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michaelboy ([personal profile] michaelboy) wrote2022-05-14 12:07 pm

Somewhere in the Seventies

In fresher days, I often hoped to build something great. Whether it was a path in the woods, an underground covered foxhole or even a collection of sticks that felt marginally like a clubhouse. But I now realize, in a deeper way, that it was never the place or even the end result, but more the act of dreaming to make it so.

During a few summers, many years ago, I spent much of my time turning an abandoned farmhouse into a place where we all could go. It was a ramshackle two-storey log cabin next to an old strip mine on Magee road off of County Road 56. There was a large sturdy barn and a small pond on the property.

After a few hundred hours of re-construction work, we found a pot-bellied stove, some old furniture and a few other household items. I had planned to use a rainwater recovery system so that it would have a bathroom facility and had even placed a toilet but the house became too big of a party place and that ultimately led to several police interventions. Eventually the barn and house were burned to the ground and the land reclaimed. I drove by this place a few years ago, and because of the re-contouring of the land, it was really difficult to remember where everything once was.

But, it isn't so difficult to remember how we once were: