My Red Front Door
Posted on | February 21, 2010 | No Comments
Our residence was built in 1904, and mine is the eighth tribe to call it home. I love everything about the place, from the ten foot ceilings to the hardwood floors. It’s not fancy or elaborate, but rather understated and simple. I appreciate all of the character and craftsmanship associated with houses of this age, but there is one feature I cherish above all the rest; our red front door! The door is original to the house and wears the scars to prove it. Its panels are weathered and scratched from time and use. Over the years this door has faithfully protected those who have lived here and cheerfully welcomed them home. On many occasions I am asked where I reside, and being that I live on a very well known street, the only other identifier I need give is, “the house with the red door!”
Recently some friends and I were sharing stories of the places we have traveled and the beautiful sights motorcycle touring has afforded us to visit. We talked about the magnificence of the Appalachian Mountains, the vastness of the Atlantic; the fields of corn in Iowa, and the acre after acre of wheat in Kansas. We joked of the small town diners that hadn’t been remodeled in 53 years, but still whipped up the best pancakes on the planet, and the overpriced joints that cost us $19.50 for a dried up burger and a bag of stale chips. We laughed about the difficult and often hilarious encounters we experienced while camping, like trying to sleep in rain soaked clothing, or the time the wind was so strong it simply blew the tent away!
I have had the good fortune of logging thousands of miles on my motorcycle’s, some of those miles have been shared with a couple close friends, some with my wife and sons, but most have been logged alone. Yet no matter how beautiful the scenery, or important the landmark, that I have seen it is always nice to return home. Not long ago someone asked, “What is the most beautiful thing you have seen while riding on a long trip?” and without hesitation I replied; “My red front door!”
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