The beauty of living within history, is remembering it. Personifying every year that has passed each square head nail and heart pine plank. The key to living is in preservation, not renovation. In sealing over the blemishes that left scars from days gone by. The memories that let this house breathe in, splitting plaster walls with the heavy sigh of winter nights. Or the humid summer memory of woolen soldiers spilling life on the porch. It is in the rattle of the ghosts of railroad men, who pace and smile at their dream still at the end of the road. The steady chugging of steam powered progress that fueled a coast with coal from the mountains. Who’s compacted rails will soon move people from city to city, in the belly of modern beasts. We live within the dreams of men, who prospected the burden of prosperity, and built over it.
Thank you Bells, Babbs, and Dardens for believing in the simple dreams of men.
