Down the Lane

Twenty blocks east and fifty-seven blocks south of the Salt Lake Temple, down what seemed to be a long gravel drive, stood the house I grew up in. The house I shared with seven siblings, my parents and all who visited and fell in love with its charm. They don't make them like they used to.

As a three year old, I stood looking out what would become my parent's bedroom window. I saw trees and grass and what would become my playground. There was a feeling of excitement and playfullness among us younger four. This magical place would soon become our home. It stood tucked away among tall elm, walnut, oak and pine trees. And lilac bushes as big as trees. While neighborhoods were built up around it, it stood alone, secluded, grand, mysterious and protective.

Built in 1930, the home had beautiful hardwood floors and tall ceilings wrapped in Tahitian Mahogany. The doors were solid wood and the knobs made of cut glass. Three fireplaces stood ready to warm us when things turned cold. Despite all these grand additions, it still maintained the feeling of being just an old farm house. A farm house that once served many acres of surrounding land. When we moved in, the home sat on just about an acre and a half of land. There was an old wooden horse barn, a big old free standing car garage and a rather large shed which later became the chicken coup. Attached to the garage was a tack shed and a little room with a small gate where trash was kept until garbage day. I can still remember what that room smelled like when I took out the trash, never knowing what rodents might scamper across my path. Dad and the boys then had to find a way to get all that trash to the top of the lane for pick up.

We kept horses, a goat, chickens, rabbits, birds and a variety of different dogs. On the other side of the house was a pond with goldfish (the large outdoor type). There was a little fountain in the middle of the pond, but it was all very small. Maybe four or five feet in diameter with a metal pole that came up through the middle and sprayed water out the top. I think the poor fish froze the first winter we were there. The little pond was surrounded by a stone patio and a tall stone fireplace. In the fall we would pile leaves and jump into them from off the top of the fireplace. There was a lovely willow tree with beautiful drooping branches. Unfortunately, those same branches were used as switches more than once!

A flagpole stood out by the lovely rose garden. A pine tree that looked like a witch's hat that you could climb underneath made the perfect fort (despite the pine needles). The wooded areas were covered with myrtle and in the area just east of the house there were two ceramic deer that lay in the myrtle. We learned early on that when the myrtle was in bloom you could pluck a flower and suck on the stem for a little taste of honey.

The house itself held three large bedrooms upstairs, an attached garage, and maid's quarters, or what we later called "the apartment" to the side of the garage. The apartment had a kitchen, living area, stairs, two bedrooms and a bathroom. We had a few renters there in the beginning, but that didn't seem to work out too well. So, my three oldest sisters used it for their own rooms. The brothers shared "the blue room" in the main house, my two sisters and I shared "the pink room" and our parents were in the room with the two closets and a fireplace with a tiny window that looked out through the chimney onto the backyard.

The house our family lived in before was on Bruce Street in Olympus Cove. It was a more modern home with plenty of storage. At first, mom didn't like this home on Highland Drive - but she worked hard to make it a home.

I don't know who else lived in the house, or visited it. I don't know who the orginal owners were that built the home and owned the land. I don't know what other children played and laughed and hid in its secret closets and cubbies. I don't know if other children crept down the stairs on Christmas Eve to peek through the opening in the stairway, hoping to get the first glimpse of what Santa brought. I don't know how many children warmed their toes by the fire, placing their cups of hot cocoa on the marble in front of the fire. Or, how many girls sat alone in their spacious bedrooms, listening to the trees scratching the sides of the house, counting the seconds between flashes of light and cracks of thunder. Or, who, if anyone retreated to the tall grasses by the canal to look up at the clouds in the sky and relish that rare moment of being totally alone. Did anyone else sit on the the front porch with a cousin, discovering the joy of fresh strawberries dipped in powdered sugar? Did anyone else grow up with scars on their knees from playing and falling on the gravel drive one too many times? Had other children slept outside in the summertime? Did other families before us have wedding receptions and baby blessings shaded by the backyard trees? Had other couples grown old and apart within its spacious walls?

My parents owned the home from 1967 to 2005 when it was sold to developers and torn down. I cried. I still dream about the home down the lane on Highland drive . . . and what it could have been.

That home stood protecting our family from the outside elements for nearly forty years. It provided a resting place, a gathering place, a home. It was often filled with people, with laughter, with sadness, with anger. If those walls could have talked, what wondrous and terrible stories they would've told. It provided our family with protection from the outside elements. Yet, it also proved to be the perfect distraction from what was really going on down the gravel lane on Highland Drive.