A long, long time ago, in a land on the south side of Lake Travis and on the North Shore of Lake Austin, there lived a young couple. Newlyweds. So proud of their independence. So proud of their first home. A mobile home. A double-wide. Sitting on almost an acre of land. They lived there for many years. Ten years, in fact. Then one day they released that their home sat in a seedy neighborhood filled will illegal aliens (50 were picked up in an INS raid) of low morals and poor hygiene. A creek bed near their home was used as their communal toilet. Their back yard was the commuter trail to the “dumping grounds”.
Their home was broken into on several occasions. Not because they had anything worth stealing, although what little they had was taken but because they had air conditioning and cable – a great place to hang out on a hot summer day.
Meanwhile, a pack of stray dogs added to the apparent threat to the safety and well being of their fair-haired children.
The compelling reasons to move compounded and so they were compelled to move. Alas, the home could not be sold at a bargain and it seemed more worthwhile to join the ranks of rental properties in the area. And it was so.
The first tenants lasted about a year, then they moved on. The 2nd tenants lasted about 11 1/2 years. Their occupancy ended with 2008.
Today, my loving hubby and I ventured out to our old stomping grounds. He’d actually gone by yesterday, but dragged me out today to photo-document the condition of our old homestead. Any flash of nostalgia was killed by the horrendous reek of cat urine. It was bazaar to see the curtains I’d sewn over a dozen years ago hanging in a home that seemed vaguely familiar but stank so badly all I wanted was OUT! The pet damage was extensive but admittedly, the home was built in the 70’s so its lasted well past its prime (mobile home, remember).
Walking the grounds, I passed the paved walkway that hubby built. I “rediscovered” the ring of rocks
from the bonfire celebrating my graduation. I was delighted to see my grandmother’s irises (flowers, not creepy eye parts) have survived. My only request is that we salvage those. I know just where I’ll plant them.
I don’t mourn the pets that were buried there. I don’t mourn the memories. I celebrate our growth and maturation that has brought us from those rugged roots. Irises are a fine way to commemorate.
Peace,
I’m a sucker for irises, and my mom and I still wish we’d dug up the irises from my grandma’s yard. I think that’s a perfect way to remember the good times you had in that home.
There’s a little something for you over at my blog!
Cha Cha, Thank you!