Day 460 -- 9720 King Rd.
I grew up at 9720 King Rd. From 4th grade through college, I occupied a massive bedroom on the second floor of the sprawling old farmhouse set on four acres. I loved that house. It had so much character, and it was amazing to see it progress over the years. From its sad, dilapidated state when we first moved in, my parents patiently loved and nursed it into a comfortable, clean home.
One of my favorite things about the house was the "secret" staircase in our kitchen. It looked like a plain old built in pantry, but when you opened it up, it was actually a set of stairs that led to the second floor from the other end of the house. You can imagine as a fourth grader how I loved that feature of the house. I also loved it when I was older, because it meant that I didn't have to walk past the creaky floors near my parents' bedroom late at night getting home.
I also loved to mow the lawn with my dad. As you are well aware, mowing the lawn is one of my favorite past times, and the four acres that were solidly grass-covered required near-constant mowing. At any given time, we had up to three riding lawn mowers in operation, and my dad had a mowing assignment rotation down to a science. I'm sure that as a model pre-teen/teenager, I never complained about any of the chores I had to do (note dripping sarcasm here), but mowing the lawn is one that I look back on with fond memories. We got such a sense of accomplishment from looking over our property and seeing it so neat and tidy.
My first summer home from college, I used to do soccer training drills in the middle of the backyard, between the creepy old outbuildings that used to scare the snot out of me as a kid. Evan and I would explore the monstrous old barn, but we never could do it for very long because it smelled funny, was dark, and frankly, was creepy as all get out.
We buried all of our childhood pets in the big oak tree on the northeast corner of the property, and when Colby and I lost our first baby, we held each other by the pear tree on the far northwest corner and cried as the sun set.
My husband picked me up in the circle drive for our first date and asked me to marry me in the living room.
When my dad decided to sell the house, I wasn't devastated. I just figured it was a natural part of growing up and moving on. Now that I take the kids to daycare in Spring Arbor, I take King Rd. so that I can see the house every day. Today I was thankful for all of the wonderful memories I have of that house, and also that the current owners seem to relish the property and home as much as we did. They obviously keep it up, and I am grateful that I don't have to see something I love so much fall into disrepair.
Thank God for 9720 King Rd.
Dear God, thank you for my old home. Thank you that its current owners seem to appreciate it too. Thank you for all of the wonderful memories I have there. In your name I pray, Amen.
One of my favorite things about the house was the "secret" staircase in our kitchen. It looked like a plain old built in pantry, but when you opened it up, it was actually a set of stairs that led to the second floor from the other end of the house. You can imagine as a fourth grader how I loved that feature of the house. I also loved it when I was older, because it meant that I didn't have to walk past the creaky floors near my parents' bedroom late at night getting home.
I also loved to mow the lawn with my dad. As you are well aware, mowing the lawn is one of my favorite past times, and the four acres that were solidly grass-covered required near-constant mowing. At any given time, we had up to three riding lawn mowers in operation, and my dad had a mowing assignment rotation down to a science. I'm sure that as a model pre-teen/teenager, I never complained about any of the chores I had to do (note dripping sarcasm here), but mowing the lawn is one that I look back on with fond memories. We got such a sense of accomplishment from looking over our property and seeing it so neat and tidy.
My first summer home from college, I used to do soccer training drills in the middle of the backyard, between the creepy old outbuildings that used to scare the snot out of me as a kid. Evan and I would explore the monstrous old barn, but we never could do it for very long because it smelled funny, was dark, and frankly, was creepy as all get out.
We buried all of our childhood pets in the big oak tree on the northeast corner of the property, and when Colby and I lost our first baby, we held each other by the pear tree on the far northwest corner and cried as the sun set.
My husband picked me up in the circle drive for our first date and asked me to marry me in the living room.
When my dad decided to sell the house, I wasn't devastated. I just figured it was a natural part of growing up and moving on. Now that I take the kids to daycare in Spring Arbor, I take King Rd. so that I can see the house every day. Today I was thankful for all of the wonderful memories I have of that house, and also that the current owners seem to relish the property and home as much as we did. They obviously keep it up, and I am grateful that I don't have to see something I love so much fall into disrepair.
Thank God for 9720 King Rd.
Dear God, thank you for my old home. Thank you that its current owners seem to appreciate it too. Thank you for all of the wonderful memories I have there. In your name I pray, Amen.
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