I told you, a few posts ago, that I was waiting to share part of my trip because I wanted photos to compare, you remember that, right? Well, after finally sitting down and looking for those old photos, I found only one. Sadness. I was obviously not as diligent about taking pictures then as I now wish I had been. So one will have to do, I think.
That one is the house we lived in when my children were born, that big old house in Bloomington, NY.
To the left of the picture is our Great Dane, Otto, standing tall and proud. The house sits on three acres of land, mostly clear when we lived there, with only a few trees and no outbuildings of any kind. The house was old, having been built back in the day when water was collected in a cistern, which was built in the basement of the house. Having a big, open stone cistern in the basement turned out to be a bad idea in the long run – all that humidity contributing to dry rot. I remember many hard hours for the father of my children as he replaced, one by one, the sills and joists that held the house up.
The house now looks a lot the same, color changed from white with black shutters to a dark red with white shutters, the front porch enclosed
but the land around it has changed much. It is more heavily wooded and there are a few outbuildings. Stone retaining walls have been built to contain the slope and the small stream that ran through one side of the front yard (not pictured) has been channeled into a pond. The house is now owned by an architect who spends his weekends there, we were told by a gentleman who does some work on the property and who came out to see what the two old ladies who were standing out front, pointing and taking pictures, wanted. I was happy to see that the house is obviously loved.
From there we drove up the hill into Bloomington proper, to visit the old Reformed Church where The Author and I met – her husband was the pastor of that church in those days.
The church has not changed much, but the parsonage across the street has had an addition put on and has part of the yard fenced in.
We also visited Kingston that day – the town down the road where we often shopped. I seem to often live in a small town where shopping is in a bigger town down the road. We toured the streets, looking for something familiar.
We found little that we recognized. We didn’t remember the town having as many hills as it has. I didn’t remember the little park at the end of the street
or that the Hudson River passed through it.
The Author said that part of town used to be very seedy – perhaps that’s why I don’t recall ever visiting there. We drive around some residential areas that looked familiar to me
but I could not remember the name of the street where the father of my children and I first stayed with his family when we moved from North Dakota.
Trips down memory lane – very little stays the same, but what memories those trips awaken!