By Wisdom, a House is Built

An old farmhouse suffers all the anxieties and aches as aging bodies.

This one had been remodeled several times: when the walls were torn away, the old wood was laid bare—timbers cut long ago, shaped and trimmed to create its skeleton.

It was said that a blacksmith operated his shop under the ancient tree in the back yard where a metal detectorist unearthed mule shoes, fancy faucet heads and Civil War grapeshot projectiles.

Remodeling the bathroom uncovered knob-and-tube wiring, uneven walls and previous reconstructions.

When the carpenter tore the ceiling between the attic and the bathroom, he discovered a squirrel that had, years ago, sneaked into the attic, only to be entrapped under a beam.

The squirrel’s longing for survival was not enough. It hadn’t discovered the path to freedom and thus, decades later, its body was only released when the carpenter, his hands gloved and his face masked, freed it from the grip of its early grave.

Long ago, it had life, scampering merrily from limb to roof, from earth to shrub, enjoying the wind and the sun and the warmth of the day.

To me, it was just a dead creature that had invaded my home decades earlier.

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In a cozy neighborhood of family homes, back yard trampolines and stately elm trees, one house is particularly staid and well kept, with remarkably white shingles, black shutters and summer pots of turf geraniums lining the walk; a tidy white fence discourages back yard intruders.

A second floor window is not like the rest of the house. The white shade is always pulled down with a large black burn in the center of the blind.

It looks like a burned eyelid.

If I ever meet the owners, I would like to ask them (without getting slugged) why they have never replaced the scarred eyelid, such an easy fix in the face they show the world. Have they just become so accustomed to it that they do not see it anymore?

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A charming 50s retro brick house sits on four acres; it has many spacious windows, a center fireplace and several skylights. A four car garage with a workshop sidles comfortably nearby.

It is abandoned; even the most casual observer can see through the house just as a radiologist looks at a skeleton.

In the Spring, a riot of colorful tulips bloom along the walkway, planted long ago by someone.

A solitary plastic chair sits in the middle of the main room, the sparkle of the sun beaming on it through the skylights. It must have been delightful to sit in that room as a family on a sunny day.

The acres of cornfields that surround the house are comforting.

Still.

It was built next to railroad tracks that are closer to the house than the house is to the road.

If I ever met the owner, I would like to ask (without getting slugged) why did you build your house so close to those old railroad tracks? 
 And then did you abandon it because of its location?

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At some point, you must decide to fix the things in your home that are wrong, lose it or move. It is strange, even eerie, to walk through an old dwelling that is being remodeled, the renovated portion empty of belongings: only tools and drywall and board are present.

Next to the old skeleton of exposed beams sits fresh new wood. The builder said, “It’s remarkable how they built these old homes using whatever trees were on the property.

The skeleton of a house isn’t nearly as attractive as one that’s finished with paint and stained lamps and doodads.

But tearing down the walls and working on the skeleton exposes flaws, problems, irregularities and leaks.

All those irregularities must be fixed, after the flaws in the wires, pipes and metal sheathing are exposed to the builder.

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In a way, the body is a house which must be maintained: rake leaves away from the foundation, replace the roof when it leaks, paint the siding, enhance it with homey objects.

But to maintain a house, you must also perform internal tasks. You must pay your taxes, your bills and feed the family who lives in the house.

I heard once of someone who spent his father’s inheritance to buy a house, paying cash for it and spending many thousands of dollars to install new floors onto which he then dropped garbage and allowed animals to make their beds.

I would like to ask this someone (without getting slugged), why did you do that?

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By wisdom a house is built, and through understanding it is established; through knowledge its rooms are filled with rare and beautiful treasures. Proverbs 24: 3-4