Saying Goodbye To The House That Raised Me
If I wrote down the memories that were made in my Great-Grandmother’s house… It would take years to read.Recently, the matriarch and foundation of my family passed on to a better place. The house that built my mother, aunts, uncles, cousins and myself is now in the palm of the bank.
I’ve always said that there’s a special spirit to the town of Westport. It’s a quiet and simple place to live, with nostalgia around every corner and turn you take.
Something about this house is somewhat magical. It was built in the early 1800’s, making it one of the oldest standing houses in Westport and has the power to bring me back every time I pull into the driveway. Back to the days of running around the yard in the summertime without and shoes on and playing pretend in a fort made of rocks and boulders. Man I loved that fort…
The stove hasn’t been turned on in months if not years, but the smell of Vo’s Portuguese cooking would always smack you in the face the instant you walked through the front door. It always felt 120 degrees whenever she cooked… after all, it was a small house.
To the left of the entrance was the parlor where I would sleep as a child whenever I stayed the night. I would watch a TV that only offered 6 fuzzy channels until I fell asleep. There was nothing ever good on.
Next was the dining room where my grandmother spent most of her time watching Family Feud, Press Your Luck and the evening news. Some of the most delicious homemade meals was put upon the table in this room, but as a kid, I only ate chicken nuggets and cucumbers from her vegetable patch.
The kitchen had the best view of hummingbirds and all of the birds she used to feed on the daily. She would lean against the sink and stare out at them, always whistling some gospel song softly that she heard from Sunday church.
Beyond the kitchen was two bedrooms, a bathroom and the one room that helped me find the music within that I didn’t know was there to begin with. A small upright piano, left behind by my Great Gramps was where I learned everything about music. I was 4 years old and have been playing since.
Outside was an old barn where cows were raised and manure was collected for farming the backyard vegetable field. It has since been changed to a simple tool and tractor shed, falling apart by the day.
Like I said, I could write a book about that old house. It was as country as county gets and I’ll miss it dearly. One last stroll around the property was tough to take in, but well worth the walk.
Saying Goodbye to Vavo’s house was bittersweet and will always have a special place in my family’s heart, even if we can’t go home again.