After all, there are a lot of perfectly good used houses for sale, as well as mixed breed puppies, up for adoption.
Strange analogy I know, but oddly enough, we've recently done both - bought a puppy, and started a construction project - and while I have no regrets, I feel a tad guilty.
Irrational? Yes! Lord knows, we've rescued more than our share of homeless horses, kittens and puppies, and pumped enough money into the housing market, buying dwellings built to somebody else's taste and standards. Still, I feel almost as sorry for all those sad, empty houses, as I do for the shelter puppies.
Maybe it's a girl-thing, my tendency to view inanimate objects as though they were human, and I'll admit to having been a gullible child. I loved all those old-world fables, fairy tales and Saturday-morning cartoons that antropomorphised everything from rabbits and roosters, to roadsters and rickshaws.
Our countryside is littered with the remains of what once were family farms and homesteads. I drive by them everyday, and would like to save them all.
While other passersby see an eyesore, I see a monument to somebody else's dream. I imagine them young and proud. Windows polished, clapboards freshly painted or white-washed.
From my perspective, behind the lens of my camera, I see children playing in the front yard, Mom and Pop watching idly from the front porch swing. I see Grandma serving Sunday dinner in her farmhouse kitchen, and Grandpa sitting in the parlor, thumbing through the Farmer's Almanac.
In rural America, houses were built to last a lifetime. And, most did!
Later at dusk, I walk the plywood floors, and see beyond the bare studs, my dining table -family gathered for Sunday dinner.
But, it doesn't make me sad to think of it. For I know, that long after the its builders are laid to rest, my house will stand. And eventually, some curious soul will stop and wonder about the folks that lived there, when it was young . . .
Mrs. Green Jeans @ Farm Fresh Photography, 2011