As a result, a few of those old mansions are getting another chance.
If you, too, are a lover of old homes, check out this book by Nicole Curtis, Rehab Addict and fellow Detroit girl, Better Than New: Lessons I've Learned from Saving Old Homes (and How They Saved Me). This is the story of how one historic-house-lover intended to bring homes (and communities and neighborhoods) back to life, but instead was gifted with an incredible journey to find herself.
The Life of a House
October 24, 2016