Photo taken by Ian McVea
A house is just a house until someone makes it a home. Truer words have never been spoken when it comes to this lovely oasis in Eau Claire, WI. This 1907 farmhouse belongs to the parents of my mom's best friend from childhood, Dawn. Dawn and her family would come up from Texas and we would meet them at her parents' house to join them for a long weekend. We spent a couple of summer weekends there that have stayed with me to this day.
I was at that somewhat awkward phase of life, between childhood and adulthood. And at first the house seemed too old, too boring, too lacy for my taste. Its sitting room with no T.V. should have been a place where no teenager would have wanted to spend time. But it beckoned with its comfortably worn rug and rocking chair to sit and stay awhile. As the kids all played on the floor, the warm breeze floating from screen door to screen door carried the tones of catching up and slowing down. The wood floors creaked and audibly sighed with contentment as dads talked cameras, moms giggled, and old stories mingled with the clinking of cubes in sweating iced tea glasses.
The sprawling wrap around porch was more than an entrance. It was a welcoming hello and a lingering goodbye. It was the apron of the house, the lap you could crawl up into and rest in. The younger kids squealed from the front yard, but I envisioned myself too mature to get underdogs on the epic tree swing. So instead, my red converse dangled from the porch swing opposite the wicker loveseat where my mom and her friend sat reliving, reminiscing, and regretting together in hushed tones. They knew I was listening, but didn't shoo me away, and I pretended not to be as I soaked up life lessons and lemonade.
This inviting homestead boasts everything I love in a house: hard wood floors, a formal dining room, wrap around porch, and all the nooks, crannies and character of an old house. But, its real pride and joy is the couple who lives and loves inside, affectionately known to us as Uncle Don and Aunt Eunice. They were old-fashioned in the best of ways and young in all the rest.
Aunt Eunice was perpetually in the kitchen. Big breakfasts and Sunday dinners were a staple. She still cooked enough for hungry farmhands, but set the table for royalty. From the garden or from scratch was the only way, and she took pride in feeding the brood. But, then she sat at the dinner table afterwards and doled out wisdom, intelligent debate, and witty remarks with a gentle sophisticated smirk and showed me that a real woman can be both nurturing and feisty.
Uncle Don believed in hard work and the Bible, and told war stories around the table. But, if his wife's place was "in the kitchen," his was right beside her making peppered bacon while she formed the cinnamon rolls. With rolled up sleeves and sudsy hands he affectionately kissed her on the cheek as he helped clean up after supper. He had smiling eyes, tan hands and the youthful grin and cowlick of a mischievous boy. He never stopped moving as he enthusiastically bounced babies on his knee and taught my brothers how to fish and shoot a gun. He showed me that a passion for living life knows no age.
I was not there every weekend or even every summer, but this place has had as much influence on me as any other. I learned the right way to serve tea and to serve others, what it means to grow old together, and that homemade and homegrown matter. I learned how little touches like fancy dishes, fluffy bath towels, and a slice of lemon in a glass of water make people feel special. The adults would joke about Norwegian hospitality, but it was more than that. It was people who loved God and each other, loving other people as a way of life. There is nothing like slices of lemon and a big front porch to point people toward Heaven.
