1972
A calendar hanging on the wall, left open to August 1972. This detail remains my most vivid memory, from that abandoned house on the farm. The tiny wooden structure ransacked and left to become a horror movie cliché, until I had it demolished ten years ago. My memory of the calendar probably dates from the late 1980s. I also recall the shattered glass, and the missing windows in contrast to the front door locked and sturdy. As the story goes, my great uncle built that house for his retirement. He died suddenly during the summer - a heart attack, while mowing the grass. He never married, and with no partner man or woman, my grandma became the reluctant custodian, leaving the house to fend for itself.
Published in