The house with two front porches

I am not sure what the correct real estate term would be for my Grandparent's house. Its a tiny mill house that has been cut right down the center to make two small apartments. Two identical one room apartments complete with front and side porches. I have never seen anything else like it. It sits on a quiet southern street covered with moss hanging from tall trees. The road is windy and narrow, but all the roads are this way in the small mill town.

At some point my grandparents bought the house and it was converted into a one family home. The layout is still strange but my grandparents raised seven kids in that home. Its pretty amazing. Most of my fondest childhood memories are of that house. My parents were two crazy young ministry students trying to work and go to school with two small children underfoot. Most of my time was spent over at my Grandma's house. I loved being there.

Its the only place I have memories of my grandfather. He was a giant in my eyes. He was always ill and his room looked like a hospital room. He had cords running in and out of him most days and was always in his button up pajamas. I remember his room at the front of the house. I remember it being bright yellow. I don't know if that was the actual color or the effect of the sun streaming through the windows. He had these yellow and green love birds that he would let fly around the room freely. I thought this was awesome. He would let me sit on his bed and try whatever Grandma had brought him for lunch. It was usually black eyed peas or butter beans and he always wanted to share.

When he felt up to it he would get up and go for a walk in the yard to check on his tomatoes. He had tomatoes the size of my head. He also had chickens that my brother and I would tease and throw rocks at until one day the chickens turned on us and chased us around the yard. I ran for my life while my grandma and aunts laughed at the back door. The family dog looked like a black horse to me and I was sure the yard went on forever.

Sometimes Grandpa would talk real seriously to me. He would preach me sermons. I remember one of the last times I saw him. He was only slightly lucid. He wanted me to sit with him and listen to his preaching tapes. He even gave me one. I wish I still had it. I was, if I remember correctly the only grandaughter at the time. My older boy cousins would come over to play and we would wreak havoc until our parents came to pick us up. I can still hear my grandpa's voice bellowing across the house "MICKEY!" I never heard him call my grandmother by her given name.

I remember my Great-grandmother who always sat in her rocking chair. She was such a tiny frail woman, but she had so much spunk. She would bite off the ends of french fries and spit them out like they were a cigars. My grandmother would comb her hair and care for her and my grandfather day in and day out until both of them left her. Now she still lives in the same house and her daughters comb her hair and take care of her.

I don't know what the future holds for that place. I miss the Christmases, Thanksgivings, and just the day to day noise and chaos of it. Maybe that is why I wanted so many children of my own. I wanted to recreate some of the warm feelings I had in that odd little house. I moved away from grandma's house when I was little and I never stopped wanting to go back. It was the only place I wanted to be for the longest time. I hope it stays in the family. I hope there are many more pleasant memories to be made there and that the rest of my family loves it as much as I do. I know it has impacted all of us in different ways, but it will certainly stay with me forever.