Ghost house

A 10 minute walk through the woods from my mothers house – this abandoned old beauty appears


Old and lonely now, but once upon a time the heart of someone’s life, the anchor of their existence. Maybe a small family – more likely a big one – lived here, worked here, played, slept, ate, danced, made love, cried, gave birth and died here. They entitled her their home.


She’s not lost yet, but her beauty is definitely fading fast without the love of her residents. And someone loved her once. Someone tended the garden, planted apple trees, delicate pink Columbines and Solomon's Seal which are still here.

Someone was proud of her; made pretty carvings around the window frames and painted the walls in light, pastel colours. Flowery lace curtains were blowing in the warm summer wind, mixed with the cent of freshly baked bread. A big milk pail left open in the kitchen as if someone just went out to pick a few eggs and planned to be back soon. Bare children’s feet were running through the hall and up the stairs. Now the stairs are cold and worn; still whispering stories of the past and longing for a new prologue.








There is something magical about old houses like this. To me, they are great sources of inspiration. I can wander around for hours just imagining the people living there and all the life that happened. Kind of like going to the movies or travelling back in time. Although there is something bittersweet about it all. Why did the story end like this?

I guess I’ll never know, but I will be back soon to take more pictures and do some more time travelling.