This old house

My mother’s house is on the market. It was our family home for over 60 years, but I think of it as my mother’s house. She designed it to suit her needs. Sinks and counters were scaled to her tiny frame. It worked for me. Not so well for my father and my sister.


Her house was her refuge, protected all around by ten-foot fencing. The fence prevented automobile lights from shining in the windows of a house set into a cul-de-sac. It also discouraged human traffic. That’s why it was there.

A small house on a large lot, my mother found sanctuary in her backyard among the raised vegetable beds. There, the Early Girls, rainbow chard, lemon cucumbers and a bountiful cornucopia of their sisters slept and grew and came to our table.

She watered the birds and fed the squirrels until they got too rude. She disdained automatic sprinklers. For as long as I can remember, she was always moving a hose. She knew what wanted weekly deep watering and what required daily sprinkling. To her, watering was a meditation. To me, it was a chore.

Her main occupation was collecting recipes. She filled 60 binders with recipes – good ones. I threw them all away. I’m not proud of that. Binders rot and recipes, even the old ones, are all online. But I now I realize it was a life’s work. One of those occupations you can’t take with you.

Once in awhile, I open a book that belonged to her and a piece of memo paper drops out with a recipe copied on it in her beautiful handwriting. I wonder what this meant to her. She had beautiful serving dishes suited to every type of cuisine, but she and my father rarely entertained.

I think the beginning of the end was when my father could no longer help her in the kitchen. Meal preparation and enjoyment was their private worship.

Most of the fence has come down. The Japanese maple yanked from its place in antiquity; the dogwood tree leveled in favor of grass and bark; only the gardenia and camellia bushes survived the facelift.

I pray whoever buys my mother’s house will find sanctuary of their own sort.