The house that built me

If you're not a country music fan, chances are you haven't heard the song by Miranda Lambert titled The House That Built Me. But if so, then you'll understand just how fitting a song it is to describe how a house, made of brick and board and shingle, can carve out such a corner of your heart.

When I was a little younger than two, my family and I moved into a house in South St. Louis, on the corner of Lindenwood and Childress, at 6450 Lindenwood Place, to be exact.  For the next 18 or so years, I made memories that I will never forget.  Memories that formed my childhood.  Oh, the stories this house could tell.

This weekend I went home for the last time.  In just a few days, the old house will be sold and a chapter of my life will be locked like a secret diary.  I walked through each room one more time and closed my eyes as the memories flowed...

*****

If you stand just right, you can see out this window but the person knocking is unaware.  Before it was fixed, this piece of stained glass was bowed out in the very center and had the tiniest of cracks.  I never was quite sure how it held together for so long.  This window however, sits in a very strong wooden door.  Its kickplate and knocker worn, the door squeaks when opened or closed at about the 8 inch gap mark.  I always knew when someone came or went as my bedroom was directly above the front door.  And that handle had a mind of its own.  It would turn in my hand until tightened and then would finally click into place.  The lock itself was backwards and would stick if not treated just right.  

Tarnished and worn but still holding strong.

The fireplace and mantle saw many transformations throughout the years, but the memories around them never changed.  Family gatherings and Christmas mornings.  Stockings hung with care.  The nail for mine is on the far left.  As the years passed, we stopped using it for fires and decorative candles were lit instead.  

The story is that this old gas grill used to belong to my great aunt.  When my parents moved in, my aunt gave them this grill for their own house.  I'd never really seen a grill like this, but my mouth still waters thinking of the barbeque pork steaks my dad made on here so many summer nights.

And this redbud tree,  I planted it with my dad.  I received it in second grade after taking a field trip to the Missouri Botanical Gardens.  It began as a 10 inch tall stick with its roots wrapped in a wet paper towel wrapped in foil.  It began growing and it never stopped.  It now monopolizes much of this back corner of the yard, making it difficult for the grass to grow in its shadow.

This is the view from my bedroom window.  Right over the front porch of the house.  I can't even count the nights that I would sit in my bed with the lights out and windows open and just watch my little street travel by.  And yes, with a roof top right there, I climbed out several times.  I didn't stray far as the roof is very sloped, but still, it made me feel so much bigger than I really was.

My moma could probably give more stories on this window than me.  This beautiful arched window sits at the top of the stairs right outside my room.  When I was little, she kept a rocker there at the landing.  At night when the moon was bright, she would rock to me and sing Turn Your Eyes Upon Jesus.  I never could quite understand why she would always tear up every time she told me that story.  And then I had two babies of my own.  It became crystal clear.

It's not just the angle of this picture- these steps are crazy steep.  They also used to be enclosed where the railing is now with a door at the bottom of the steps.  Underneath the carpet is some very hard wood.  I know this because I fell down them many a time.  Many.  My grandpa used to walk behind me closely when I was little to make sure I wouldn't fall.  They made him so nervous.  

A galley kitchen in its truest form.  Small, tight, and narrow.  You'd be surprised how many people can actually fit in here.  Be prepared to wait your turn if you need to pass through.  Close the dishwasher and refrigerator doors, suck in your gut, turn sideways and 2 people can comfortably pass by each other.  It was an art form that we had down to a science.  And you see that corner of cabinets with counter below, just to the left of the microwave?  That was my seat on the counter.  That's where I perched when having a talk with one of my parents, watching my mom bake, or my dad sneak a late night snack.  This kitchen was the hub of the house; size didn't matter.

Farewell, house.  You were good to me.  Hold tight to my secrets and memories.  Maybe one day, another little girl will discover some of her own inside your walls.

*****

music video of The House That Built Me by Miranda Lambert

(just click the "play" button)