As the oldest of three children, I recognize that my association with hand-me-downs is far from universal. Perhaps my brother and sister would offer a different perspective, recollecting with less enthusiasm having been the beneficiaries of my outgrown clothing and playthings during the 1970s and 1980s.
And yet I remember my excitement when a box of hand-me-downs from my cousins arrived when I was seven or eight. The boys were older than I, and they lived in Atlanta, Georgia. So there was something doubly exotic and exciting about inheriting their gym shorts, rugby shirts, and windbreakers. A bit of privilege crossed with respect, curiosity, and wonder about their relatively unfamiliar lives.
As the custodians of Rosslyn for almost two decades, Susan and I have benefited beyond measure from owning a hand-me-down home. Although it initially fit no better than some of the Georgia Tech togs I grass-stained four and a half decades ago, we were well aware of our privilege in making this property our home. Our respect, curiosity, and wonder for Rosslyn’s architectural heritage burgeoned as we waded into a many years long adventure of revitalizing the home, boathouse, carriage barn, icehouse, and sprawling grounds.
I’ve come to suspect that this home’s hand-me-down heritage is at the heart of my Rosslyn romance. In fact, hand-me-downs of all sorts — buildings, artifacts, artwork, vehicles and vessels, skills, and stories — are inextricably interwoven into my evolving notion of home. What is the connective tissue between hand-me-downs, historic rehabilitation, adaptive reuse, and wabi-wabi that suffuses and coalesces my understanding of “homeness”?
I’ve been poking at this question for months. Actually over a year. And while I’m still struggling to articulate exactly what the chemistry happens to be, I know that I have an affinity for the used, lived, lived, recycled, repurposed, reimagined, etc. Hand-me-downs ground and enrich me while de-sterilizing and texturizing newness.
Hand-me-down Haiku
Reanimated
with need, living, and loving,
newness forgotten.
Cherished Hand-me-downs
I will attempt a gathering of cherished hand-me-downs. Not exhaustive. Not structured or thematically tied. Extemporaneous and scrapbooky, starting with an early hand-me-down that came to us on our first Rosslyn Christmas.
Our secondhand Christmas tree provoked some lighthearted teasing, but we were swelling with joyful gratitude. We felt as if the hand-me-down tree was a gift from our community…
(Source: Christmas Eve)
The value add of our first Rosslyn Christmas tree being a secondhand throwaway still resonates all these years later.
Another early hand-me-down was our first “Gator” which actually wasn’t a John Deere Gator at all. It was an even earlier prototype.
This 5-wheel legend was a hand-me-down from my parents about a decade ago, and we have pampered it with annual servicing and plenty of TLC.
(Source: Re-Homing John Deere AMT 626)
My parents passed that piece of equipment onto us just as we were beginning to transform Rosslyn’s backlands from overgrown scrub back into gardens, orchards, meadows, and trails. The utility vehicle was instrumental in those early years. And more recently this unstoppable green machine was regifted to new Essex friends, once again a hand-me-down.
Susan and I have inherited and purchased plenty of secondhand art over the years as well. One especially meaningful memento is this rendering of the first “Upstate New York” property that my parents owned.
The painting above, a hand-me-down from my parents that was made by my godmother, Louise Coldwell, has hung above my study/studio fireplace for the last 15 or so years.
(Source: The Farm Backstory)
One image, but layers of relevance and meaning. This nuanced complexity is one of the gifts of hand-me-downs. Layered, textured complexity.
Which brings me to an accidental hand-me-down:
May the warmth of your house be equal to that of your heart.
I discovered those generous words on this piece of cardboard, filling stuffed into the backside of a framed photograph.
The words were not intended for me, but they found their way to me.
Perhaps it’s worth gathering well wishes wherever and whenever we come across them. Even when they present themselves in hand-me-down frames, photographs, and artifacts, fortuitously extending goodwill outward and onward.
(Source: Does Mystery Make a House a Home?)
A more recent confluence of hand-me-down generosity was memorialized in my post, “Lemons from Afar”.
Picture perfect lemons arranged in an enormous clay bowl. Layers of largess. The sweet tart citrus was a gift from a recent friend married to my former student of 25+ years. The ceramic vessel, wheel thrown by my godfather, OMC, in the 1970s and gifted to my mother was recently regifted to Susan and me. Perhaps the generosity of friends and family is one of the essential ingredients for what makes a house a home?
[…]
Such abundance invites further generosity, so Susan and I have been regifting lemons to others. From hand-me-downs, hand-me-downs. Such satisfaction, extending the ripple effect. The generosity of friends multiplied. Especially with a glass of fresh squeezed lemonade!
(Source: Generosity of Friends: Lemons from Afar)
Some years ago, my mother-in-law cleaned out a storage area beneath her Rock Harbor deck. A pair of canoes (one belonging to my sister-in-law) and an old Sunfish found their way to Rosslyn where they once again sat in storage. The older canoe, wooden gunnels and cane seats rotten, struck we as worthy of rehabilitation. Fortunately, the good folks at Adirondack Guide Boat agreed to the challenge.
Soon they’ll be arriving to deliver my new Vermont Dory to Rosslyn’s waterfront. I’m looking forward to an early morning outing with Carley to enjoy sunrise, a cup of tea, and a content canine companion. And, there’s an additional perk. When they deliver my new green skiff, they’ll pick up our old hand-me-down canoe for midwinter replacement of the rotten wood gunnels. Win, win!
(Source: Adirondack Guideboat or Vermont Dory?)
Time will tell if that pedal power hand-me-down is destined to become a family heirloom. For now I’m staying optimistic.
And speaking of hand-me-down heirlooms, you may remember the Riley.
Slide into the wood and leather cabin of our hand-me-down 1949 Riley RMB, and you’ll be transported (despite the sad fact that this handsome saloon has not been driven in about four decades), transported to an earlier time when details, materials, and finishes mattered. A time when motoring was an appreciated privilege whether commuting to work or traveling on a family vacation. The feel and smell, indeed the very aura of this antique evoke a slower, more congenial, and possibly even a more romantic prelude to this frenzied future through which we’re catapulting. But be advised, your mileage may vary.
(Source: Mileage May Vary)
Plenty of poignance riding on those four wheels. And yet we’ve recently decided to search for anew heir apparent, a well suited steward for this snazzy ride
I’ve mentioned this handsome hand-me-down [our 1949 Riley RMB] in the past. Recently this antique automobile has been front of mind again as I evaluate whether or not I should be matching it up with a new owner more passionately committed to its restoration and maintenance.
(Source: Essex Cottage & 1946 Buick)
In a more playful bent I’ve thought of meteorological hand-me-downs.
This photo was taken at dawn after a forceful windstorm (an unwelcome hand-me-down from Hurricane Isaac) that loosed one of the Adirondack chairs from the [boathouse] deck and dumped it into the shallow water of the beach. We were relieved to recover the chair because it was a handmade wedding gift from a close friend. Though one armrest was shattered, we will repair and repaint it this winter so that it will be ready to enjoy again next spring.
(Source: Adirondack Autumn 2012: Part I)
Among the most notable hand-me-downs for us have been buildings. And I’m especially keen on old barns.
By “bygone barns” I’m conjuring an entire class of rural farm and utility buildings belonging to an earlier time. Agrarian hand-me-downs. Think of a barn vernacular with classic lines, practical design, form following function, wearing age and even obsolescence with pride,… I’m even smitten with buildings so dilapidated that they’ve been reduced to their skeletal essence by the forces of nature. Sunlight, moonlight, weather, wildlife, and vegetation permeate these carcasses. The sparse assembly of materials — beaten by the elements for more years than anyone alive can definitively claim to know — endure erect, monumental, lavishly adorned with forgotten functions and the patina of passing time. My romantic heart and my wabi-sabi aesthetic cling conspiratorially to the possibility of resuscitating, reimagining, and repurposing.
(Source: Bygone Barns)
Rosslyn’s hand-me-down barns have spent much of the last seventeen and a half years as storage vaults brimming with curiosities including plenty of architectural salvage.
These artifacts, safeguarded for future projects, can be as valuable in creative conjuring as they are in historic rehabilitation.
I headed into the carriage barn for some, ahem, research. I’m still sorting through architectural salvage and surplus building materials, endeavoring to make final decisions for the icehouse… Today I ruled out a couple of ideas I’ve been developing, visions for upcycling deconstructed cabinetry, hand-me-downs from Sherwood Inn days. The visions have faded, but all is not lost. In the shadowy space they’ve left behind, I stumbled upon something else. A poem.
(Source: Searching for Poetry)
More on that meditation here.
Life and work at Rosslyn… [a] sort of poem. A three dimensional living poetry. An environment for sharing experience; cultural, architectural, and environmental heritage; organic, homegrown food and fun; revitalization and rehabilitation; creativity — combinatorial and collaborative — and hand-me-down husbandry; adaptive reuse and wabi-sabi;… A poetics of place.
(Source: Sacred Exchanges)
And, at long last, it feels appropriate to wrap up this runaway train by shining a light on the hand-me-down heritage — Rosslyn’s architectural and historic legacy — that has been central to our lives for the better part of two decades.
Preservation by neglect… is baked into my love for (and efforts toward rehabilitating) old hand-me-down buildings, and it’s in many respects more compelling to me than the finished accomplishments of a preservation project. Not sure I’m ready to put my finger on exactly why yet, but it’s akin to my penchant for wabi-sabi. In my perspective there is profound beauty in the imperceptibly slow entropic forces revealed in aging, even failing, man-made artifacts. Sorry, that’s a major mouthful and earful, and it’s a bit of a mind bender. That’s why I’m not yet ready to flesh this idea out. I’m still trying to sort it for myself. Hopefully soon I’ll be able to better articulate what’s percolating in my noggin.
(Source: Preservation by Neglect: Icehouse On Ice)
Are you still there?
I set out to pen a quick post, a minimalist meditation on hand-me-downs. One haiku. One image. Simple. Precise. Tidy.
But my hand-me-down haiku meandered and sprawled. Time to abbreviate!
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