Tom's House on the Ridge

A chill ran down my spine that day as we wandered through the historic civil war house at Camp Nelson. The moment my husband William touched the cold metal door knob, his face went blank. He was still with me in body, but in every other way he had vacated the premises.

I had seen some photos of his grandfather's old house but it was certainly not a grand home like this one. What I didn't know was the layout, the hardware... even the materials used to construct this building were identical to those used in his grandparents house. That so much of it could also be found in the old church where his grandfather had served as a Deacon.

We continued the tour but William was in a semi trance as he caressed the hand turned wooden railings, ran his fingers along well worn bench seats and gently passed the fabric of historical clothes between his slightly trembling fingertips. When he did come back to the present, he found himself elaborating on information provided by our guide... not because he was a know-it-all. He knew so much because he had lived it.

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