Y’all know I am the General Flunky for the video production business co-owned by Benny and Harry. I also do some freelance work for my old employer, a community newspaper that will celebrate its 150th birthday next year. I am not getting rich at either job, but I certainly enjoy what I get to do and the creative outlet it provides.
Today, after spending a tiring morning sitting in various parts of the local hospital’s clinic trying to sort out the Never-Ending Story of my Rotten Wrist (I don’t even want to go there right now), I was ready for some peace and natural beauty. So I was happy to take a trip with a local realtor, our publisher and ad manager/photographer to a historic house located in what happens to be the state’s smallest incorporated town (population 27 or thereabouts). I went to soak up the ambience of this Greek Revival raised cottage (built circa 1840-46) and take notes in order to provide the written “color commentary” for a magazine piece in the paper’s quarterly publication.
But I also took my trusty Olympus along to snap a few photos of my own.
There’s nothing terribly artsy here; I was shooting on auto with a regular lens and big flash to help me remember what I saw as I ambled around the 5,200 square feet of house spread over two stories (like the Tardis on “Doctor Who,” it’s bigger than it looks on the outside).
The home has soaring 14-foot ceilings and multiple mantle pieces ranging from the rustic to the ornate. Much of the original glass with its wavy charms is still intact, including a pane with the builder’s bride’s name etched in it with the diamond of her engagement ring. There are polished hardwood floors throughout, wonderful broad doors with old-fashioned keys, and plenty of the character generally lacking in a contemporary “cookie cutter” house.
Magnolia Hall is also furnished with a plethora of antiques and collectibles that reflect its history and heritage and the owner’s love of period furniture. While I am not a particular fan of Victorian furnishings (could this be due to my youthful self having trouble staying put on the slippery horsehair of my music teacher’s settee?), I do love the “bones” of this house. I can’t help wondering, if those walls could talk, just what they would have to tell us, you know?
And I thought you might enjoy seeing some of the images I snapped and glimpse a bit of southern American history . . . although I could also imagine a certain handsome English mill owner in a cravat, sipping tea in the parlor–couldn’t you? 😉