“Day Dream Believer – Welcome Home” NMAMBC #9

“Describe your dream day – without a Migraine to hold you back”:

My dream day:

 The dogwood and cherry trees are full and blooming, but we can see our colonial saltbox from the side porch of the garden cottage; this small, ivy-covered cottage will be our home for the next few months while we finish the colonial. The lilacs lining the walkway around the cottage form a scented, bread crumb trail all the way to a small pond; the attending bees and butterflies dot the bright sky with quick splashes of color, accenting the greens with their kaleidoscopes.

The floors were finally finished yesterday. The reclaimed chestnut boards are 8” to 12” wide, deep brown planks randomly speckled with jagged nail holes and dark impressions left by long deceased worms. Our research told us that chestnut floors like these were original to this type of home in 1751. I stare at the whole of the floor and can’t take my eyes away from the softly gleaming but scarred, cinnamon-colored floor. I think about the people whose shoes have come in contact with this floor through the years and feel like I could make out incidents that have happened or words that have been spoken just by staring long enough. Those nail holes must have their own stories and each and every dent must have a tale to tell…

We’ve been refinishing with milk paint in shades of umber, cream and patriot blue today. (The wainscoting was finished last week: it’s finely carved wood and cabinetry will be restored to original condition, although we decided on the colors ourselves.) Painting with milk paint is pleasant and easy: the scent is like that of a tortilla chip, and there are no chemicals or side effects to think about. We mix the paint as we need it, and when we finish, the paint will be sanded and covered with a natural tung oil. As I start to mix my next batch, I think about how this type of paint was exactly the same used in this house and all the other houses of that time and I feel revitalized and grateful to have this connection. I ponder the house’s “other painters”, and I think about my history here now.

After our day of painting, we stop for dinner on the garden house’s side porch. We eat pan fried bass caught in the river past our woods; set it off with grilled asparagus; and  wash it all down with a smooth porter from Dave’s brewery located in our barn. Later, we take our time with a homemade bread pudding made in the cottage’s stone oven. Dave comments that our chef’s cooking is almost as good as mine; I tell him, “Be Careful!!”  When we finish, I wonder how many dinners were eaten in and around this old colonial saltbox. The house was formerly used as a pub and inn for years, and many Revolutionaries, Senators and Presidents dined and lodged right here; I bask in the thought of the ground I’m on at this very minute, and I have to remind myself to breathe…

Afterwards, we hike down the winding brick path to the old barn that houses Dave’s brewery and what will eventually also be his pub. Starting a brewery has been Dave’s dream for years, and it has been operational now while we’ve been working on the colonial. The barn is original to the house and property and was once used as a makeshift hospital during both the Revolutionary and Civil Wars. The barn’s heavy wood beams combined with the aromas of the gently fermenting beer waft around my head, filling my nose and senses with a warm heaviness that gives me a feeling of contented excitement. I am home, and I am a part of this homestead…

By the time we reach the end of the brick path that leads to the woods after our hike, it is nightfall. The sounds of the river underscore the crickets, loons and nightingales. Green lace shimmers over the white rocks near the river’s shore and the kind air holds me with its softness. As Dave gathers up the rope on our little boat’s rigging, I turn to look back towards the colonial and it’s attending trees, gardens and brick-lined paths; the full moon is shining and low on the horizon. Our new-old home, radiant below the glowing moon, reminds me of just how lucky we all are to have found each other.  The house seems to speak to me:

Welcome Home…

Note: This post was originally written for April 14, 2012 HAWMC #14. It is a favorite of mine, especially as far as ‘Dream Days’ go…

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