THIS OLD HOUSE

          This Old House - Our Home

          Over the years, I've lived in many old houses and the one I'm currently residing in Fosterville is no exception - it's quite possibly the oldest one.  Like many old houses in New Brunswick, it consists of a series of add-ons, which most likely occurred as the family grew.  In earlier years, the number of kids were much higher than now; six to nine was not uncommon.  Nobody living in the area seems to know the exact age of our house but a 72 year old woman living at the top of Green Mountain remembers when she was just a little girl, it was less than half its current size and the front door was located at the now back part of the house.  There's a very old rusty cast iron stove sitting amongst the trees near a seasonal stream at the lowest part of the pasture and I suspect it was the house's original stove.  Since the house still isn't properly insulated, I can almost see the smiling faces and hear the wonderful comments of the first people living in this old house when they gathered around the newly installed stove - I'll bet they were elated, overjoyed by the heat it generated - wouldn't doubt for a moment if its sides didn't glow a bright red on an extremely cold winter night.
          Old houses like old men have their own sounds - they creak and groan - especially when a harsh cold wind is blowing.  Sometimes when I lay in bed, just woke up in the middle of a quiet night and am having a bit of difficulty drifting off to the world of dreams, this old house makes some unusual noises.  Sarah's teenage daughter Rachel claims to have seen a ghost in the kitchen and I was once startled by something I may or may not have seen.  As I was climbing the stairs, I thought I saw a slight movement near one of the bedroom doors out of the corner of my eye but what disturbed me the most was the eerie coldness I experienced; the hairs on the back of my neck felt as though they were standing at attention.  If indeed a ghost exists within this old house, I suspect it's not too concerned about the new inhabitants because we would all be feeling really spooked.  However being slightly concerned and a bit inquisitive, I asked the woman living at the top of Green Mountain if she knew about anyone dying in the house and to her recollection, she couldn't remember anything like that happening here - so that's a good thing.
          About half a mile from here along a well-travelled gravel road that slowly winds its way to the lake, the first homestead in Fosterville is situated.  A man by the name of Josiah Foster settled there in 1851 and sparse remnants of his home can still be seen; a large indentation in the ground surrounded by boulders that appear to have slid down to its centre over the years.  Whether these boulders were used for the foundation of his home or were part of the walls containing a low sod roof, I don't know but one thing for certain - his humble dwelling wasn't a stylish mansion - it was very basic.  At one time apparently, Fosterville was actually a little town, even had a hotel, which is still in existence.  It's located at the top of the hill at the crossroads leading to Forest City.  However, the big green and white building is no longer used as a hotel, the owners of the property residing there mainly on weekends during the summer.  I imagine Josiah would turn over in his grave if he could see the many changes that have occurred since he once trod this land.  Instead of big workhorses plowing the land and logging the trees, jet planes pass overhead as all manner of machinery rips up the earth and mows down the trees.
          Josiah Foster reminds me of my grandfather Joseph Dale and his homestead at Woodpecker, BC.  I'm hardly a pioneer, an old homesteader but I like to think some of my granddaddy's blood in search for a better-place-to-be and a better-lifestyle runs through my veins.  I certainly don't have the hardships, the bitter ordeals he had to deal with but I still have the aches and pains of old age and the desires of a younger man within me.  Life is much easier now than it was back in those days so I try not to complain about some of my hardships - makes me sound like a real whiner - a real wimp.
          My gosh it's beautiful here at Golden Unicorn Farm, now that spring has finally arrived and summer is hopefully just around the corner.  I love this chunk of land and everything that abounds here - well - maybe not the black flies and the mosquitoes so much, but I guess, like anything else, they have a right to be here too.  Our old house, by comparison to Josiah's residence of old, is a stylish manor and I for one am very thankful to be living here and enjoying everything it affords.  The place may creak and groan when the wind howls and snow flies through the crisp cold air and the ghost shifts uneasily from room to room but I was warm all winter long and felt comfort within these walls - I can think of no better place to spend the remainder of my years.