For some time now I have been sorting photographs. I got tired of the cumbersome photo albums that lined the back of the closet and I was also concerned that they were old and probably not made of archival quality material. I acquired a stack of archival-safe photo storage boxes and began the tedious process of removing photos from sleeves and trying to decide how to categorize them so they would be easier to locate.
I spent this Sunday afternoon watching old I Love Lucy reruns and separating photos into piles - trips, pets, various family groups, and on and on. I was momentarily stumped when this photo came to the top of the pile. Where on earth had it been taken?
It only took a few moments for me to place the old building and then to remember the occasion upon which I had snapped the shot. I had not thought about that day in quite awhile. Mother and I had gone to visit my grandmother Hodge and had taken a notion to drive out in the country and visit the farm where my grandparents had lived before my grandfather's health had failed and forced them to move into town.
The old garage was the only building left on the place at the time and even that is gone now. We had driven in the gate and parked under a big tree that had been at the back of the house. We sat and talked and remembered the place as it had been. I found a big square red sandstone rock that my grandmother thought might have been part of the foundation of the fireplace. I decided then and there that I was going to take that rock as a souvenir and I wrestled it into the Bronco II that I was driving at the time. It lived several years at our previous residence and we made sure to move it along with our other possessions when we moved out to the piney woods. That rock now sits in the flower bed outside my bedroom window.
I have one old photo of the garage which dates a wee bit before my time, but it looks pretty much the way I remember it. The dog is Frisco and my grandmother can be seen just outside of a gate that I suspect was the entrance to the chicken pen.
I never had much reason to be in the garage, but I can remember watching my aunt digging for doodle bugs in the sandy floor. (I wasn't that keen on handling bugs myself.) There was usually a flat bed trailer parked beside the garage and she and I would spend idle minutes walking from one end of the trailer to the other and making it tilt back and forth on its axle. There was a water trailer parked behind the garage that caught rain water that we used to wash our hair.
I walked past the old building hundreds of times and remember very little about it, but it was part of the background of my grandparents' farm. When I saw the photo this afternoon and the recognition suddenly dawned, I had a rush of nostalgia. I miss that old place.