Just a little box
This box sitting beside my keyboard makes me wonder if Mary might like to hear this. Maybe others, too.
Went to a family picnic in Salem and saw my cousin's four children for the first time in, what, a couple of years? I babysat them for years, beginning when the youngest was still potty training and an evening spent with them meant cacophony and Barbies and macaroni and cheese and a stony headache for a few hours afterward. All four of them were in our wedding, five years ago.
The kids wanted to show off the house where they now live with two step-siblings. We went further into the country, taking Howell Prairie Road to the house, which they rent and will unfortunately have to give up soon.
It's just a simple 1929 farmhouse, on grass fields, and really lovely. Violas and daisies and lavender and pretty lawn circle the house. Original built-in maple cupboards in the kitchen and dining room, maple flooring in a shade so rich I can't fathom its depth. Original wooden ironing board, still in its narrow little wall cupboard in the kitchen. Bedrooms everywhere, including right up under the eaves and down in the cool basement. It'd be like spend-the-night party every night over there.
We followed Jacob, the youngest (who's 11?) to the barn, the oldest building left on the property, from I think 1890-something. He showed us the unusual glass pieces he and a sister are always finding, in purple and amber and aqua, and some white-glazed ceramic. We went up in the hayloft to try out the rope swing, and look at the old farm office where they play post office and house. He showed us the sliding windows where he spies on the others, and the old grain separator, and the holes rotted in the floor. He told us owls and pigeons and swallows liked to fly up through there. We went back down the ladder to see the tunnel, under the ancient truck and up under the barn wall, where he and the youngest sister have a secret fort. And then he showed us the hundreds of dusty cardboard boxes.
These boxes, one stenciled "Oct 44", were full of flat cut-outs which fold into little boxes, which probably hold about a cup of liquid. He expertly folded one in about 30 seconds, producing a cube-shaped box with an attached lid that flips up when you push on the back of it with a finger. The boxes are made of wheat-colored speckled card stock, waxed on both sides, and stamped in the center of the lid with
Stone&ForsythCo., Everett,Mass.
Lic.Pat.No.2.330,030
(I'll try to upload a photo later.)
They're rather remarkable little boxes, although I can't imagine what one would do with them. I can't even imagine what so many of them are doing in a 125-year-old barn in Oregon.
Everybody is always trying to figure out what they were meant for. They could hold a scoop of ice cream, or a small pastry. Or paper clips, or who knows. The lid is what makes them so peculiar. We may never find out what their purpose was.
I don't know why I chose to write a blog about such a thing, but just looking at this beautiful little box reminds me of the barn and its haydust-axle grease-old cedar smell, and the boy who loves the place so much. This is where he was meant to live, even if for only a while, and I'm so pleased he found it.
Went to a family picnic in Salem and saw my cousin's four children for the first time in, what, a couple of years? I babysat them for years, beginning when the youngest was still potty training and an evening spent with them meant cacophony and Barbies and macaroni and cheese and a stony headache for a few hours afterward. All four of them were in our wedding, five years ago.
The kids wanted to show off the house where they now live with two step-siblings. We went further into the country, taking Howell Prairie Road to the house, which they rent and will unfortunately have to give up soon.
It's just a simple 1929 farmhouse, on grass fields, and really lovely. Violas and daisies and lavender and pretty lawn circle the house. Original built-in maple cupboards in the kitchen and dining room, maple flooring in a shade so rich I can't fathom its depth. Original wooden ironing board, still in its narrow little wall cupboard in the kitchen. Bedrooms everywhere, including right up under the eaves and down in the cool basement. It'd be like spend-the-night party every night over there.
We followed Jacob, the youngest (who's 11?) to the barn, the oldest building left on the property, from I think 1890-something. He showed us the unusual glass pieces he and a sister are always finding, in purple and amber and aqua, and some white-glazed ceramic. We went up in the hayloft to try out the rope swing, and look at the old farm office where they play post office and house. He showed us the sliding windows where he spies on the others, and the old grain separator, and the holes rotted in the floor. He told us owls and pigeons and swallows liked to fly up through there. We went back down the ladder to see the tunnel, under the ancient truck and up under the barn wall, where he and the youngest sister have a secret fort. And then he showed us the hundreds of dusty cardboard boxes.
These boxes, one stenciled "Oct 44", were full of flat cut-outs which fold into little boxes, which probably hold about a cup of liquid. He expertly folded one in about 30 seconds, producing a cube-shaped box with an attached lid that flips up when you push on the back of it with a finger. The boxes are made of wheat-colored speckled card stock, waxed on both sides, and stamped in the center of the lid with
Stone&ForsythCo., Everett,Mass.
Lic.Pat.No.2.330,030
(I'll try to upload a photo later.)
They're rather remarkable little boxes, although I can't imagine what one would do with them. I can't even imagine what so many of them are doing in a 125-year-old barn in Oregon.
Everybody is always trying to figure out what they were meant for. They could hold a scoop of ice cream, or a small pastry. Or paper clips, or who knows. The lid is what makes them so peculiar. We may never find out what their purpose was.
I don't know why I chose to write a blog about such a thing, but just looking at this beautiful little box reminds me of the barn and its haydust-axle grease-old cedar smell, and the boy who loves the place so much. This is where he was meant to live, even if for only a while, and I'm so pleased he found it.