There's a hint of autumn in the air once again as the heat of summer slowly slips down the thermometer below the 20C zone. But that's alright. It means the light is not so harsh and the golden colours of harvested lands conjure a different hue across the horizon. I am grateful for such beauty, even though some see it as a time when the earth is fading and ready to sleep for winter. How many times do you zip along the highway and glance only for seconds at landscapes passing by your limited window views? My friend Jim unexpectedly, out of the blue, suggests it is time to go on a photo safari and a few days later we are cruising back roads in search of a deserted farmhouse. Twice I have passed the place and thought it would make an interesting photograph. A couple years come and go, then Jim gets me to drive for an hour and I have no hesitation stopping because we've set the time aside to do it.
Outside, the warped walls tell a story of their own. They have seen all sorts of weather for decades. Inside, plaster once carefully slapped onto the walls and ceilings now lays crumbled and scattered on what is left of, undoubtedly, a once-polished floor. Who knows what else is amongst the rubble! Yet there is something almost magic about the place. No wall is square or even. The slats once carefully hammered into place and covered with plaster, reveal the barren strips of long-since forgotten wood cut from trees to create a protective home for a family.
Downstairs and upstairs the floors are uneven and undulating, with doorways and walls defying the balance of all things straight and square. Although not moving in the gentle west wind, the place made me feel like I was moving as I stood in awe at the scene. This was once a fine new home. Someone took time to piece all the wood and nails together. People lived here; they ate and slept here. They may have danced here. Children were born here and someone may even have died here. Now it stands abandoned and beautiful in its own right.
Through the cracks, shards of light strike dashing rays against partially-painted and exposed walls. Weather-beaten rafters above are too inviting for us not to venture beyond the floors, windows and walls. A small gap where once a chimney flume protruded offered the portal to a whole new perspective. Jim climbed up first and was immediately impressed with the view inside and outside. Hundreds of rusted nails jumped out of the old roof boards gnarled by years of exposure to the prairie elements. When it was my turn, looking across and down the roof was amazing. The photos above and below I took with a little digital Pentax while just barely poking my head through the hole in the roof.
We stopped at a nearby farmhouse and asked about the place where we'd spent an hour taking photos. We were told it was built by a couple in 1913. They had at least four children. The mother died in 1930 and the father died the following year. There's history in that old place that was once the pride of the district. After almost a century, the home now displays her beautiful wrinkles and disjointed parts like any old gal would after standing for so long.
