I know what you’re thinking – that headline leaves you under the impression that I’m going to write about the things you can always rely on in life, or the solid aspects of country living, perhaps even death and taxes.
But, no, I’m writing about the Constants with a capital C: the family who lived in this house from about 1948 to 1974, before the people we bought it from. If you will, the owners twice removed.
My thoughts turn now to the Constants – well, because several of them showed up this weekened to have a look at the house they grew up in, and, in turn, to tell us a lot about this place we now call home. They were in town from around the country to bury the ashes of their mother, who died in December.
The first to show up was Bob Contstant, on Friday, with his wife. I was on my way to the post office, next door, when someone shouted to me from the sidewalk, “You’re doing a wonderful job with the house, Mrs. Ditmar!”
Stunned, I stopped and said, “Well, thanks. But, I’m not Mrs. Ditmar. We bought the house from the Ditmars last year. Um…who are you?”
He introduced himself, and I invited him and his wife to come in and have a look around.
He told me many things – that there was once a full porch on the front, and other architectural details. But what really got my attention was that he was one of 10 kids (!), although, he said, most of the the time, because of their age differences, there were just 6 or 8 living here at once.
My, how times have changed. Today, Brian and I take up all three bedrooms ourselves – one to sleep in, two for us to use as our offices/makeshift recording studio. At 40, I still hem and haw about whether or not I want to have a kid. I actually have thoughts, in these 1800-odd square feet, of, “Well, where would be put it?” I bristle at the thought of having to forfeit my office to someone in diapers. But there is talk of building me a writer’s cabin out back, so, that would put one room up for grabs…
The next day, three more Constant “kids” – in their 50s – showed up, with spouses and children in tow. They shared colorful stories about so-and-so falling through the attic ceiling onto so-and-so’s bunk bed; about how much smaller the yard seems now that they don’t have to mow it; about collecting rain and snow to report to the national weather service; about choosing the light blue and yellow floral wall paper that gives my office the shabby-chic feel that I love.
Brian asked them whether there had ever been a groundhog in the garage and they laughed hard – not “a” groundhog, but an entire family of them. (We’d better get several of those have-a-hearts.)
As she was leaving, one of the women told a story about being rescued in a boat during the storied flood of 1956, after which the county widened the banks of the Rondout, the creek that runs through town. She fought back tears when she talked about the rains and the gushing tide that drowned the basement and the first floor of the house, destroying many things, including her baby sister’s crib.
