If These Walls Could Talk

If these walls could talk. People say it all the time. It's an old saying and like with any old saying, it got to be that way because there's truth in it.

I was born in 1899, right before the turn of the century, and in my day, I was quite the looker, tall, broad, strong. I never bothered much with fancy paints and the like, the natural look suited me best.

And let me tell you, when I say I've seen it all, I mean I. HAVE. SEEN. IT. ALL. Calves and colts born, eggs hatched, strangers from away, sometimes workers, sometimes people just passing through, all the usual stuff one expects to see in farm life. And a lot of things you wouldn't.

I loved every one of those animals like they were my own children. Broke my heart every time one died. It didn't matter if it was from natural causes, like old Jesse the horse, or if they were taken to slaughter. In farming, it's not wise to get attached to the livestock, but I'm a sentimental type.

I survived the fire of 1913. That had to be one of the scarriest nights of my life. I still remember the heat, the horribly intense heat that seemed to come from out of nowhere. And that feeling of utter helplessness as the flames grew and I couldn't move; I wouldn't wish that on anyone. Sheer terror! Thank goodness Mr. Johnson and the boys got to me in time! If they hadn't, well, I'd have been a goner for sure.

I really haven't participated in farm life since about 1970, maybe '71. The Johnsons died and none of their kids seemed interested in farming, all opting for a more exciting life in the city. I thought for a while Jimmy might take to family business; he was always with the baby animals, sitting in the hay, petting them, singing to them. Child had a lovely voice. But, I guess it wasn't meant to be. I'd by lying if I said I wasn't disappointed at the time. It's a good life, farming, and I still had much to offer back then.

It turns out though, my best use seems to have been the secrets I've kept over the years. I've always been very good at keeping secrets. What I know stays with me. Always has. Well, until today. There doesn't seem to be a lot of point to holding on to them now.

Sure, I led those who entrusted me to believe I'd take these secrets to the grave, but reaching the end often has the effect of making one want to unburden themselves. I'm at that point now. I'm ready to confess my sins, and in so doing, the sins of many others.

First, that fire, the one I told you about, in 1913. It wasn't a simple brush fire. Sure it had been an unusually dry few weeks, but that wasn't what started the fire. It was the oldest Johnson boy, Thom, you know the one. Good old Thom, reliable, studious, a good kid. Well, he had gotten into the habit of sneaking cigarettes. That night, he heard his father's footsteps and he tossed his lit half-smoked stick into the grass. I saw the whole thing. I was right there. No one ever found out. I certainly didn't say anything. Poor chap, he felt so bad as it was. And let's face it, I was a little worse for wear after the incident myself.

Then there was the time, I'm sure it was 1924, the travelling salesman from Chicago stopped by and spent about a week with us. Handsome young fellow, he was! Bluest eyes I'd ever seen on a man, and set against his jet black hair, well it was a combination you could scarcely beat! Impeccable manners, too, as I recall. Young Emma agreed with me. Well, they'd gotten up to some funny business in the hayloft, more than once, mind. A couple of months later, she suddenly married that nice soldier she'd been seeing. Well, you didn't hear this from me, and I'm not one for gossip, but I'm sure you can put 2 and 2 together.

I don't know how many romances, make-ups and break-ups I've witnessed, but they have to number into the dozens. Some were very sweet and innocent, others not so much. Those initials, SW + JW that are carved in the wood on the back wall, over to the right, about halfway up, you thought that was Sara Wilson + Jerome Wilson, didn't you? Nope, it was Sara Wilson alright, but the JW wasn't her husband, it was Jeremy Watson. I know, right! Who'd have thought! Jeremy Watson, from the hardware store! He had to be twice her age if he was a year!

Oh, and get this! If you were in town back in the late 1950's you'll remember that bank robber the police were after. It was all over the news. The headline in the Evening Standard read "Bank Robber on Loose After Huge Heist, Suspect Armed and Dangerous". Arnie something, I can't quite recall the name, but I never forget a face. He was here, stayed 3 days. I'm sure of it! He hid out unbeknownst to anyone here, except me. You have to get up pretty early in the morning to get anything past me. But again, I'm not one to stick my nose in. And he never put a foot wrong with me. Funny, it's always the quiet ones.

Then there were all the parties! Oh the parties! Fun times. Sure, sometimes someone had a bit too much to drink, but most of it was pretty good fun. I always loved a party, myself. I was invited to each and every one of them. I'd go so far as to say that without me, there'd have been no parties, or very few.

Getting old has been no fun, let me tell you. They talk about growing old gracefully. Ha! My whole foundation seems to have crumbled beneath me. My bones just don't come together like they used to, so I creak and crack in the wind and rain. My old bones, they ache something terrible. Don't even get me started on the cold! I can't take the cold at all. Feels like the icy winds just blow right through me.

Maybe this is all for the best. I've been here a long time. I've outlasted any of the others of my vintage around here. Last one standing, figuratively and literally. And let's face it, there really doesn't seem to be a place for me in this modern world. I come from a much simpler time, and that's the life I know. I've had a good long run here and all good things must come to an end.

Oh, wait! Before I go, you should probably know. I shouldn't say anything. I could be speaking out of turn, but, I also saw you; you remember that time ... There's the wrecking ball. I guess I don't have time to tell you. Oh well, hopefully they can salvage some of my boards, turn them into something useful. That'd be nice, I think.