A Memory of a Farmhouse

It took me years to figure out why there were so many piles of old bricks on the old farmstead. Tucked behind sheds, stacked up in the tree rows, laid three and four deep on parts of the barn floor their existence remained a mystery.

It wasn't until we started tearing down a small, dilapidated shed that I developed a theory which was later verified as a truth.

The frame of the rickety little shed was covered almost entirely in old street signs, stop signs and road construction signs. Some were almost pristine while others were dented and rusted almost beyond recognition.

The construction material caused me to wonder if the man who owned the property worked for the small town, or if he had perhaps been a garbage collector.

A random visit shortly after the demolition from another old gentleman in the area confirmed that the owner of the house had worked for the city for many, many years and often hauled home salvage and discards and job excess.

The signs and bricks were relics from the time this thrify man saved everything with any value.

And although there was never enough of any one material to make an entire project from the red, orange and yellow bricks...

Their sturdy testiment to time let us create a lot of different projects.

Sometimes it feels like the years on the farmstead were a magical time...like following the yellow brick road to Oz.




This little memory is written in honor of the letter "O" for Alphabe-Thursday. "O" is for yellow brick road to Oz.

To read other 'O' offerings, just click here!