Just an old door

Mother told me this story.

On a cold December day in 1899 the young man shoved the old door open. Then lifting his bride as though she were light as a feather, he carried her into their first home. Like the door, the house was old. It was small, made of logs and certainly a humble dwelling. So why should it be of interest to you?

The door is part of your history because the young couple, who set up housekeeping that December day, became your grandparents many years later.

I don’t suppose I could even point out the exact site of the house. It was between Veedersburg and Covington, Indiana near Layton Station. I doubt that there is any marker for Layton Station now. They didn’t live there long but moved to Sterling. After living in two or three houses, they purchased one in the Northeast corner of Sterling. It was also small, with only three rooms.

Dad soon built a summer kitchen and a few years later added another room which connected the summer kitchen and the original three rooms. The door from their first home had been brought with them. Now it is hung at the doorway from summer kitchen to the new room.

Some of my brothers were tall. When they walked through that doorway, they had to duck their heads.

I developed a fondness for the old door and at some point told Dad I’d like to have it when he no longer needed it. There wasn’t much value in the door; only the memories it held were worth saving. After Dad died, someone removed the hinges and stored the door in the Andrews garage. Then the house was sold. Whenever I mentioned bringing my door home, I was told I’d have to wait until they had time to clean out the garage so they could find it.

Years passed. The garage never disgorged the door, but my memories of it remain.

And that’s enough.