The Stinson House, Quechee, April 2005

We’ve heard a lot of stories about the yellow house since we moved in 5 years ago. We’ve been told at various times that our house is haunted, was built from the first lumber out of the Dewey Mills sawmill, belonged to a successful Quechee businessman named Mr. Tinkham, is the oldest house in Quechee, was a major party house in the 1980s, had a front door painted lavender, and was once condemned.

Some of these things are true: one of the partiers who lived here is a friend. Some are false: the Dewey Mills churned out woolens and satinet, not lumber. Some things we made up ourselves.

As to the question of ghosts–it’s easy to understand why one would assume we are haunted. We are situated near the old and new Quechee cemeteries. The old, “inactive” cemetery is just across Old Quechee Road. It’s a lovely place, and the destination of a Valley Quest treasure hunt.

The new cemetery is at the top of the hill behind our house. You can see a corner of it in the photo above. I walk Cammy there from time to time. I haven’t investigated how many plots are still available, but fresh graves appear regularly. Some of the grave markers don’t have death dates–a kind of planning I’m not capable of yet.

But we do not appear to have ghosts. Sure, we get spooked walking by the cemetery at night, but have seen no evidence of paranormal phenomena. Sometimes when I’m home alone at night, I’ll look up from what I’m doing and wonder about all the people who have passed through these rooms, treading the uneven, creaking floors, living through their own moments of joy or sadness. So odd that they seem not to have left a trace.

Garage/Office, June 21, 2005

It’s taken almost two months, but some wood finally went up on the garage today. The site work was difficult; those difficulties were compounded by weeks of rain. But today, at last, the smell of freshly-sawed lumber was in the air.

Here it is — the actual summer solstice. I could take the gloomy point of view and say it is all downhill from here … the days are growing shorter and shorter until we’re deep in the heart of winter darkness.

Or I could say, it’s a beautiful night and we are going to go walk Cammy in the moonlight.

I live in the house by the side of the road with Helen. Hi, my name is Dave Clark and I consider myself lucky for the most part. But more about that later. . . Our house contains our hopes and dreams. Maybe its because we both work at home and we are together pretty much all the time. Maybe its because we are the first house that you see when you enter Quechee Vermont from the south, and generally people smile when they see us out on the front porch playing music, or working in the front yard. Its quite an affirmation when people smile and wave and they dont know who you are. I don’t want to sound trite or shallow, but in our case the state of our house symbolizes how successfully we live.

I wrote a song called “Friend of Man” based on the Sam Walter Foster poem that Helen published. It goes like this:

In my house by the side of the road.
I watch the world go by.
There are teachers, lawyers, mothers, theives
Some are low and some are high.

I would not trade my life with them
I’ll just do the best I can.
In my house by the side of the road
I’ll be a friend of man.

In my house by the side of the road
by the side of the road of life
I have friends who smile with the joy of hope
and others who live in strife.

I do not judge between right and wrong
among this merry band.
In my house by the side of the road,
I’ll be a friend of man.

In my house by the side of the road
I will live my whole life long.
With friends dropping in from near and far
we will fill it with happy song.

I’ll never take for granted
where my new life began.
In my house by the side of the road
I’ll be a friend of man.