For 45 years my Dad lived at 50 Bow Road.
good house, intimate place built by our family, my Dad the master carpenter, salt air at the edge of every room.
held memories and promises, sorrows and dreams, and four books he wrote,
carnival glass, tea cups, quail, fights and kisses, photos fading, reloading press, coins, turkeys, books and decoys, the echoes of holidays, and two good dogs buried in the back yard.
the house held my mother as she died with all of us around her…
held my struggles and my brothers’ to find our way, gave my niece a first Cape home.
had stairs that we ran up and down and I fell up and down…
bad poetry in the attic along with the field mice, dungeons and dragon ephemera and dog tags from a WW 2 vet and a MASH nurse who served in the Korean war…
my Dad’s whistling every morning will echo for decades…
I went home for the last time last week…down at the end of a dirt road, a round-a-round, three houses, a brother, sister and cousin found this spot to build upon with an optimism born of the 50’s and 60’s… and a cottage to hold them till new houses were built
now my Dad-the last of that generation, has come to the time to move on taking memories and paintings, photos, and tables and chairs to new homes, creating new memories. I am proud that he made the call, affirming life.
thanks old house, you held us well…now it’s time for your next chapter.
these are the last group of photos I took, details catching my eye as I said goodbye.
a final salute with one of my favorite Miranda Lambert songs, “The House That Built Me”.