"Visiting William" - by Sharon Flood Kasenberg

William's House

I know nothing about him
except he owned a mill,
and maybe had five children -
a few small facts - but still -
somehow I feel I know him
from living in this place;
I often try to picture
how he lived in my space.
My house, you see, was his dream -
he lived scant decade here.
As I wander through my rooms
one thing seems very clear.
William had a vision once -
for his children and spouse -
William milled some lumber
and built a lovely house.
He built this house I live in,
the place I work and play.
Though I don't really know him,
I thank him ev'ry day.

Sharon Flood Kasenberg, April 4, 2018

When we moved to our home in Atwood Ontario we were quite thrilled to be able to glean a few facts about the history of the house we'd bought. Our home was built in 1896, and originally dubbed "Forrest House", after its builder William Forrest. We know very little about William, except that he owned the original mill in town (located at the end of John Street), had five children, and lived in this house ten years before he died at the age of 48. I've always felt badly that William only got to live in his house for a decade.

Last year my husband and I took our first drive to the Atwood cemetery. It was a pleasant spring day - and my husband's birthday - and we found ourselves in the car looking to explore. Seeing the cemetery we decided to stop. It was a peaceful spot to visit on a crisp but sunny spring day. On a whim I said, "Maybe we can find William Forrest's grave."

So we divided up and each searched a separate area of the graveyard. After a few minutes my husband called out to me - and I stood over the grave of the man who'd built my house. At the bottom of the tombstone I read the inscription - He is missed at home.

I don't know exactly why I teared up, but I did. Even before I knew his name I'd felt a connection to the builder of my house. I'd often marveled at what a fabulous house it must have been in its day, and how excited the owner must've felt when he walked into the completed house for the first time. When I found out that it was built by a miller I felt excitement - he had chosen the lovely golden oak trim and had probably checked over each bit surrounding the windows and doors. Perhaps he had been the one to proudly hand carve the year the house was built into the lintel above the pocket doors in my living room, which would've been his front parlour.

"Thank you for building our home, William", I whispered. "We are enjoying it for you."

I like to think that he was a good man - a beloved husband and father who was truly "missed at home" after his death. I'm only certain that if he misses the home that missed him, and stops by for the occasional visit, he does so quietly and unobtrusively. (Which I appreciate!)

I still don't know much about William Forrest, but I know that his "vision" and mine were oddly aligned. When I was a child in Sault Ste. Marie, Ontario, there was one house across town that always stood out to me - a house with a rounded turret on the left front corner. For a Grade Twelve project I had to fashion a house out of bristol board - and the house I made was modeled on the house on Queen St that I'd always admired - complete with turret.

Odder still, when my current house was first sold in 2011 by the insurance company that was based here for many years, the listing made such an impact on me that I remembered photos of the wood trim (and the pink chairs in the board room) a full five years later when the property came on the market again! I knew I had to see this house, and then I knew we had to buy it. William gave me my turret.

We have decided to make an annual pilgrimage to William's grave. I know it might seem silly, or morbid - or downright weird - but "visiting William" reminds us of our mortality in a pleasant way. My husband has decreed that he wants to go to that cemetery every year on his birthday; to walk past the graves of the men who built our town and the man who built our house. I agree that this annual trek satisfies the soul. I can't speak for him, but it gives me a sense of continuity and puts my life in perspective. Who knows how long I have here? Who knows what I might leave behind as a legacy?

Someday I'll put up a commemorative plaque in my front entrance. It will simply say, Forrest House - established 1896. It will make me happy to give my house back it's original name, and in so doing, pay tribute to the builder. This house is his legacy - a dream that not only came to fruition, but has outlived him by more than a century.

Every day I'm inspired by William's house - not just the building itself, but what it represents for me - hope. William created something beautiful that outlasted him. People may have forgotten the name of the builder, but his house still draws attention. His handiwork is still admired. And when I give the house back its name I'll have opportunity to retell his story - what little I know of it. William's house gives me hope that someday there will be "Sharon's poem" - one verse that outlasts me - something worthy of being quoted a century after my death.

Thank you, William, for giving me a goal as lofty as our turret.