THE VALLEY OF MY HEART


 


In a remote valley in Canada an old collapsing house captured my heart. I began walking toward it, crossing over a dry streambed and ascending the rocky slope to the top. After awhile of exploring, I sat for a time and listened to the sound of silence. It was wonderful. Surreal.

There was no air traffic, no industry, and very few automobiles. So sheltered were we, from the outside world, that the silence was almost eerie. Quiet enough to hear a grasshopper climbing a blade of grass.




The two room house sits atop a little knoll. If you enlarge the photo to the right, you can see the dried streambed in the foreground.


 

This corner of the house was caved in but I could see a hole in the upper wall where there had once been a woodstove.

 

Built into the side of the hill, the walls were of field stone, chinked with a mixture of mud, pebbles and animal hair. The rafters were of heavy beams, planked with old wooden shingles.



 



This photo was taken from the entrance, looking into the main room. The collapsed wall is to the right.

As I had entered the front door, though many of the boards now lay in splinters, it had been apparent that there had once been a wooden floor. .

 

In the photograph to the right I am looking through the side door. The window to the second room is in the background. The collapsed wall is to my left. If you enlarge the photo you can better see the the old wooden door frame and the mud chinking.

In the photograph below I am standing outside, looking through the window of the second room. The main room is barely visible through the doorway.



 




The back wall of the house is built into the hill. Note the large stone of the supporting wall in comparison to the stone used on the rest of the building.
 


The only piece of furniture in the house was a wooden shelf and this old brass bed, now tarnished to various shades of green.

The floor of this room was dirt and there was no evidence that it had ever had any type of flooring.

 


In the photograph to the right I am standing outside. The doorway is to the left of the wall. If you look closely you can see where someone had tried to repair the stone with new chinking.

In front of me and to my right is the section that has collapsed. If you were to look out the small window in the back of the house, you would be at ground level.

Note the trunk of the tree that makes up the large beam above the wall.


      
      Later that evening after returning to our hotel room, I had an eerie dream of this little house-of a young woman standing beside the woodstove. She was wearing a plain, pale dress that fell to her knees. Her complexion was dark. Her long black hair was tied with a piece of old cloth. Loose strands fell about her face. She looked to the infant sleeping in the cradle beside her, fearing for his life, for she had little milk. It had been days since she had eaten, and even then, it had been no more than some broth with a few scraps of dried buffalo meat.

      Her breath steamed white. The wind whistled and howled while a powdery snow drifted beneath the door and the chinking about the windows. She drew her blanket snugly about her throat and looked to the woodpile. There were only two small logs remaining. She looked to the door. She was waiting for someone. She had been waiting a long time... 

 




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