Hearing the House: 365 Lake Street
By Jimmy Tomzak
7 Dec 2008
The visitor steps into a farmhouse from an earlier time – the visitor sees years of experience; the walls are wise. Worn with time, the floorboards groan audibly as she traverses the planks. She listens; they speak to her, and as she continues on their vociferous story, and the history of a house that begs to be heard.
So often it is easy to tune out the sounds of nature. Habit becomes life and seeing anything new is a challenge. The pictures she takes illustrate an adventure; she takes a quiet walk through the loud house. Melodic radiator pings amalgamate with the silent symphony of cracked paint and edge-peeling wallpaper. She searches for simplicity, truth. She sees light filter around the edges of the small shaded window. She wants to be creative - she must try something new. But before fiddling with fancy camera settings or a new tweak in Photoshop, she insists she listen to her surroundings.
Together, the sights and sounds refuse to repose, instead leading her to both a new frame of mind and a new composition for the next photo. She cracks a Mona Lisa smirk, stopping a leaky faucet with a single shutter click. Checking the medicine cabinet above, she documents its old contents. Reentering the main floor and opening the door to the master suite, the antique furniture becomes freshly polished from the warm glow of radiance through the wavy-glass window as it melts into her vision through the viewfinder. She surveys the property through the front door noting the hundreds of ghostly hands that once turned the same knob. Before stepping through the drafty threshold she captures the essence of warm light filtering through, now frozen on film.
Outside she follows the flow of the wrap-around porch to find the lonely porch swing, today, comfortable with no one. Its rigid planks contrast her curves, her skin is still dark from a fading summer tan. Feeling the fresh wind off the water toss her shoulder-length tresses sends a chill down her spine as she surveys the horizon beyond the lake. As the sunset fades she looks back on the swing and a sweet breeze becomes its kinetic partner, together in motion once again.
The end of her intrepid tour growing near, she notes the polarizing contrast of a farmhouse built as a lake house. It stands proud.
Nestled near seclusion, the stately tradition of the 100-year-old farmhouse cordially invites gatherings for a 100 more.
