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A fall day

 The early morning sun promised a clear, comfortable day ahead.

Fifteen miles away, a crew of house movers lifted and transferred a tired, dusty-red cottage from its pillars onto a trailer.  The Cottage awoke from a long, abandoned slumber and turned its gaze inward.  Another truck gathered the porch that had been removed and set aside for moving purposes, and the cement pillars that held the house up off the ground.  Followed by a pickup truck carrying mandated signage indicating a wide load ahead, they caravanned out of the driveway, trundled up the county road to the highway, turned left towards the west. 

It was a cool, dewy morning on Popcorn Road, like most fall days, except everyone was up a little earlier than usual.  This got all the animals’ attention as they wondered what was in it for them.  Breakfast earlier than usual?  A walk down to the river? 

In the early days, as the House on Popcorn Road began to take form and awaken, it remembered in particular, a pair of working oxen that slept in a lean-to barn, nearby, alongside their yoke and wagon.  Bobby and Dan were well looked after in the evenings when they’d be settled in and put up for the night.  Their feet were trim, coats brushed, food and water stalls well managed. 

Decades passed and the House had seen surprising things.  Model Ts and trains among them.  These days, though, it was mostly cars, punctuated by an old black man on his little red, electric scooter who would come calling from time to time. 

On this morning, though, the House was basking in the smell of hot coffee and toast, when it heard the crunching of gravel as the big truck entered its driveway with a tired, anxious, dusty-red Cottage on its back!

Bounding off the dog beds, barking and tumbling down the stairs, nails frantically and futilely scraping the landing floor, braying, straining for purchase, hitting the turn, exploding into a run for the back door, the House with a gentle heave, loosed a latch and with a snick of the lock, shut the dog door, and the dogs skidded into a pile. 

Outside, the Cottage was jacked up, I-beams inserted, and rolled onto remote-control dollies which transferred the Cottage to its new location.  Foundation piers were measured, spaced, laid out, leveled, and the Cottage having never been aloft before, held its breath.  Slowly, it was lowered and placed precisely on its foundation, and exhaled. 

Quickly, a stack of concrete blocks was assembled into a riser leading to the front door.  Other men unloaded the porch and propped it against the back of the house this time.  The crew took a break as the woman ascended the makeshift stairs, opened the door, and stepped inside.  The Cottage froze itself into thoughtful silence.  What would she think of the purple walls, the pitted floor, the rough old boards that had been shaped into trim, the flimsy bathroom door that gave such little privacy, the faded curtains, the kitchen grease on the ceiling fan?  Would the Cottage become a home again, or what?

“I love it,” she whispered.  The Cottage exhaled and watched as the woman admired each room, talking of new paint colors, new floors, and just as the Cottage was thinking, ‘But what about my Porch?’ the woman said, ‘And a wraparound porch to catch the breeze.’  A thrill shivered through the walls and for the first time since screwing its eyes shut as it left its old home, the Cottage realized that outside, there was indeed a consistent, gentle breeze passing through.  Finally, the Cottage was out from underneath trees and out in the open under the sky, sitting atop a little rise, the best place from which to catch a prevailing wind.  Looking out all its windows at one time, the Cottage caught its breath.  A neighbor. 

Engines were started and the trucks began their crunchy retreat out the driveway.  The goats and chickens and pigs settled down.  The dogs turned their thoughts to breakfast.  The cat came out from underneath the bed.  And the House on Popcorn Road said to its new neighbor, “Good morning, and welcome!  You’re going to love this place.”

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