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I never knew there would be a time we would have to give you up, it has been such a surreal experience so far. As I walk the house this year each memory comes washing over me,

When I look around the house I see 5 year old versions of us running around coated in dirt and stained with blackberry juice. I see a cluster of us huddled around the television giggling at the “Little Rascals”. I see all three of our families plus glowing Omi and Opi sitting out back feasting on crab after a salty day on the boat. I can hear Josh whispering adventurous tales as all of us curled up to sleep in the attic. I can hear our squeals of delight coming from the river as we splashed, jumped and played like there was no tomorrow. I can feel the happiness and joy radiating from these walls as if stored up over time.

Venturing outside silky soft grass kindly greets my bare feet. Beyond the apple trees and blueberries so sweet lies the mystical forest. So much mystery is held in the golden moss that clings to trees limbs, so much wonder. Getting to the tree line once was a grand voyage, a place only accessible by weaving your way through a golden field with Machete in hand. Turning around you find yourself staring at the classic trio: the rose-lined white house, the cozy blue house and Opi’s sawdust covered shop. 

Anything you could imagine with your six year old mind could be created in that wood-shop. Walking sticks, Barbie beds, go-carts. Original creations would be crafted from scraps of wood, rusted paint cans, and a corner of endless tools, harmoniously piled on top of each other………. 

It’s evening time, the heat of the day has turned into a warm soothing breeze that kisses your skin. The sun hides behind the tree tops, its rays filtering out, sprinkling a golden haze over the river and everything beyond. Flowers, white like lace, line the coal black road we drift down. Countless times down this paved path, each time never the same. Bulging blackberries call out to us from behind clusters of thorns, we listen. Filling our baskets and bellies to the brim we collect hundreds of black golden nuggets. Walking back thinking of creations: jams, crumbles, pies.

Sweet warm smells wander from the kitchen catching everyones curiosity, the soft scent of the wet road after a cool rain, the smells of river lingering in our hair after a day of rapids, the fragrance of freshly cut flowers sitting in glass throughout the house. The Blue House itself has a soft scent of its own, indescribable by words, it may be a collaboration of memories and experiences in a more tangible form, as if the past had been bottled up in the house captured in the curtains and walls. The smell has never changed and as it fills your lungs along comes a wave of comfort. Like a time machine, I feel it transport me back to earlier times, years melting away with each breath. 

Back to when Josh’s curls were almost as big as his shining eyes and dimpled smile. Back to when Amanda was a fiery little Spice Girl. Back to when I ran dirt bikes into planter boxes. Back to when Maddie always had a huge bow on her head. Back to when Lana struck a pose in every picture. Back to when McKai was a small little string bean. Back to when Charlie had the cutest cheeks ever. Back to when McKenna was a bundle of golden curls bouncing around. Back to when Max was the sweetest thing ever (oh wait, he still is). Back to when Claire was still in diapers. Back to when we were all here at the same time, Moms and Dads, Omi and Opi, all the cousins. Before we had boyfriends and girlfriends, iPhones and facebook, when things were simple and sweet. 

This house has the power of turning back time, bringing us all together, helping us slow down and enjoying being with one another again. Years have gone by. Life has happened, things are not as they once were, but this house is a reminder of how things can be, preserving the fact that we have so much love for one another. Now this love will last with or without the Blue House, it has just helped us come together, to spend time, to laugh and enjoy. I am not sure if it is the memories that saturate this place, or the fact that the sun seems to always be smiling here, or the quiet mornings drinking coffee with the river as the fog rolls through the trees, or the countless salamanders caught and released, or the amount of bouquets made with a mix of garden and wildflowers, or the constant sound of the soothing rapids that makes Mapleton one of my favorite places. A place so special, so loved. 

Thank you Blue House for brining the family together. Thank you for your room to roam, to breathe, to think, relax and wonder. I’ll miss your creaky deck, roof to sneak to sit on, your wallpaper and glass knobs, the living room carpet, Opi’s office where everything has its place, the piano no one plays, the massage chair and monster in the attic. Thank you Omi and Opi for providing a place where so many memories were crafted, so many crocodile tears were shed, so many teeth were lost and knees were scraped, where we could run, trip, and skip until we were ready to make smores and fall asleep so our parents had to carry us inside to bed.

The place that inspired a sense of wonder, 

Thank you, 

“you will be missed”.

By Paige