I am the old house in town,
built on land where,
since the dawn of time,
animals grazed,
Indigenous peoples lived,
and wave after wave of newcomers landed.
Wars have been won and lost and won again,
people lived and died,
wealth made and lost.
Untold numbers of families have come and gone and come again.
Countless children have left for first days of school,
and years later, left again to build their own lives.
In my bedrooms, couples have loved and fought and loved again.
In my living rooms, families celebrated holidays, birthdays, and gathered to mourn.
Ideas were generated, plans carried forward, and ventures hatched.
My insides have been built, torn down, and built again.
Ceilings have been plastered, painted, and repaired.
Today, wisdom is heard in many languages,
on the walls, sits art of different cultures,
and wafting through the kitchen, are smells of the world’s cuisines.
Though my beams creak and groan,
wind whistles through the rafters,
and snow drifts around my steps,
my roof still offers
safety from storms,
refuge from rain,
and warmth from winter.
Generations still shelter beneath my beams.
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This is a beautiful home. In recent years family members have worked to “bring it back to life” by collectively making decisions as to what needed to be done. They hired skilled workers and with consultation made a plan to restore this home to its original grandeur.
Many locals refer to this home as “The Gingerbread House”. It is truly lovely and a landmark home in Fredericton.