Part of the fun (for me) in owning an old house is exploring its link to the past.

There is a sense of heritage, of lineage that one inherits when purchasing a piece of history. There is a humbling, a sense of duty, a fierce protection that one (hopefully) recognizes the moment the key is turned in the lock and the threshold is crossed for the very first time. There is a bargain that is struck between man (or woman) and house. “You keep me warm and dry and I will keep you standing until it is my time to pass on and pass you on to your next steward, your next guardian. I am but a link in the chain, a paragraph in your story, a footnote in your history.” There is a realization that this nonliving but very much alive structure will remain (with proper care) long after you have ceased to. Long after you are nothing more than a name on a tax record and a paint choice on faded walls.

I belong to several “Old House” groups on social media.

There seems to be a common theme that unites most of them: “Bash the old owners.” New owners cry, whine, lament and rage about all of the choices anyone in the line of succession has made between the house being built and them. There seems to be a rivalry between the present and the past; each determined to claim the future.

There is ugliness in arrogance, in blind bravado.

And equally there is grace in humility, in knowing ones place, in being humble, in being a small part of something bigger, in honoring those who came before and thanking them for their contribution even if one questions the choices made, even if one thinks they could have done it better.

If your “old house” is still standing, there is someone before you in the line you should be thanking.

I came across this old picture in the city’s records while researching something else.

My poor sweet Narwhal is looking pretty rough. Her shutters are missing, her paint is fading and her siding is showing. I am not sure when this picture was taken or by whom. All I DO know is that she does not look like this today.

Today she is (mostly) put together. Her paint needs a refresh, especially on the “sea side” which is subjected to the salt water breeze carried in from the ocean. (We are hoping to get her repainted this spring) but other than that she is glowing with life and pride.

I see lots of houses as I drive around town that look similar to the “before” picture. Houses that look raggedy and scruffy and in need of some attention and care. I see houses who have lost hope and people have no hope for them. I see houses that are easy to overlook or dismiss based on their exterior. I see houses like my Narwhal.

Every single day I am thankful for all of those who came before me.

I am grateful that they saw potential, something worth preserving.

I may question some of their choices, or choose to do things differently, but I will always do my best to honor them and to include the past in the present and carry it with me into the future.