Devil's Day Drive: McKellar & Simpson Houses

It was Devil's Day 2014 and I was lost in the middle of nowhere under an overcast sky, hundreds of kilometres from home. With no cell service and a gas tank chugging and running on fumes I had no option but to pull over and wait on the side of a desolate stretch of dirt road. It was over 20 minutes before a vehicle finally crested the horizon, kicking up dust and filling me with a sense of long anticipated relief.

Soon after, with a full tank of gas thanks to the help of kind strangers, I was back to my mission; the list of abandoned houses plotted out on my Devil's Day Drive, the first of which being the McKellar House.



It's not so easy to get lost anymore, is it? Lost in thought however, a different story, especially in a place like this. I stood alone mulling over those same questions that arise in every abandoned house with contents remaining...

...Who were the McKellar's? What made them tick? What were their hobbies and occupations? What sort of lives were lived here in this old rural farmhouse? Who am I really? What will I leave behind and what will it say about me?

Feeling inspired, I sat down on the dirty couch and wrote a few quick rhymes on my phone, as I'm all to well aware that all I will leave behind are my words...

"Time waits for no man, even this nomad scribbling in his notepad knows that.
Hold that thought like an old frozen pose from a Kodak throwback."

"I view the world from a very personal perspective,
I've worshipped worthlessness and elected to wallow in the hurt.
I've purposely disconnected and erected statues out of bad news.
Lived through a childhood trauma, only to get it tattooed."

"I had a flashback from my past, I didn't want to live,
so I wrote a suicide note and threw it off a bridge."

These were some of my favourites rhymes I'd written in a long time and a spark was lit within me.



I stood up and wiped from the debris from my jeans before continuing to explore and photograph the McKellar House, while freestyling in my head and conceiving a new song. I stopped repeatedly to take note of certain lines once the theme had emerged, using the house as my muse.





























And then I did as the McKellar's did before me and left the house behind forever.

With endless stretches of dirt roads and farmer's fields behind me, I arrived at the Simpson House with an urge to continue writing and bring this experience full circle. I've always enjoyed finding bizarre places to sit and write rhymes and these abandoned houses had such great vibes.



For over an hour, I paced in front of the broken piano, which was leaning forward into a large hole in the floor, and I wrote a song called 'Kindling'...

"We burn out when we carry old flames, no names
but we wear that like varicose veins
We learn how to burn this buried cold pain 
like kindling, kindling, the stereo is playing.

I light the match and as the paper ignites
I get flashbacks of you being all playful and nice
These memories of you are no safer at night
So I pile the kindling high, hoping to reignite
this burning effigy, without you I'm a refugee
You left me in the dead of sleep
with nothing but a head of steam
and a recipe for yesterday's incessant dreams
Kindling on the fire, pyre, may you rest in peace
In my memories at least, you've been unleashed in 'em
We never speak but you know you're free to leave
Hope flies the moment the smoke rises
I remember those eyes, I saw forever go by in 'em

We burn out when we carry old flames, no names
but we wear that like varicose veins
We learn how to burn this buried cold pain 
like kindling, kindling, the stereo is playing.

A solemn oath, broken, a fallen oak
Now but a nurse log coated in mosses and other growths
I had to cut you out, now I have to cut you up
with nothing but forgotten love... to make kindling
We're reunited in the flames, it could never be the same
'cause forever doesn't change like the weather or the shame
Embers are in flames under cold November rain
and I know that it's insane but I miss you I'm afraid
if the fire dies my memories will fade
and my reply is... that'll be the day
My desires have all been rearranged
I sit fireside wide eyed and engaged

We burn out when we carry old flames, no names 
but we wear that like varicose veins
We learn how to burn this buried cold pain 
like kindling, kindling, the stereo is playing."



And then I explored the Simpson House.





























Sometimes it seems like a moment can last a lifetime, but in the grand scheme of things our lifetimes only last a moment.

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

Abandonment Issues: Mile of Memories Mansion

At the end of a dead end road and the end of a long and winding overgrown driveway I find myself at the abandoned Mile of Memories Mansion, in the company of my new friends FeralFox and Kida. On a vast expansive lakefront property complete with mansion and boathouse I can't help but draw comparisons to the much more opulent Edgemere Estate.

The Mile of Memories Mansion has 7 bedrooms, 6 bathrooms, 4 kitchens, an organ, a vault and an elevator. Aside from the vandalism, the house is in great condition and it is unfathomable how this gorgeous home and property is abandoned.

Yet here I am.

I soak it in. The birds chirping, the mosquitoes swarming, the tall wet grass soaking through my shoes. I'm taking mental notes. The overcast sky, the stonework, the broken windows. It's almost surreal. The hardwood floors, the bison head, the antique furniture. The stone archways on the second storey mezzanine, the propped open elevator door, the emptiness within the majority of bedrooms. I'm taking pictures, but I'm imprinting memories in my mind. The organ, the piano, the record players. The books and records, clocks and typewriters. The spiral staircase. The sealed vault in the dark basement and the attic door that opens up to reveal rooftop access. I'm absorbing it. The home's contents strewn about and smashed, presumably by local youth. Amongst the debris I find some photographs dated circa 1940s and photograph them. I'm lost in someone else's past.

I'd love to share with you the fascinating history of the former occupants of this home but cannot do so without revealing it's location; a risk I'm not willing to take. If the home deteriorates beyond repair I may update the post in the future.

For now, I'm lost in each moment as it passes and following my 5 senses...

I can almost taste the affluence. Breathing it in. It smells like money, or at least it used to. Now it smells old and dated with a faint odour of initial decay. Watching value and worth disappear before my eyes. Hearing the broken glass fragments crack under my softly stepping feet as barn swallows sing outside. Touching the old mouldy photographs and connecting with those depicted within...

...I feel it.

As I wander, I ponder the lives that were lived here. I imagine a woman playing the organ atop the spiral staircase and the music comes alive in my mind. I envision a happy couple dancing in the music room draped in the finest of fashions. I watch the wealthy couple sleep in the master bedroom. I hear the echoing ring of the drill press in the basement contrasted by the laughter of children playing on the elevator. I can smell the delicious five course meals cooked up by the help.

...I feel it all, the past, the present, and the future.

I see it falling apart. I see the vandals returning and continuing to loot and destroy the home and it's contents. With the windows broken, I watch the mould grow on the walls and ceilings. I watch the roof eventually give way to Mother Nature's wrath. Unfortunately, I see the inevitable.



































































































The lesson of the story is that you can't take it with you.

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