The picture below is one of the reasons I started doing this little project.

House on 235th Street

This modest little house, probably built in the early part of the 20th century, added onto over the years, lived in, loved in, died in -- is now gone. I passed by at the beginning of the summer and noticed the boards had gone up all around it.

When I was taking these pictures last winter, a man inside saw me and came out to stand on the stoop, asking me why I was taking the photos. People often eyed me suspiciously, either suspecting I was from the tax assessors or some private detective agency, but rarely asked what I was doing. I explained about wanting to make a record of the older houses and trees that were quickly disappearing. He was only too happy to tell me a little of the history of the place.

The house had belonged to his father-in-law, who had bought it in the late 30s or early 40s, and had retired to some southern state in the 80s. The house then was used by the owner's son for many years, but he had died a few months before. Now the place was empty. And, like so many of the generation born in the 50s and 60s, they were selling it because they all had houses of their own and weren't willing to uproot themselves and their families to move back to Woodlawn.

In summer there were fig trees in the garden, that actually grew figs. You can see them, covered in purple tarp to protect them against harsh winters. Now, the fig trees, the grape vines, the garage, the pine... the entire house -- are all gone.