Upon my approach it doesn’t look safe enough to enter, but as I step onto the porch, it feels sturdy enough. Peering through the cracks in the door, the smell is familiar but not one I can identify. It gives me a mental preview of what I might find inside.

The door surprisingly opens with ease. One big room: Dark, with piercing rays of sunlight forcing its way through slats in the broken plaster. It’s old. I feel a sense of excitement for what I may find, but at the same time a sadness for the abandonment of this place, these items left behind, and the memory of the people that once occupied this space. As I move slowly and carefully through the space, even the softest of footsteps stir up dust that speckles in the sunlight. The furthest corner to my left is very dark. The texture of the wall is different. I reach my hand out and touch it. It’s
very cold. A stone wall blackened with soot from a fireplace. No sign of any wood, or ash is present. The opposite wall has a steep staircase. Each step is smaller, not as deep as today’s typical construction. A reminder of how much smaller people were 100 or so years ago. At the top of the staircase is a small window. The second floor is the exact footprint of the first.

Against the wall is a double bed frame. Another sign of the smaller stature of our ancestors past. A very small night stand on one side of the bed is just big enough for a candle and a book. A few feet away is a single chair in front of a larger window. I imagine a young girl sitting in it, brushing her hair as she gazes out the window, possibly looking into a field of golden wheat blowing in a soft summer breeze. A man emerges from the field. She could see the ring of sweat around his linen shirt and his wool hat. His one arm swings with his stride and the other holds the reigns of a healthy-looking mule pulling a hand plow.

I suddenly snap back to reality as a  gas-powered lawn mower fires up outside the window. So loud, disrupting my peaceful daydream. I take one more look around the room, and make my way back down the treacherous staircase. A quick glance at the soot covered fireplace has me imagining an iron kettle hanging in place filled with a hearty venison stew. I get a feeling of simplicity and comfort mixed with uncertainty and exhaustion. I wait for the landscaper to make his way around back, and then exit the cabin, secure the door and make my way back to my very modern vehicle. For the remainder of the day, I can’t help but feel bothered by noise and fumes from modern day vehicles and equipment I encounter. I struggle between longing for a simple life and having such conveniences of today.

Could I survive if I was suddenly dropped in 1885?

This story was published in the December, 2022 issue of Cape Fear Voices