As we travel around the countryside, old abandoned houses like this one are a common sight. And they always fill my heart with sadness. A sort of longing for what must have been. I imagine cozy families gathered around the hearth, children playing in the garden. And whole families gathering produce from once-flourishing fields and vineyards.
Mute testimonies
But now they stand, dilapidated mute witnesses to what once was. Peering down, from their lonely empty windows, on deserted hillsides or sleepy towns. As their paint, like tears coursing down weathered cheeks, slowly peels away.
Just up our street stands another old and abandoned house, though much smaller.
The tiny place where our neighbor was born and raised with her parents and 7 siblings. She could have taught the Tiny House Movement a thing or two! But that’s another story, for another day.
I’ve often wondered what the walls of these old houses would say if they could talk.
If walls could talk
We loved this neighbor we called Aunty Esther. So much love to give and wisdom to share. And we could listen to her stories for hours on end, one in particular.
It’s the story the walls of her house would tell, if they could talk.
Her walls would look back on many years of hard work. They would recount a life of sacrifice and hard times. The auntie and uncle married in the post-war years of the early 1950s. Tough years for much of the world. Subsistence farming never made life easy in Italy’s agricultural south. The two great had left wars left a trail of destruction, poverty, and hunger in their wake.
Auntie Esther had seen hard times. Her husband, Zio Eduardo, had to walk 28 miles one way to work in someone else’s fields under the hot sun. Finally, an opportunity arose in the coal mines in France. It was dangerous, dirty work that no one in their right mind wanted to do. But the pay was better, and with six hungry children to feed and clothe, they couldn’t afford to be choosy.
Zia Esther was left alone to make the daily trek to work in the tobacco fields closer to their home. She also had to care for their six children on her own.
“We only bought this place about 20 years ago,” she told us. “It took a lot of time to save the money and a lot of sacrifice.”
Hard work, sweat and tears, that’s what it took. That’s what comes to my mind when I see the old abandoned houses. I think of that and of the stories they hold.
The stories they could tell!
Homes are expensive. We build them or fix them up with care. All that care and all that sacrifice. We are so happy to take possession, to have a home of our own. A place to grow old and rest our weary bones.
It’s so sad when they end up lonely and abandoned. Just standing there, old and decrepit. Yet they all have a story to tell — if only they had lips to speak.
What about your house?
What story would it tell long after you’re gone?
If your walls could talk, what story would they tell about you?
Signora Sheila
Ours would recount the joy experienced by a middle-aged couple who had thought they would never have a place of their own. They would talk about the pleasure taken in decorating each room. About long afternoons spent on the patio. Of sleepless nights due to illness, and of sorrow mixed with joy.
I hope that, after we’re gone our house would recount a tale of love and laughter. With the peace and joy lived within its walls. After all, if walls could talk, they would only recount the stories of the lives lived within them. So if we want our house to tell a good story, that’s what we have to live out within its walls.
It takes hands to build a house, but only hearts can build a home.
Author Unknown
📷 Images are mine.
Oh. How bittersweet, Sheila.
That’s exactly the right adjective to use, Cynthia! It is sweet to know what happy memories were lived out in those walls. But sad to see them deteriorate. But I guess that’s life. Always changing, for good or for bad.
Are these the kinds of houses the Italian government is selling for a Euro, hoping others will fix them up? Or do they still belong to the families, but no-one has the funds to do so?
Possibly, Cynthia. But those are more normally found in the old town centers. They are generally owned by the towns, and usually need a lot of fixing up. Plus they’re in areas where there is little to no work. But the towns themselves are often quaint, picturesque, and peaceful!
Signora Sheila, this is a beautiful piece. I have always loved the look of old homes. The character, the charm, even the flaws. Somehow they seem more real than the newer homes. So many have lived much like Aunty Esther. A life of sacrifice to provide for their families. Most of all, may the sacrificial love of Christ permeate the walls of our hearts so that our heavenly home warms the people around us. God bless you!
I love old homes too. They seem to have so much more character. And yes, I definitely agree, may Christ’s love so permeate our lives that our walls will, so to speak, breathe that on people! Blessings to you too.
This genuinely brought tears to my eyes as I read of Aunty Esther’s sacrifice and Uncle Eduardo’s longsuffering. For a home that was more than a home; a keeper of stories and a picture of the grand people that lived there, all made in the image of God, all valuable, all worthwhile. Abandoned homes still hold memories, you’re right–but describing them as mute testimonies makes them even more heartfelt and beautiful–if people would only stop and listen. I love how you describe your home–full of love and laughter. Isn’t that the hope? It’s what I hope ours says out loud.
It did the same to me, Dayle. They were special people, and their deaths brought much sadness to our neighborhood. Their generation is slowy passing away. I love the way you describe a home – as a keeper of stories. You have such a gift with words! But you’re right – that’s exactly what they are. Though I never really thought about until I started noticing all the abandoned homes around the countryside (causualites) of increasing industrialization). It’s funny how many things we never really notice! But how much we can learn from them!
You are so right, my friend. We so easily abandon what we don’t see as useful or necessary without considering what it is we’re really giving up. Homes are heart reflectors–and when we see them we see more than just a structure. The memories flood out the doors and windows with beauty and color. Thanks for sharing what you did. It’s good to think about these things.
Thanks, Dayle! As always a huge encouragement! I think you’re right, our values often get skewered because in the rush of life we sometimes forget to stop, reflect, and consider them. So here’s to more relection!
Totally! Home truly is where the heart is – and that means loved ones!