I had a purchase signing yesterday with a young couple who lived in a historic house in a historic town sandwiched between steep Rocky Mountains where herds of big mountain sheep can often be seen grazing. They were moving out of state. Their home, like many others in the town, had historic plaques, inside and out. The one inside was very old and faded, but still somewhat readable. It said the house was built in 1867 by two brothers who also built the town's opera house back in the day when mining was king. The opera house "was destroyed by a spectacular fire January 10, 1892," according to the plaque, replaced by a still-operating historic hotel.
The plaque said the home was wired for electricity in 1929 and "re painted in its original colors," and it still had the original ornate fuel-burning brass and crystal chandelier hanging in the main room. My couple had three young children, one of whom was an absolutely beautiful 7 week old baby. I just drooled over him. Mom was a zombie, taking care of the kids, no sleep, packing for the trip (dad said he was "helping"), random laundry spread out drying on boxes and counter tops. Babies are hard to resist, but this little darling was exceptionally cute with almond shaped blue eyes. When I touched his hand, he smiled at me. One thing I've learned at signings, never touch their kids, even if they're hanging all over you, but I just couldn't resist lightly stroking his little fingers. I won't soon forget that smile.
As I sat there on the sofa (about the only furniture left) while dad searched for his DL, I was soaking in the history of the house and wondering how many other couples with young families have lived there. My guy's car was parked by the side of the house, but there were no gas-powered automobiles in 1867. I wondered how they got around in five feet of snow a lot of the year, where they kept their transportation (horses), what they ate for their meals, where they got their food (the town still doesn't have a real-live grocery store, just a convenience store). I knew how they kept warm. There were vent holes in the walls, now covered, for what were likely two coal-burning stoves. I suspect wood-burning stoves are not allowed in these fragile wood houses today because of fire danger and the closeness of other houses. They had the entire territory of Colorado to build, but many of these houses are practically on top of each other in each block.
This was hardly the only historic home that I (and probably many of you) have been in. But Jude, the baby with the big blue eyes, made it a home, not just another museum-like house. As we worked our way through a boatload of lender/TC docs, with our cell-phones close by, and Mr. Borrower upset cos his lender told him wiring instructions would be in the package and they weren't, I tried to imagine what the original owners would have thought if they could see and hear what was going on in their parlor. This is called progress. Now, the latest residents were leaving, and new ones will soon be moving in with their own history in the making. 162 years later. |
