What Our Children Will Remember

Words & Photography
by Caroline Snider



Slowly, slowly making a home out of this old girl. Sometimes, when it’s quiet for a moment, I like to think about what our children will remember of this home when they’re old and grown and gone from its walls.

Maybe it’ll be the way the floorboards warped and groaned from 250 years of tiny feet running across them. Maybe it’ll be the way the whole world turns white for as far as the eyes can see when the snow falls steadily overnight.

Maybe it’ll be the way the floorboards warped and groaned from 250 years of tiny feet running across them. Maybe it’ll be the way the whole world turns white for as far as the eyes can see when the snow falls steadily overnight. Or maybe, just maybe, it’ll be the half-inch gap surrounding the fireplace in the nursery, and that if you smoosh your face right up to it real close when you’re supposed to be napping, can be used to call to your Mama in the kitchen below, and how it also serves as an excellent place for stuffing your prized possessions repeatedly and then crying fitfully when they can’t be rescued with the end of an old coat hanger for the third time that day.