The first house my mother lived in was a five minute walk over the creek at the bottom of the site. My grandparents built it and added to it. My grandmother built cabinets, added plumbing, and closed in the porch. She also planted daffodils, but she called them march flowers. They ran down the path to the front door. When my mother was eight an electrical short burned the house. But the flowers stayed and come back every march.
They moved in with relatives until my grandmother built a new house. She stacked orange rocks, and built a house on a hill. The housing market seemed good so my grandfather and his brother decided to build a house to sell. They found a catalog home and built it. It is a two story wood house painted brown. They could not sell it, they moved into it, and sold the rock house on the hill. My grandmother hated the brown house, it was not hers.
They lived there until after my mother moved out and my grandfather died. And my grandmother built a new house. On the hill fifteen minutes walk above the creek. She used rock and wood, and built the cabinets, and bent copper into the railings, and made it hers.
She died a few years ago, but we still go back to her house every spring, and pick the March Flowers.
The project is about building and adding to something of my own.
