Stories Collected While Living in France
The back door is the front door in my childhood home. Everyone uses it except people who are selling something, or those coming to talk about religion.
The back door is a screen door. Painted red with a gold colored handle, that is worn down to silver and shines like a beckon.
The back door is a simple door where you enter without knocking, and walk straight to the kitchen.
The back door is a key leading me to a rush of memories. It opens wide, lets me dive in, and swim in a pool of goodness.
Wow, you always expose the inner meaning in the seemingly simple objects and world around us. Your door tells the tale of not just a function but the openness created by love of the family that opened it.
I just love those kind of doors…always know there is love and warmth behind them.
Seeing that door, I can well imagine Mother Hen’s house and her chicken walking in and out…
Same at my childhood home! And when you’d walk in, you’d always find my grandmother either cooking or doing something crafty sitting at the kitchen table, the coffee warm, and, in the summer time, a baseball game on the small television. Ah, wonderful memories 🙂
We have a sidedoor similar to this in My House in the Woods. Leading right into my kitchen. I would love to create memories like your mother does.
Corey, in Norway we call the hen and chicken “roof bulbs” or “roof onions”. They were planted on the roofs of the wooden houses to prevent house fires. Their leaves are so filled with water they were supposed to prevent the fire to develop. My private name of them is fairy plants, as I have them in my fairy garden.
Good to hear that you are safe with your family.
Your right there is no place like home with all it’s memories, warmth and security.
Our back door was a screen door too.
It looked out on the back porch and our cherry tree.
I sat and dawdled over breakfast beside that back door for years…always late to school, only a 5 minute walk away.
Our back door opened into the pantry.
There was a locked door in the pantry holding freshly made cookies stored in tins.
I knew the combo. I would sneak down before the others to have cookies in bed before breakfast.
No wonder I was late everyday to school…
There’s something about doors isn’t there. The unfamiliar ones where you long to see what’s inside and the most familiar ones where you open them knowing what’s inside. Welcome home Corey!
Blessings……….
My childhood home was a haven for any of life’s storms. Always.
May you always have plenty of visits left to the glorious childhood home.
Mine is no longer available
(Home is up for sale)
and I miss being able to go and visit my Mom and Grandmother there more than you will ever know.
It is a very sad feeling.
Love you darling one.
Love Jeanne ^j^
oooh this post sends me thinking of all the goodness I’ve known behind the ones I knew. My grandparents had a screen door in the back a pretty one that slammed ‘whack’ hard I always thought I need to run across the threshhold before it got me in the booty:) once inside you needed climb a few steps to get into the warm kitchen..I can smell the pot roast or something else cooking away, and coffee..always coffee:) their front door was way more elegant, solid heavy wood with a worn round knob…it still opens with a skeleton key:) that’s the best part!! Will look forward to your childhood posts and I’m thinking of you! xoxo
I love following you on your journey back home, the fond memories you carry of the door and beyond. Somehow I feel the familiarity and warmth of a home once visited.
A passage to your familys love. A safe place.
I’m sure there is much happiness and laughter cookin’ in that kitchen behind the red screened door with the well worn gold handle.
Corey-What an amazing description of something so simple. I always have loved a red door.
A lovely tribute to your family home and its special place in your heart.
What a wonderful thing for your heart and soul to be at home wrapped in the comforts of your family who you cherish so much. Wishes for a wonderful visit home.
XO
Kristen
I love the contrast of weathered wood and the bright shine of the red surrounding the handle that over time has been rubbed clean and shiny and embued with memories.
Our home was the same–no one used the front door unless they were visitors. Since I started using my camera more, I’ve noticed so much about the home I grew up in. Distance brings new perspective and memories return in a moment.
I’m sure your California family is glad you have you “home.”
My Aunty’s home back door.. the blinds on the window of the back door always made a luffing wugga wugga wugga noise when it closed. Then you were right in the kitchen, with Grandma and Aunty, big hugs and a pile of homemade cookies and iced tea waiting for you. Oh thank you for helping to remember this!
“Back door friends are the best kind of friends” I don’t remember who said this but I thought of it the instant I read your post.
a couple of years ago i finally got the wooden screen door i have had in my memory. but, i don’t know where that memory comes from because i didn’t grow up with screen doors. however, i can feel in my bones, the door’s slight resistance to being open and the thunk when it closes right behind; such a wonderful, wonderful sound.
What a beautiful metaphor –
the door that welcomes you
“home”
i love the color!
Corey, To swim in a pool of goodness. Amen to that. Hope your stay is filled with wonderful memories. I’m enjoying your posts daily keep up the great work and Congratulations on your awards. Love Sandra Welcome Home
It’s certainly a warm and inviting door. I love using the back door, the front door any door for that matter as long as it opens to a kind heart.
Enjoy your time back home Corey!!
Annabelle
such a beautiful post! and yes you are so right, there is no place like home!!
Corey, are you back home visiting in No. California? I’m waving – can you see me down in the bay area?
A very special door and a special post!
what a lovely blo you have… great pleasear to visit it… I’ll come back soon……..
Oh, this makes me miss home… I am so glad you are there…
ah home again home again, jiggety jig!
hooray for you… ihope it’s a happy trip!
Sounds like the South. The backdoor was always used by those most familiar.
I don’t think the front door even opens does it?
The few times I have been to the Amaro’s with Lorene I find myself wondering around the patio area looking at everything and visiting with whoever is sitting outside. There is a house and you are suppose to go in? It always amazing me the things your Mother can put in the garden and make it look like that is what it was made for. You never know what you might find.
Absoloutely wonderful No place like home, not ever. Even if it is a place you just made home or a place you can visit from childhood. Home is sacred.
There is something so comforting about the turn of handle, the click of a door latch that when engaged opens the door to familial love and memory. I still have dreams of our family home.
XOXO
Was the same with us too!
A glorious red, your back door.
Hope you’re having a good trip home, Corey!
what’s wrong with coming by to talk about religion ; )
I adore red doors. You are fortunate to have access to your childhood door. If I want to see mine, I have to close my eyes and dream it.
Corey, what a fantastic life you live! You are so full of gratitude that it shines out of you and lights up this entire blog.
Thanks for taking me back to my childhood…xo
Lovely post. Although it was her front door, I felt that way walking through my Italian grandmother’s door. (It was never locked–except when she went to bed.) I never felt that way walking into my own home…and I just realized this moment why…entering Nanny’s house was like stepping into love. Every part of it. I just didn’t have the emotional vocabulary then to know that’s what I was feeling.
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