I can still hear the kitchen door close. The sound it made was so unique that when we were emptying out the house to get it ready to sell, my brother and I tried to record the sound of the kitchen door closing.
One evening when we were closing down the house after a full day of working, I was standing in the kitchen and it hit me: I was saying goodbye to the house, that I considered home, with all it’s memories. It was a very unexpected powerful emotion that it me that made me freeze in place to take it all in. The light was streaming through the kitchen and dining room windows. The memory is still vivid in my memory. I loved that house.
Growing up I thought it was the best house ever. On the edge of the canyon, surrounded by trees, and we never locked the doors. I remember listening to the thunder roll with my bedroom window open during a summer rain. It cracks me up that I would sleep with the window open (no screens) and could hear the coyotes howling. Now I think back and wonder if a curious coyote ever peaked in the window to see what was in the room. I always slept with the dog in my room so I am wondering if that could have been what the dog was barking at sometimes….
Again, I am so grateful that I was able to grow up in that house that my dad had built. It was a safe place in a safe town and my childhood was a good one because of him.
