the old mill, a boarding house, the glass lake, the stone bridge,
santa and his team, pine cone evergreens and the christmas tree
at my cottage 2016
—
once again
i was so excited to put out
the remaining pieces
of the tiny village that my irish grandfather built
way back in the depression
when had become an american citizen
he was an architect by trade
as was his father
he built this village by hand to exact scale
using
tiny stones
and
little sticks
and
heavy papers
with
incredible attention to every detail
all built
to share with us at the family christmas
i have very early and very fond mémories
of it placed on a big white board
with penciled in numbers for placement
so that every piece was in its place
beneath our christmas tree
with lights installed underneath
each building lit up inside
when it got dark outside
a train ran around the village
it was covered in sparkly cotton snow
it was so wonderful
i thought it would come to life at christmastime forever
then it was lost for a long, long while
i didn’t see it anymore
until
one day i saw its box out by the curb
waiting to go out with the trash
during a very bad divorce between my parents
i would recognize its box anywhere
i was lucky that i rescued it just in time
only a few buildings and a few accessories remained intact
my siblings and i divided up what was salvageable
now i love to set up my own little section of his village each year
i think of how magical it was to see it all together as a child
i wonder what inspired him to create this wonderful village
i wonder where he got the ideas for each building
i wonder how many buildings there were once upon a time
one of my buildings has the number 9 written inside in pencil
in my ‘umpa’s’ very neat and precise handwriting
i wish i knew more of the story of the village
i wish i could ask him
no one remains who knows these answers
a couple of old photographs of parts of the village that i found in the original box
“i call architecture frozen music.”
-johann wolfgang von goethe