We spent the weekend with friends at a house in Eagles Mere. Eagles Mere is a tiny town in the mountains of north central Pennsylvania that calls itself “the last unspoiled resort.” Since the 1800s, visitors have traveled into the mountains to visit Eagles Mere to spend time away from the hustle and bustle of the city. America’s history including the rail line, summer homes and the healing powers of time away are very much a part of the area. Most of the homes are large, Victorian style “cottages” that have parlors, bedrooms, summer kitchens and large porches. The house where we stayed had gorgeous hardwood floors, a back staircase and even a knob and tube electric elevator.
As we sat on the front porch in the wicker chairs, the night air and the soft chatter of people in neighboring houses provided the sound track to an evening with friends. I reflected on the people and the history of the house. Who built this beautiful mountain retreat? How many families have stayed here? What milestones, holidays and relationships have been celebrated here?
The personality of the house is almost as strong a presence as the people who stay here.
It reminded me of contemporary author Anita Shreve. She used a large, beach front Victorian house as the setting for several books, written in different time periods and telling the stories of different people.
Each decade and each generation has its own story to tell. Our homes provide the context.
I have always found fascination in historical houses. Our annual trek to Baker’s Mansion in Altoona was a favorite part of weeks spent my Grandmother’s house as a child. I was enthralled by the tales and the artifacts of the family who lived there. Rumors of hauntings and connections to the spirits of the people who lived there only made it more interesting. Similarly, a visit to a bed and breakfast several years ago, in a plantation outside of Williamsburg, Virginia provided us with a wonderful weekend in a historical house. The house and the people who lived there had an impact on the local community; it helps us learn about our collective history.
Ironically, both of those historical houses had similar tales of an owner’s daughter who fell in love with someone below the family’s perceived stature and whose spirit allegedly stayed in the house, waiting for the return of her lover. In Williamsburg, our hostess showed us pictures of a figure in a window who supposedly made herself known at the sound of horse hooves. There were pictures from several different events, at different times in history, of weddings and other ceremonies on property that involved horses, with that same figure in the window.
I didn’t sleep a wink that night in that bed and breakfast.
Although today’s construction seems to pale in comparison to the massive historical houses of yesterday, if the walls of our houses could talk, the stories might be interesting.
We moved into our house when our oldest was 8 months old. In the 23 years since, we’ve celebrated the arrival of two siblings. A young family putting down roots. Holidays and birthday gatherings. Picnics. Extended family coming to visit. We experienced first days of school, first boyfriends and girlfriends, graduations and other family milestones within the walls of our home. More importantly, we’ve had 23 years of just living in our house. We’ve renovated, redecorated and make changes in our home but the family – and the walls – stays the same.
When we are gone, will our spirits and our energy inhabit the walls of our home? Somehow, I don’t think that the personalities of today’s houses have the same feel as the houses of the past. Sure there are historical houses in Bellefonte, in Boalsburg or in the Borough of State College but most of us live in houses that somehow feel more temporary. Many of the houses of today are missing the character of houses like those found in Eagles Mere. History. Style. Character.
Thinking about the families, the fun and the relationships that have happened in the house on Eagles Mere ties us to the past – and to the future.
It was a wonderful weekend in a resort, tucked away in the mountains, only 2 hours from State College. Ice cream from the Sweet Shop. A walk around the lake. Doors left open on second floor porches to let in the night time summer air. Wine and cheese with friends on the front porch. A porch swing.
If only these walls could talk.
