I found this picture on a wallpaper site on the internet. I have no idea who took this picture, or I would give credit. I like this picture. It speaks to me of days gone by and craftsmanship. Quiet hallways and lives once lived. Maybe this was at one time a house, or a building that housed offices? I’ll never know. I sometimes make scenarios in my head of who used to use the old spaces that I come across. Who lived here? Worked here? Went to school here?
Am I the only one that believes buildings can “talk”? I especially love old houses. Not spooky old houses, but houses that were built to last. Houses that became homes where love and life and memories were shared. Wooden staircases, and hardwood floors. Beautiful woodwork fretting, and carved newel posts. High ceilings and tall windows. Fireplaces and bay windows and butler’s pantries and farmhouse sinks. I could go on and on. Victorians, Saltboxes, Mission Style, Farmhouses, and Colonials…….
Tract homes and new subdivisions where all the houses look identical, void of personality, makes me sad. Sigh. Not that new can’t be great. My husband and I built our house a few years ago…out in the middle of what was once a farm field. After looking at many, many houses on the market…we decided that building was our best option. We built character into our house. It is unique and I guarantee there is no other just like it.
I enjoy blogs that show pictures of old homes and old buildings, and my heart still does a little pitter- patter at episodes of This Old House.
I think my husband sometimes worries about me and my “talking” houses. That is okay, I’ll just tell the houses to whisper…..
It Just Dawned On Me 
Nice post. Love the picture.
Dawn, here we go again. I can certainly understand how old buildings speak to you. Old barns speak to me. Several years ago I got interested in taking photos of and pastel painting old barns. I love them, and they speak to me (the old ones) of days gone by and fond memories I have of hours and days spent in my aunt and uncle’s barn on their farm in Tarkio, Missouri. I can still smell the hay in the loft. We played in it (even when I was suffering from hayfever) we jumped out of it, wrestled in it, hid in it. We side-stepped cow and horse dung piles in the barn, tossed hay bales up into the loft, milked cows (one stepped on my foot one time when I was milking her and my uncle whacked her across the nose with a board to get her off. Every time I see an old dilapidated one it speaks to me about all those days gone by and the fun my cousins and I had in the barn. That barn’s gone now, and there aren’t all that many dilapidated barns in Atlanta. Now and again, as I drive out into the surrounding countryside I’ll see a run down old barn. Sometimes I stop and gaze at them. Sometimes I’ll take a picture and come home and pastel it (I don’t paint that much any more). But is sure is a memorable experience to have them speak to me of all those wonderful days gone by. I’m sending you a picture of my barn pastel in email. It’s not a very good photo, there’s glare behind me from our bedroom window, but you can get the idea.
BACKSTORY: I found this barn when we were taking my dad to the VA hospital in Omaha. We passed it and I noticed that the mailbox was sticking out of a milk can. I told the folks I had to stop and take a picture of this OLD barn and the unusual mailbox in the milk can.