The house that holds time
Footsteps in the past —
new voices meet old timber,
home holds all our roots.
[picture is taken in the village of this story when walking the doggo 🐶]
Today, I just want to remember an encounter; a woman who unexpectedly took photos of my parents’ house and wandered around the garden.
I was upstairs having our rest hour with my little one. This weekend, she and I are staying with my parents: first, because it’s my stepdad’s 60th birthday, and second, because it’s simply nice to be here for a few days. My husband has to work, but this gives him a chance to rest: something he truly needs and deserves.
Suddenly, I heard my parents outside, asking someone what they were doing near the house. In return, I heard a woman speaking English, trying to explain.
At first, I stayed upstairs, listening. But soon, as bits of the conversation became clear, I felt drawn to meet this woman and hear more of her story.
Later this evening, as I’m editing these words, I realized I became quite overstimulated after the encounter and didn’t manage to ask the full story. Still, I want to share what I remember for now. I’ll edit this later when I have the complete version.
The woman had come with her son, his wife, and their dog, on holiday. Though they live in Australia, her parents were originally from this very village. In fact, her mother and father had met at the local elementary school.
She told us that her father was born in our house. This part I didn’t catch entirely, but either her grandfather built the house or purchased it sometime in the last century. The house once had a butcher’s shop at the front; over the years, my parents have even found old cow and pig bones in the garden; remnants of that past.
My stepdad, who has original documents about the house, confirmed that it had indeed belonged to her family for many years.
I believe my stepdad bought the house toward the end of the last century. When I was about 15 (I’m 33 now), my mother, brother, and I moved in. My parents renovated the back of the house, keeping the front in its original state. It’s a beautiful home: a place where vintage and modern blend gracefully.
There is so much love within these walls. It’s a place I can always return to. In my younger adult years, I often found myself needing to come ‘home,’ and this house has always been that home for me. To now learn more about its history, and to have new faces connected with that history, adds a deeper layer to my own connection with this place.
It comforts me to know this house has always been a place where people return, seeking home, finding history. And today, beneath its beams and stones, the stories of old met the hush of a small child resting above. The house held them both. Another layer in its story ✨
Until, whenever 🐦⬛