I was just looking through my tiny sketch pad, the one I carry in my bag, and came across this drawing of Florence’s house from a year ago tomorrow. It must have been one of the first times that Jon and I stopped at the house together so Jon could take photo’s of Rocky and his newly fallen down barn.
I remember it was the clothes line that first captured my attention, but as I drew the house, I thought it just the sweetest thing. The shallow side porch and the old wood shed and the unusual bell on the roof. (We have since found out that Rocky will come running when he hears the bell ring).
I didn’t pay much attention to Rocky back then. I was more interested in the life of Florence, the old woman who lived there alone. (And she was old we found out later, 103 years old.) My whole life when I’ve thought of myself as an old lady I pictured me living and dying alone in my own house. I guess I’ve always admired women who have been able to do that, I’m not sure why. And I never think of it as lonely either, there seems to be something satisfying about it.
I only got to know Rocky after Florence died (I never did meet Florence) and it was on one of these trips to visit Rocky that Jon and I knew we wanted to live there. The first time I walked into the house, I was enchanted, and knew it was home.
The house seems to want us too. It stated working on Jon over a year ago, when he took his first photo of Rocky. Or maybe it’s Florence that wants us there. She’s a pretty strong presence and I have a feeling she’s not completely gone yet.
I think I made a potholder from one of these sketches. If any one out there has one, I’d love to know.