By now, the house in which I grew up is probably owned by people I’ve never met. My mother, father and stepmother are all gone, and my stepfamily claimed the home after my father’s death…and sold it off without any consideration toward his kids. With that, I lost a large piece of my history. Awhile after my father’s wake, my cousin Aaron asked if the house would be going on the market, since he was looking for a nice place in which to plant his budding family. My brother and I thought that would be a great idea. I’m pretty sure they didn’t sell it to him.
Thankfully, my grandfather’s house (in which I lived for several of my teenage years), is now owned by my brother, and will probably stay in the family a good long time. I’m not sure if that means “forever,” but I’m hoping future generations of my family will be able to hear its walls talk to them. I’ll be happy to help them listen.
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I spent the past nine days in Rhode Island, visiting Liz’s parents, meeting her sister for the first time (!!!), attending a wedding celebration for one of her high school friends (Rebecca), and last but not least, taking 4 days to relax in her family’s summer home on Prudence Island. It sounds so pretentious, “summer home,” but the fact of the matter is it’s a house that’s been in their family since it was built in the 1880s. And it ain’t insulated. Hence the “summer.”
Liz and her sister are (reportedly) direct descendants of Roger Williams, the man who co-founded the state of Rhode Island. Roger Williams owned a large portion of the land on a small island in Narragansett Bay, called Prudence Island. In the late 19th century, George Washington Williams (or so I’m told by our friend Mary) built two houses side-by-side in a quiet corner of Prudence Island. The houses are mirror images of each other, and have changed much over the years, including paint jobs, different siding, and even the addition of a whole two-floor extension to the house (mirrored on both houses, of course). Anyhow, at some point in the last 20 years, Liz’s father purchased one of these houses from his family, and he’s been maintaining and improving it for years. Liz’s sister was married under the tree in the front yard in 1999, and that was the last time she (Liz) has had an opportunity to visit this beloved home, until now.
There aren’t many creature comforts, and walking through the house (even without any shoes) is bound to be heard by anyone who’s sleeping…but it’s absolutely beautiful. There are pencil marks on one wall from when our friend Mary was a child, marking her height as she was growing up. She’s eighty-something now. Her parents rented the house from Liz’s great-grandparents. Everywhere you look, there are tons of keepsakes and memories all throughout the house, although it’s clear that time and effort has been spent to ensure the place isn’t “cluttered.”
I can’t even begin to describe how beautiful the island is, and how perfect our vacation was. I’ll let my pictures speak for themselves.
During our visit, I grappled with a lot of strange feelings about family, heritage, lineage, and hope. Some stemmed from my awe at the depth and breadth of history in this family into which I’ve been welcomed with open arms. Others stemmed from the regret and shame I feel over the financial and professional situation I’ve gotten myself into so late in the game of my life. Others still were fashioned from my sincere desire to start my own fairy tale and continue (and improve upon) the story built by my parents, grandparents, etc.
In thinking about the regret and shame I feel for the crappy progress I’ve made toward building a strong foundation in my life, I felt hope and inspiration swell within me for one simple reason (well, maybe others contributed, but this one’s a doozey): Liz’s dad has overcome great odds to get to where he is today. Divorce from his first wife (Liz’s mom, to whom she hasn’t spoken for over a decade) was extremely acrimonious, and she placed an enormous financial burden on him for many years to come. And in the intervening time, he’s worked very hard to excel in his career, support himself and his family, build a wonderful new marriage to a fantastic woman, prepare properly for his retirement, and also enjoy life along the way. Now he and his wife own a beautiful waterfront home in RI, they’re planning retirement to a place they purchased in Florida, and they’ve got this beautiful home on Prudence to enjoy summers in, and share with their kids. In all, I’d say he’s re-built a very strong foundation, against all odds. And that’s quite an inspiration.
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Heritage and Lineage are two things that don’t mean much in my family. I’m not related to anyone who was historically significant (as far as I know). Not even Jim Thorpe the athlete. And family stories beyond what I was party to (and even some of those) will have to be told by either my brother (who often embellishes as much as my dad did), or my uncle (who may do the same). My mother’s side of the family (namely my uncle) doesn’t have much grip on their history since my grandpa was a drunken asshole and my grandma died very early. My dad was an only child, and his parents are long gone. I’m sure there are hundreds of people out there who could tell me stories, but my connections to all of them were pretty much severed when he died. Not much sense in walking around and saying “I’m Bud Thorpe’s son, can you tell me anything I don’t know?”
I’m sure you can tell there were just a million things going on in my head this past week, and I’m barely coherent enough to get the basics across. Suffice it to say, family’s role in my life is a very strange one these days. I appreciate the connections other people share with their families, even when they themselves don’t appreciate them. All I’ve got is my brother and sister. Three full-grown orphans who are having a little trouble forging ahead.
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On a lighter note, being back from vacation is good. I’m feeling very well rested, I’ve got plenty of memories to keep me entertained, I’m anxious to get my pictures developed, and I’m glad as hell that I don’t have to worry about Lyme Disease quite so much. It wasn’t a huge damper on the vacation, especially considering all the facts I learned about ticks…but it was a little frightening each time I saw a big dog tick crawling on my pants or shirt. Just as soon as we got off the Ferry at Homestead Dock, Liz got in Mary’s car and said “oh, welcome to Prudence” as she picked a tick off her jeans, just above the knee. Every day we performed thorough “tick checks” on each other to make sure we weren’t at risk. Walking in high grass was out of the question. There was a piece of paper on the fridge with the handwritten warning “THIS…is a deer tick!” and a very tiny brown tick smushed under a piece of scotch tape. It’s kinds scary that the really dangerous ones are so damned small. Thankfully, they’re also very slow…they’re not hard to catch, as long as you can see ‘em.
Anyhow, too many things swirling around in my head. At least I’ve got good memories. I can’t wait to do that again.
