The Friendship Path

 

My husband and I always buy houses and properties that need an unusually large amount of work.

We are currently working on two buildings/houses at the same time.

One of them is a log cabin from the 1800's that had a 'Keep Out' sign on it, which automatically piqued our interest (of course).

The other is a Victorian home from the turn of the century that needs all kinds of TLC (hard work).

 As we cruised through these properties/houses with realtors, the properties were so beat up that the realtors had a hard time pointing out anything positive.  We don't really listen to the realtors any way, we just need them to get us into the property.  We've refurbished enough homes/properties that we know what the structural 'musts' have to be, the rest is cosmetic, poor use of space, materials/colors or a wide range of things that probably not many would take on, but of course... WE WOULD.   I'm sure the realtors walked away shaking their heads...but, we usually invite them back when the projects are complete and they are amazed...we aren't, 

we could picture what it was going to become from the very beginning.  

When spring/summer came, I went out into the yards of both properties.  The log cabin is on 40 acres and the Victorian had a small backyard/front yard.  At both properties, I would sit in a lawn chair, while our two dogs ran around and envisioned my plan for these spaces.   After drawing layouts for a few days, I began work on the smaller yard of the Victorian, while my husband was doing some nasty, dirty work on the inside.  My plan was to get rid of most of the grass, put in gravel walkways and build a lot of perennial beds.  When I stuck my shovel down into the ground, I hit something hard, so I continued to dig up the grass and found some laid brick. I scrapped up the overgrown grass and followed that brick path from our home to the fence of the house next door. 

I sat down for a rest and a drink of iced tea and wondered why this brick path was in our yard leading to the house next door.  The two houses are about the same age, so I don't believe that the next-door property belonged to this house at some point in time.  My husband suggested that it was a path that the neighbors used to go back and forth.  That made sense.  The next-door neighbor had already taken down the wire fencing and put up a secure wooden fence.  We followed suit so that we could safely let our dogs out.  We rolled up the old wire fence and saved the gate and erected a secure wooden fence.  At some point, the neighbors may have had a gate at the end of the walk into the others backyard.  

Being a writer/blogger/photographer, I began to imagine and create a story about this brick path and these two neighbors of yesteryear.  

I'm going to call these neighbors Mr. & Mrs. Russell and Mr. & Mrs. Vander 

 (Bob and Betty Russell & Jean and Albert Vander). 

They purchased their new homes in Menominee, MI in 1900.  They each had two children and were so excited to be on their own, their very own first home.  

One day while they were moving their things into their new homes, Betty and Jean spotted each other and waved - said "Hi Neighbor".  Bob and Albert had already exchanged head nods in the alley as they were unloading boxes from their cars into their garages.   

Monday morning Bob and Albert headed off to work, and the four children headed off to school leaving Betty and Jean to unpack and make this new beautiful home 'their own'.  

While hanging a clothesline in the backyard Betty saw Jean struggling with a large chair, trying to get it into the backdoor.  She walked over to help her.  

And, so began the friendship that would last for decades.  

The pathway between these friends' houses became worn from daily travel and muddy when it would rain.  So, the two husbands decided to lay brick to make it easier for their wives to visit.  And, they would, every day, rain or shine, winter or summer.  It was an important visit for each of them.  They would discuss the weather, their families, recipes, other neighbors and their lives.  They have been in each other's homes, but they really enjoyed their visits at the fence, didn't have to worry about having a sink full of dirty dishes or unmade beds...just visit...

Eventually, as they aged, they put benches by the fence so they could comfortably sit and visit.  

Betty passed first and Jean would still walk out to the fence and sit for a while, thinking about all of their conversations and how much she missed her friend.  She would whisper to Betty, hoping that she could somehow hear her quiet words.  As she got older, it became not safe for Jean to walk over to the fence, but, she would still visit with her friend each day, from a dining room window. 

The children of Betty and Jean knew about their friendship and after they were both deceased, they planted a flower garden on each side of the fence in honor of their moms and their deep friendship.  Those flower gardens are there to this day.  They had not been cared for in years and my plan is to clean up my side, add perennials and place a statue that I bought of two angels sitting on a bench in the center of this little friendship garden.  

As I turn over the dirt of this special meeting spot,

 I think of them visiting and chatting away in Heaven.   

This is a story based on some fact...but, mostly based on my thoughts that are always working on a story.  The above picture of the brick walk is real and does go from our home to next door...I did not realize at first that there were flowers by the fence until some scrub trees were cut down because of the erection of the new fence...then suddenly we had red poppies, lily of the valley, lilies and ferns that had been trapped and shaded by these scrub trees.  We now have cleaned up the bed and added to it.  I found a statue of two angels sitting on a bench.  It sits prominently in this friendship garden.  I have one more angel in my garden and it is one I purchased soon after my own mother passed.  She sits out in the middle of beautiful perennial gardens, feeling the warmth of the sun, the refreshing rain and watches the seasons come and go. I picture these two friends sitting in heaven's gardens having endless conversations.  And, maybe my mom is sitting nearby enjoying all of the beautiful gardens too....

HANGING CLOTHES ON THE LINE

 

Hanging clothes on a clothesline is one of the most therapeutic activities in which I indulge...after that comes hot bath, drinking tea and reading/writing or blogging.  

Each one of these activities both invigorate and relax me at the same time.

I recently made myself an apron with big pockets for the clothespins, I also use it for egg collecting.    The idea was to make it easier, but I still like to walk back and forth to a stationary pouch full of clothespins that hangs on one end of the clothesline.  

My outdoor animals of course need to be involved, usually running under the hanging clothes like little bulls charging a flapping, colorful piece of fabric.  Chickens, geese, dogs, cats and wild birds seem to be attracted to the moving pieces of clothing and bedding. Maybe it's fun for them, a change in their daily routines.  

As I lift each wet piece of laundry and hang it on the line, it brings me back to a time when I would run around under the clothes while my mom hung out her laundry.  Sometimes it was a wet smack in the face, sometimes a crispy, white sheet that smelled so good.  I would cling to that sheet and smell it while my mom would laugh at me as one of our cats was also clinging to one of the hanging towels.  Those were the days when my mom would wash clothes, hang them outside to dry in the sun and the breeze, and then when they were dry to the touch, she would fold them into a laundry basket and take them into the kitchen.  Once there, she would dampen each piece, separate them with wax paper and then iron them perfectly.  It was like an art form to her.  She would turn on the radio in the kitchen and sing and sometimes whistle while she ironed away.  She seemed to take so much pleasure in her daily 'taking care of her family' activities.  Her iron was heavier than what we use today and it didn't have a spray nozzle.  She had an old pop bottle with a cork sprinkler head in it that she would shake and dampen each article of clothing.  She ironed everything...the only thing she didn't iron were towels and items that went to the dry cleaners.  I would iron my dad handkerchiefs and the pillowcases, because they were 100% cotton and much easier than trying to line up the center of a shirt sleeve.  I still have that pop bottle, and it is a wonderful memory of all of the conversations we would have when I would get off the school bus and find her in the kitchen ironing.  

When I hang clothes on the line, it makes me look all around at the beautiful outdoors.  I hear and see birds; I watch bunnies run and stop in the yard.  I look at the cloud formations and make sure that hopefully there are no rain clouds in sight.  Although, some of the clothes have gone through drying, getting rained on and drying again when I would be gone for the day.  No matter, they smelled wonderful when I would put them on the beds.  

Hanging clothes on the lines makes me feel like I am contributing something good to our overtaxed environment...not using the dryer all summer saves on our gas bill also.  But, most of all, it's good for me and my balance.  It centers me with being able to reminisce about times gone by, also be in the present as I look around and also allows me time to float and dream. It's that kind of an activity that you do to relax your busy mind.  It always kind of feels like I'm sailing or flying while I'm in and around all of the moving sheets and pillowcases. Kind of how I picture being up in the clouds.  It is my little bit of heaven on earth.