Hello Steve, I like this story, and I love little house on the prairy. Boy they realy had to wirk hard. Thank you for sharing. Original message: > The Window > Every day, I sit at the old, scarred, wooden table when I get time. I > look out the tiny window with the little panes of glass. Right outside > the window is a maple tree. > In spring, I watch as new buds appear and, in no time, it changes into > a beautiful lush green color. In fall, I watch as it changes from green > to gold, orange, then red. I smile at the squirrels that run up the > tree all the time, grabbing whatever they can for their winter storage. > I look around the room. It's not very big, matter of fact, it's only 20 > feet by 20 feet. One door, on the opposite wall from the window, allows > fresh air to enter the room when someone enters or exits the building. > I see the stone fireplace, sitting all alone on one wall, and I wonder > how many meals were prepared in that workmanship of stone. I wonder > about many things as I sit by the window. > I know that, originally, the cabin had a dirt floor. I know four > children were raised in the cabin. I know the fireplace was the only > means of heating the place on cold winter nights and that all meals > were cooked in it. I look around the room and wonder where the bed > originally used to sit. > There is no bathroom. There was no running water, originally. There > were no stairs to climb into the loft area. These are facts that I have > rehearsed over and over in case anyone asks me any questions. > I work in a historic log cabin. It was built in 1856, and I must say, > the workmanship in those days was mighty fine. Sometimes I run my hands > over the rough wood inside and outside of the cabin, realizing how much > labor was put into building the house. > I like to try to imagine what life was like for the family, who lived > there in those days. I can feel the lady in the house, looking out that > same window that I do, whenever she had the chance to. I even try to > imagine what she would be cooking for supper for her family on some days. > No washing machine or dryer, no running water to take baths or wash > dishes with, no television, no computers, game boys for the kids, nor > any of the things that we have in our lifetime. > I know the woman who lived in the house raised three children while her > husband served in the war between the states. He died while she was > pregnant with the fourth child. > I can only imagine raising that many children in such a small space. I > know she gave birth to all four of her children in that cabin. I know > her husband built the cabin for her for her wedding present. > Life was simple in those days. The cabin often reminds me of how Amish > people still live today. Children were taught to give a hand and help > where help was needed. Someone had to bring wood into the house for the > fireplace. Someone had to help with the laundry outside, which took all > day to do. The children played outside all the time and even with a > dirt floor, they were healthy. > I try to imagine living in a house with a dirt floor. I can only > imagine the bugs and critters that came up through the dirt. Yet, the > family lived healthy lives, and all lived to be in their 90s except the > youngest child, who died in her 50s. > Sometimes I feel like I'm Carolyn Ingalls on "Little House on the > Prairie." The cabin reminds me of the one in that television series. I > always liked that show, and the day I was asked if I thought I could do > anything with the old cabin, that is who I thought of when I first > opened the door. I even said, "Wow, I've got a little house on the prairie." > I turned the cabin into a candy shop. Luckily I have a solid floor > today with tile. > Yet, everything else is original. I have green and white gingham > curtains to cover the window. I made wooden shelves on the walls to > display my jams, jellies and woodcrafts I make. I made wooden signs > that hang on the old log walls, with silly sayings. I gave the cabin a > touch of personality. > But, when I get a chance to sit at the old wooden table and look out > the window, I can't help but think of the woman, who lived in the > cabin. I wonder what her thoughts were when she had time to rest and to > look out that window. I'm sure she was exhausted every day, knowing > what life was like in that era, the days when life was lived to work > from dawn to dusk. > I think about the children and how their evenings were spent in the > loft without the conveniences of today. I know the school they attended > was a mile from their cabin. Perhaps they read books at night. I'm sure > they shared secrets and giggled amongst themselves. > I love the old cabin. I marvel at the workmanship that was put into > building it. > Knowing there were no modern tools used to cut each log. I see the > marks where an ax was used to split the logs. > I have a lot of respect for the family that spent many years in such > small quarters. > I'm glad I read the history of the family and can answer questions when > folks ask them. Most women are shocked that a mother could raise four > children in such a small place. I always think, "Where there is a will, > there is a way." > I come home from work daily to spacious rooms, television, computer, > running water, washer and dryer and all the conveniences we all take > for granted today. > Although our forefathers did not have what we have today, I know they > had patience, strong family ties, hard working togetherness, and strong > wills. I know the original family, from what I've read about them in a > history book. They would never have dreamed that their house would, one > day, sit in a historic state park and have thousands of visitors enter > through their door. > When I get a chance to sit by the window, I smile at the beauty outside > those tiny panes of glass. I watch the seasons change each year. And > though my life in the cabin began 145 years later than the woman who > once lived there, I believe we share something in common. I believe she > loved her house the same as I do. I believe she looked out that window > and smiled at the beauty outside as I do. > Time can change many things through the decades of life, but Mother > Nature gives us beauty, year after year.
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