Monday, February 21, 2011

Nostalgia


The Little House by Virginia Lee Burton was one of the books of my early childhood. This image comes from flickr.com.
Several days ago I happened to think back on this book but I could not remember the author's name. Then last night I was doing a book search and the author's name was Burton and this was the first title to appear. I think they call it serendipity.
The story is very simple. A house is built out in the country, built to last for generations. As time goes by we see the process of urban growth, as the pleasant countryside is overtaken by the big city. The house is not torn down, just abandoned. (Obviously not in Dallas!) Then one day a woman sees the house and realizes it was her great-grandmother's. Her family buys it, and moves it out to the country, where:

The windows and shutters were fixed and once again they painted her a lovely shade of pink. As the Little House settled down on her new foundation, she smiled happily. Once again she could watch the sun and moon and stars. Once again she could watch Spring and Summer and Fall and Winter come and go. Once again she was lived in and taken care of.

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