|Posted on January 11, 2011 at 11:05 PM|
A few years ago I decided to take my two teenage boys up Big Fall Creek and show them the house I lived in when I was twelve years old.
"Yep. She's right around this corner, boys", I said, as we broke into a clearing alongside the road.
Where the old house used to set was nothing but waist high grass. The structure had long ago fallen sideways into a pile of bleached timbers, the shingled roof covered with a carpet of lush moss.
"That pile of sticks, Dad?" asked number one.
"The green hump?", chimed number two.
I sat there a bit, soaking up memories.
"That's pretty cool, Dad." number two said.
"Yep. Home sweet home. Course, it's been a while ago."
"You think our house will look like that in a hundred years?" asked number two.
"No. Might need a coat a paint though." I said, looking out the opposite side into the rapids of Big Fall Creek, which looked as if it would be deep enough for what I should have done years ago.
"No cell phone reception up here, Dad," offers number two.
"It's gets better once the sun goes down." I said.