The building stood for many years as a home that was loved by many. With its beautiful grounds, a gardening shed and glassed-in porch overlooking the river, it was the house.

I grew up in Randolph, and as a young girl I could see this home from my yard. I would imagine the family who lived there must be very rich and very happy.

I could just see the children playing on that porch and having parties. What fun! Many of my generation loved to dream of growing up and living in such a home.

As I grew older, I would drive by that home and still be in awe. The beautiful burning bushes in full dress stood on guard, as if to keep the traffic from swallowing up the property.

That beautiful home on the corner was an affirmation, a reassurance that Norman Rockwell paintings had real life. Why does a structure provoke such feelings? Simply put, the architecture was stunning, the gracious welcoming feel and the sheer magic of it was perfection. Trees are cut down, bushes removed, roads widened and, poof, the home is gone.

Now that I am older, I know a home is made within, not from its outward appearance but still I mourn the loss of this grand old house and the magic it held. I will miss the gracious place. Ah, dreams and make believe, the stuff of childhood.

Sheila Hanley


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