A house and yard that engendered imaginations and bred fantasy worlds and characters, encouraged artists' minds with beauty and light and color, and gave so much enjoyment… Reality struck now and then in the form of older sisters who talked for hours on the phone in our “phone booth” – the perfect closet off of the dining room – until our mother told them to get off the phone to free up the line in case someone needed to call; or boyfriends on bikes, surrounding a sister or two, or watching sisters dance in front of the china closet’s reflection to learn the newest steps, modern music blasting in the background. Reality does step in eventually. Even in a child’s world. A broken arm, dogs hit by cars, falling off your horse (er, bike) and skinning a knee, having an argument with a sibling…but that’s what made the fun times even more precious, more necessary.
Even though my sisters had a definite impact on me, I was for the most part closest to my brothers growing up. We played in the dirt, creating mini towns from bricks and such, pushing out roads, then using them for buildings; we drove Hot Wheels (mini cars) around the little towns or just made mud messes. We rode our bikes (taking turns as we didn’t have enough to go around) and created intersections and street lights to abide by – I’m pretty sure someone was a police officer – and someone else was bound to run a red light or speed... I can’t imagine how many scads of miles we biked in the subdivision next to us. We built colorful leaf houses that we furnished with whatever bench or chair or small table we could commandeer, and we cleaned out the silo base and used it as yet another imaginary place to create in (when we didn't have fall leaves). One of my sisters recently told me that she had always wished we could have made a swimming pool out of the silo base. Impossible maybe, but a cool idea. We raced around playing Tag, or threw each other around – mostly gently – while playing Statue, and played Scream Bloody Murder regularly (wow, who came up with that name for a kid’s game? It sure was fun despite the name. Or maybe in part because of the name.) Once we found a cat skeleton with an arched back in the barn (or maybe it was dinosaur bones!) and we were a little freaked out and a little fascinated at the same time. We trudged through our 5–8-acre field (or was it 40 acres? :-) and through the next even larger field behind it to scale the mountain range – what a trip to the cold badlands that was! – to go sledding down it. Okay, so it was only a large hill, but it was a bit steep near the top and took ages to get up. In fact, you only went up and down maybe 3 times because your feet started getting frozen – that’s how big it was…and there were the two fields you had to walk through to get back to the warmth of your home cave (the house). Best sledding hill ever. I think it's covered in trees now. Sigh.
When I think of this place, it comes in sections, as if it was not one piece of property, but worlds within worlds (definitely where I got some of my fantasy story ideas). The long lilac driveway (The Corridor to Wonder and Enchantment), then the large, entrance space at the end of the driveway that was the turnaround and parking area with the welcoming door open or ready to be opened with a smile, and the three car garage and it's treasures (The Heartland). That was the main world. Then came the area between the garage and the decrepit barn with its historical buildings protecting the side borders (The Land of the Ancients). To the side of the ancient schoolhouse-turned-chicken-coup was the area with the slight low in the ground that became our snow quicksand (The Netherlands of Chaos), and that moved into the grapevines and rhubarb world where I saw my first wild garter snake with several baby snakes trailing along with it (The Land of Plenty). It was only a small box or short passageway kind of world that led us to the long "back" side yard that was bordered with tall pines that made excellent wind retreats when the Great Winds came (The Land of Snow and Needles). That side yard had a large, open field beyond it that we must have felt belonged to the outside world, because I don't remember playing in it much. You could see, and therefore were much more aware of, the traffic rushing by on the highway – reality tends to eat away at imagination and pretend. The elegant front yard was played in less, perhaps because it had the more adult, groomed feel to it, but it had its own magic for the imagination – like if we'd ever had tea with the queen, we'd have had it in the front yard on the grand porch ([thus it must be labeled:] The Land of Royalty). The last world, but never the least, was the back huge field where safaris of all sorts took place and that gave such freedom to live and breathe and be whoever and wherever you wanted to be (The Land of Travel and Adventure).
As for the haunted part of it…for starters, there was this portrait. It was an amazing portrait cushioned in black, so it was dark, but exceptionally painted. The artist had done such a fantastic job of painting it, the man's eyes followed you as you walked around the room. Creepy. I had to sleep in the room that held it for a couple of nights after having my tonsils taken out, but I can’t say I was haunted – maybe just a little from my own imagination. Then there were the footsteps. My mother used to hear them upstairs when everyone was in bed…unsettled ghosts – or teenagers mucking about? But the primary ghost story we hold dear to our hearts, so to speak, happened prior to our time in the house. The house belonged to my uncle’s family. It had been his grandmother’s house and she had been William Douglas’ sister (one of Manistee’s lumber barons). My uncle and aunt’s primary residence was in Wisconsin, but they would come for visits now and then and stay in the family home. On one of the visits which took place during a cold season, there was a knock on the door. Someone went to the main side door and opened it. There was no one there. They went to the other three outside doors. No one. The crux of the story is that there was a fresh fallen snow covering the yard. And there were no footprints. (This is where we place the sinister laugh or start playing music from our favorite ghostish movie.)
I’m happy to say, I never met any ghosts while living there or the years after as we sadly watched it slowly fall into disrepair after we moved out. I also don’t recall having any eerie “feelings” from it. It was a good place with a rich history and a virtual playground of earth and sky and trees and buildings and…you get the point. I purchased a piece of the last of the furniture when they cleaned out the house, and when I look at it I still fondly think of the lumber baron and his sister who I never met, but who helped feed my imagination. And, with Thanksgiving in view, I am sitting here being grateful, for even though we had our hearts crushed by the loss of our father/husband, even though his death is what brought us there, I am grateful that we landed in that wonderful, healing place. And for the steadfast mother who gave us rules and structure, but also encouraged our right to be children, to have fun, to create and to make-believe. (Thank you, mom. Happy Thanksgiving.)
Accoustical Solutions photo
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