As someone who loves being home, wherever I am….since we were married in 2002 we’ve lived in two different apartments, a townhouse, a 70s ghetto house, a tent, two hotels, our parent’s houses, and most recently the small place we are renting now…the abode that we spend our time always forms memories. Every time we packed up a house I would walk room to room and remember the different things that happened in the room, the little memories that were made.
This summer when my mom and I went to visit her cousin and and daughter Elizabeth we all got to talking about the old places the grandparents had lived and what happened to the places. In particular they were interested in their shared grandmother on the Kincade side of the family so I finally got mom to take me over to one of their houses that happened to be less than a mile from where my grandmother, my mom’s mom had lived in east Ft. Worth. For 18 years I was over at my grandmother’s house frequently but had never gone or been taken that extra mile over the railroad tracks to the other house. (My grandmother moved to another house when I was in college because her neighborhood had slowly become very ghetto and though her neighborhood was bad, just on the other side of the tracks was even worse.)
So, over the tracks mom and I went that day. What we found was depressing.
We couldn’t determine if someone actually lived there or not, but the neighboring homes were occupied. Several homes on the street were in similar states of disrepair and it was evident people lived in those, so I am willing to bet someone lived in this house.
I wanted to fix this house up and live in it, knowing that wasn’t really feasible or possible. There are so many cute early to mid-20th century homes in this area that would be beautiful bungalows to fix up. In some areas they are nice, people take care of them, others, not so much. My grandfather, my dad’s father, lived in a neighborhood nearby up until this last year. It was a shame to let the house be sold, so much history and that there was a gigantic yard that grew lots of vegetables in year past…but that will be another story.
Here they are, Carson and Minnie in front of another house, I’m not sure whose. Perhaps it was the other house they lived in in another area of Fort Worth or maybe a friend or relative’s house. Carson died in the late 60s I believe, I should dig out my genealogy binder to check, but Minnie was alive until I was three and I have very hazy memories of her in a wheelchair at her nursing home. But that is all. I wish I had more.
I hope to continue this series over the months as I get more photos of various houses, dig a little deeper and remember my own memories of the three different houses I lived in growing up.