The Taylor Homestead

This is the Taylor “homestead” in Alderson, West Virginia. It’s been in the family for generations. And now, it’s for sale. It sits on 53 acres, and my parents (who are now in their 70’s and have lived there for 21 years) are finding it increasingly hard to maintain. 😔

In 1877 my paternal great-grandparents bought the land on which the house now sits. It’s possible that they built on to a small existing structure, but since they bought land (as opposed to property) my dad believes they built it from the ground up. They built the first addition to the house around 1882 with the birth of their first child. They lived and raised their eleven children there - the youngest of whom was my grandfather, born in 1906. By the time he was born, his eldest sibling (a sister) had already borne a child.

In about 1948 my great-grandmother (having been widowed decades earlier) transferred the property to her surviving children. They in turn transferred it to their youngest sibling, my grandfather, in exchange for him living there and taking care of their mother. Mary lived in the house until she developed cancer (in about 1953).

My father and his older brother Jim spent much of their time there (and nearby) when they were growing up. I don’t know who lived in the house in the interim, but when I was growing up it was the home of my Grandpa Taylor and my Grandma Ella.

Sometimes I enjoyed our visits there, but sometimes I got bored. The house was so isolated. There were no other kids to play with (or books to read). My grandparents were not really equipped to entertain grandchildren. It was so “country” - and I’ve always been a suburban girl.

The house was full of old furniture and pictures (including one of JFK in my grandparents’ bedroom).

There was a spooky downstairs room down a steep hand-hewn spiral staircase. My grandfather sometimes went down there, but my sister and I weren’t allowed to. I don’t know what I thought was down there. It was always so dark! It had that mystique of all things “forbidden” - but you couldn’t have PAID me enough to go down more than a step or two. Instead, I’d sit on the floor and play with the wooden lattice that made up part of the railing.

My grandparents had a dog. They had multiple dogs at different times, I guess. I only remember them having one dog at a time. I think one was named “Snoopy” and one was named “Bridget”. Or maybe I made that detail up? Either way - the dogs liked to chase tennis balls. So we would throw balls down the stairs into the darkness and watch the dogs charge down after them...

.....and we’d wait....it always seemed they were gone an impossibly long time (which I’m sure was really just a matter of seconds)....and...finally - just when we were SURE that something terrible had snatched up the unfortunate dogs —- they’d come running up the stairs, tail wagging, ball in mouth, utterly unfazed by anything they’d seen or encountered in the creepy downstairs room.

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That downstairs bedroom doesn’t scare me now. In fact, I’ve come to love it. When I visit, that’s where I stay. It has so much history (the room as well as the house). I’ll explain more of its significance to me in a later post. It’s getting late. 😴💤