Tuesday, October 18, 2011

Abandonment Issues: Bobcaygeon House of Hoarders

Mt. Clothing

This isn't just a story about a man exploring an abandoned house, this is a story about living with the loss of loved ones. This is a story about consumption and compulsion and coping mechanisms.

This is a love story.

Immediately upon cracking open the door, I am overwhelmed. A repulsive stench is thick in the hot air and more powerful than anything my olfactory system has ever encountered. My eyes instantly begin to tear up, and after snapping the following photo, I cough into my elbow, and retreat.

can't let go

I stand outside under a drooping willow tree, trying not to think about the pungent odor, but rather what I saw inside. A thick carpet of everything imaginable is a lopsided and unstable foundation to giant mountains of everything else. Intrigued, and already reeking of the pukey must, I take a few deep breaths, and re-open the door.

Mt. Garbage

Much like the Rockies form a wall between Calgary and the West, the mountains of stuff, things and crap carve a maze throughout the first floor of this large farmhouse, blocking access to the rooms in the front of the house. The tiny over-stocked kitchen is covered in a thick brown film of bacteria, and I turn away. The dining room table is buried amongst scattered debris, mostly garbage. Newspapers, magazines, bills, flyers and hundreds of empty food containers, in every direction, as far as the eye can see. A string clothesline sags across the dining room from wall to wall above the table, and from it hang more plastic bags containing even more plastic containers and bags. I follow the maze out of the kitchen and into the living room, growing fairly accustomed to, but still repulsed by the intense stench. With every step my feet sink into the unknown depths of the stuff and things that have chipped off and fallen from the adjacent mountains over time. Traversing this valley is not easy, and care must be taken with each step to get a stable foothold.

In the living room, with garbage mountain behind me, the story begins to unfold. As seen in the lead photo, mountains of clothing reach glorious heights and are peppered with random books and other objects like pockets of snowfall accumulation. Antique chests and bureaus are all but hidden under and behind these massive mountains of dated clothing.

trophy room

A photograph on the wall steals my attention, and i climb partway up the mountain for a better view. Under a big red bow, the photograph depicts a husband and wife, looking right into the camera. My camera. Surrounding the framed image are wedding photographs and dozens of ribbons bearing the occupants names, awarded for agricultural achievements in the local community. The entire wall is covered in spiderwebs, which have trapped nothing but dust.

Man and wife

The couple continue to stare at me, standing in their living room, staring back at them. A plaque to the left of the photograph contains a poem entitled 'Lifes Clock'. The energy in the room in this moment inspires me to read it aloud...

"The clock of life is wound but once,
And no man has the power,
To tell just when the hands will stop,
At late or early hour-

To lose one's wealth is sad indeed,
To lose one's health is more;
To lose one's soul is such a loss,
As no man can restore.

The present only is our own,
Live, love, toil with a will,
Place no faith in tomorrow-for
The clock may then be still."

Again, tears begin to roll down my cheek, partly due to the hot nasty stench in the air, but more so attributed to the dots I am beginning to connect, and the story that is unraveling.

With the five foot tall clothing mountain ridge bisecting the room, the maze leads me to a staircase, and i quickly hop up the stairs, two at a time. Corey Hart and a young Mats Sundin are smiling in the corner. Here, even more ribbons hang on the wall, pierced with rusty thumbtacks. These ribbons are for equestrian accomplishments, and bear the name of the couple's daughter. Obviously, I draw a connection to the Havelock Horse House. A buff topless dude on a poster is the only other obvious sign that this once was a girl's room. There is remarkably less stuff accumulated in this area, that is until I round the corner.

the girl's room

Go Leafs Go!

block it up

The maze continues to lead me through room after room, all of them packed with everything in the world and topped with layers of clothing. Using my hands, the tight hallways finally provide some stability on the shifting landscape beneath my feet.

traversing 

"Things you own, end up owning you." -Tyler Durden

The posters on the walls in one of the rooms depict KISS, motorcycles and scantily clad women, this was a boys room. Both of these kids rooms appear to have been left virtually as is, after the children left home in the early to mid nineties. The boys room however, eventually succumbed to the force of the shifting mountains, and was eventually buried under the weight of it all. As were all of the other rooms and hallways in the house. It became obvious that given more of that precious time, that last room, that girls room atop the stairs, would have also been filled up and buried.

the boy's room

Several fully furnished and decorated bedrooms filled with all of the makings of home, and then buried in more of them.

dresser drawers and double doors

stuff

things

consumer overload

fashion weak

laundry day

rain damage

voodoo doll

shit

Finally, a skinny staircase leads me back downstairs and into the pitch blackness of the foyer, where my camera flashes and illuminates a deer head mounted on the wall above me, startling me almost to death. A massive wooden shelf is blocking the front door, stuffed with books and board games, under the watchful eye of the deer.

under the weight of it all

the descent

deer john

A few shaky steps forward, I open the door and find myself on the other side of the great divide of Mt. Clothing. One of these front rooms appeared to be a study at one point in time, still filled with decorations and trinkets, buried under the pain of losing a loved one.

The Great Divide

swag

Lifes Clock is indeed still.

The Last Supper

In a corner, i reach down and spin an old globe, kicking a cloud of dust into the atmosphere around the world, and then I retrace my steps up and around and down, slowly traversing the unstable ground of the valley floor.

At the door, I stop one last time to look around, hold a deep breath, and snap these final images of the filthy kitchen.

shelf life

bad bacteria

Back outside, the air never tasted fresher.

With the loss of a spouse, a lifelong partner, best friend and soul mate, we are left with nothing but time. Memories are not enough to hold onto, and eventually we lose those as well. My interpretation of the story told by this home, is that the surviving spouse couldn't let go of anything, knowing all too well that it can never come back. True love is a magical and beautiful thing, to that I can attest, but the loneliness that love leaves behind is my greatest fear.

Unfortunately, this is how love stories end.

Bobcaygeon House of Hoarding

click here to check out all of jerm & ninja IX's ABANDONMENT ISSUES

15 comments:

Terapr0 said...

great find and writeup man. Very interesting story! And the photo's are excellent too!

chasing lightning bugs said...

heartbreaking and fascinating. thank you for this. i am rivetted to your work.

jerm IX said...

Thank you both.

Anonymous said...

Fascinating websight you can percieve how these homes\people gradually hoard to feel secure ,in an uncertain world ,thank you

Anonymous said...

Is it wrong of me to really want to break the ethics of UE'ing and to go and take some of that stuff...
x.x

jerm IX said...

Is it wrong to want to? No. Would it be wrong to actually do? In my opinion, yes. I was contacted by an antique/trophy hunter and offered a significant lump sum to share the address. While tempted, I declined.

Skye_Ann said...

Haha, Oh Jerm. I'd never ACTUALLY take anything. It'd be very out of character for a true UE.

Though I've got some pretty amazing ideas for some photography for that place... Any chance you'd give me the location?

jerm IX said...

Sorry, I've never hoarded location info on any place ever, but this one is all mine. Unless we were to meet up of course.

Cathy said...

I greatly appreciate that you not only take pictures in UEing, but in your ability to do it so well and put to words what lies before you, convey a well told story of what has been left behind, what once was and bring us the reader to experience and feel for what you feel in seeing it all firsthand.
Thank you.

Cathy said...

I greatly appreciate that not only do you share some amazing photographs in your UE experiences, but that while doing that so capably you also show a great respect in the manner by which you portray through words what lies before you. You have drawn myself; as well as many I'm certain, into the very rooms you stand in and into the emotion you convey through your postings.
Any photo would not have the power to do what your photos and words combined do.
Thank you.

Anonymous said...

Found your blog through google - I know this house....and it's former owners. Recognized the picture of them right away. Fascinating.

Anonymous said...

your blog came up in a google search for abandoned places in the UK!

decided to stay and read your article and wow, i didn't expect this. a great sensitive write up. thanks very much, rest assured this post will be shared with my friends!

thanks a bunch for sharing!

Alicia said...

Amazing find buddy - never let this one go. Keep it all to yourself.

And as always, thank you for the brilliant write-up, it makes me feel like I was there exploring it alongside you - the descriptions are just spot on.

jerm IX said...

Thanks everyone.

Anonymous said...

great write up , I agree nothing should be touched to take from that house would be like grave robbing . I wonder if the " kids " know its like that though?