One day recently, in spite of the weather, my husband and I took the cameras and headed out, this time west of Summerside. It had been November when we last took a photo excursion. It was long overdue.
This old homestead fascinated me. It looked like some of the old trees lining the property had succumbed to the winds of Dorian like so many more of the island’s trees.
Here however, there wasn’t anyone to trim the trees and claim the firewood.
The barn has a metal roof which has rusted and begun to rip from the beams.
The clapboard and shingled exterior are the well worn grey that only time can impart. Some windows are missing. Looking at it from the right, one sees it is open to the elements.
How much longer can it remain upright?
Right of the barn, what may be the original house still stands behind its larger descendent.
The old house is adjacent to a barn of the same size. It was common for animals to be kept close to, or even in the houses at one time.
The newer house was painted white and had a third floor to include rooms in the attic. A family had more space in this house, the front facade hiding the extension at the back of the building. Time has not been kind to this old place.
Where are the owners of this property? Did they die without descendants or is everyone gone from the island now? Did they try to sell this place without success and now it is left to ruin? The old place once was filled with the laughter of children, clothes on the line, supper cooking, friends and relatives, the smell and sounds of animals and hay. Now the elements have their way.
Any time I see an old homestead left to ruin, the song Where the alders grow by Buddy Wasisname and the Other Fellers comes to mind. You can give it a listen here.
It brings the old place to life.