01/15/2025
The name “Oldhouse” comes from the memories made during the summers of our childhood. Growing up, our weekends were spent riding bikes and four-wheelers all over the land where Granny and Grandpa Art raised their family years before.
They had since moved down the road (but still a hop, skip, and a bowl of vegetable soup from us) but still utilized the fertile soil for their yearly garden – it soon became known as the old house, and it was our own little piece of heaven.
We grew up at the Old House – our one place of unsupervised play. We’d start out our day riding down the hill to play in the creek, stirring up typical sibling disagreements, running barefoot through granny’s garden dodging the growing squash and tomato plants – and some rare check-ins back at the house with mom. A quick snack – a new Band-Aid as needed, then right back out we went.
Once our high school graduations came and went, we moved out of mom and dad’s house and off to NC State and App State to continue our educations. Leaving to build new lives of our own not only meant exciting new environments, new routines, and new friends, but it also meant leaving the Old House behind, hugged with wood, love and a lot of memories.
Now that we have families of our own, we take our kids down to the Old House any chance we get. Mom and Dad still live in our childhood home, and we’re blessed to be able to share with our kids the rare chance to play barefoot in a running creek –
The Old House looks a little different – the screen door has come off its hinges, Virginia Creeper covers the majority of the house – and the wood siding has started to fall apart –
But lucky for us, wild mint keeps growing, the warm wind continues to blow like we’ve always known, and Granny’s daffodils faithfully pop up every spring.
