We went "up north" this past weekend - a common occurrence with us Michiganders. My sister has a place on a lake in practically the center of Michigan. Lots of corn fields and Amish people up there. Anyway, we always make a point to go do something when we go for a weekend. Last year we did some Geocaches to kill some time (cough, cough away from my family, cough cough), this year I found some cemeteries to visit and did some exploring.
But first, since we were kids we always joked about who was going to live in this house....it had burned out eons ago and it was just there, on a hill overlooking the river. I recall my Dad telling us that back in the day (100 or so years ago) a man had built this house for his bride & she died young, so he killed himself & burned the house. I don't know how true this is, since I noticed some of the details seemed pretty modern. But it's a neat story. And the only other time I went near it, I was on horseback and my horse would not get within 100 yards of it (cue Twilight Zone music....)
You can almost see it from the road!
Obviously the trees and such have grown a LOT.
It used to show over the top of the trees.
That bunch of dead leaves oddly resembles flames.....
Looking in from the back. If you went thru both those doors, you'd basically fall down the hill into the river.
The trim at the top of the door looks a lot like what is in my house now.
Looking up. I thought it was odd that all those nails stuck out of the siding like there had been another layer of something that is gone now.
Several deer carcasses had been dumped nearby. No skulls, tho. Or ribs. Odd. Only short leg bones, a couple vertebra & 2 sets of jawbones.
Looking in the side.
It looks like a large room across the back, a small one off to the left and
another off to the right with a way thru to the front porch area.
And to subject you to some cheesiness....I wrote a poem about this place when I was like 13.
Standing on a hill,
Overlooking the river:
The sun shines
With all its might
Through your door, your windows,
The hole in your roof.
All the summer days,
Sad and abandoned.
Snows fall, melt and
Torturing your burnt wood
As much as the fire.
Buried in snow,
Pretty as a picture.
But you know different,
Because you’re the one
At the edge of a field.
No one cares
About this poor little
Someone did – long ago,
But now they’re gone and
The shack is alone.
By Lisa Marie Owens