by Andrea White

Created on: December 15, 2006   Last Updated: May 14, 2007

There is a house beside the road. White and weathered, it stands surrounded by drooping picket fence and weeds, crowded in by duplexes on one side, and busy traffic on the other. Some small towns get smaller and dwindle away, while others stay pleasantly the same year after year. The town of the house beside the road grew bigger, absorbing more businesses. With more businesses came more people, and with more people, more infrastructure. What used to be a graceful front lawn with large, leafy maple trees and green grass in summer, appears to be largely ignored by the current owners.

I wonder what it could say if it could talk, the house beside the road? It is a fanciful notion, of course. Houses can never talk, after all. But this house is special to me and a few others who were lucky enough to have been inside its walls when it was lovingly tended and cared for. Its siding was freshly painted then, and its roof sealed tight. The wide lawn on which it sat was a green carpet, with splotches of colorful flowers smiling from their pots on warm spring days. Tomatoes grew in a small fenced garden to be enjoyed on a hot summer day. The inside of the house was warm in the winter and cool in the summer, and always smelled of something delightful to eat. The couple who lived there loved their home. To them it was not just a house, but a place of happiness and security, where their children, then their grandchildren had played. For fifty years they stayed in this house, experiencing the ups and downs, the joys and sorrows of life within.
Three daughters were raised within the walls of the house beside the road. They thrived, and grew. They experienced childhood there and then young love. They married and moved away from the house, but always knew it was a warm place of welcome for them, if ever they were to come there again. And they did. They brought their babies there, and the babies grew to know the love inside the walls of the house. It was one of their favorite places to be. The couple there gave love and understanding, hugs and acceptance.
Holidays were a time of joy and laughter within the walls of the house. Wonderful smells of freshly baked bread and pies floated through the air. Children played hide-and-seek, taking refuge in closets and hidden spaces known best by them. The music of conversation and laughter among the adults was a melody blended with the percussion of the children's feet running on the floors above.
Time passes as always, and the couple grew older. No longer could they stay within the walls of their beloved home. Its stairs became a danger to them, the upkeep of the house a burden. To lose their independence was hurtful to them, the failing of their bodies frustrating. Yet to have lived so long and so well, and to have seen so much of life was the other side of the coin, the saving grace and the blessing. So, they gave up the house by the side of the road, left it to live out their days somewhere else. But with each visit from a loved one, they would ask of the house, and of its welfare. It wasn't so much the lovely yard and towering trees, but the memory of the love that was created there and the times that were had there that they longed for. Yet, in the end, they knew the legacy they had created within the walls of the house. It was a legacy of family and love, of integrity and goodness. When the end came for them they were surrounded by those they loved, who also dearly loved them. They had done well in the house beside the road.

Learn more about this author, Andrea White.
Click here to send this author comments or questions.