My first home.
I have more hometowns than most my age. I have lived in seven houses and one dorm in my lifetime. I could spend forever writing about all the places I lived and all the amazing people I have met, but I think that it is important to trace back to my roots. Where my whole life began. The first place I called home was a little house on Main Street in South Windsor, Connecticut.
I called my home the white house because I was too young to remember the three number combination in the address. It was a cute little home (duplex actually), full of love and warmth. My family rented it from friends of the family. I loved living there, positioned right next to the post office. I remember every little bit about the layout, where the kitchen was, my bedroom, the closets, where we hung our coats, every little detail. I had a special little place called The Skittles Spot, I don't know why I called it the that, but that is where I would go hang out with my dog, Brodie. It was between the corner of the living room chair and couch, under the side table. It always seemed so warmly lit and special. I still remember the smell of my room and the placement of my bed and my sister's bed and the rug on the floor. I remember my sister's Pocahontas backpack hanging on the back of the closet door. My favorite toy, Ice Creamy, which was an ice cream cart with eyes, sat against the wall. I remember everything about the white house, 821 was a very special home to me.
The house itself had many faces before it became my home. From what my family and I know, it had been a gas station, general store, dress shop, insurance agency, and now it's somebody else's home. That just shows one example of how much history was on Main Street. Every building was unique with its own personal charm.
Living on Main Street was something different, let me tell you. I thought every neighborhood must have looked like mine, but they were not even close. The street was like a scene out of a feel-good movie. There was a wide road, with steady traffic throughout the day. Bikes zoomed past the houses. Autumn was the most amazing time to live on Main Street. All the beautiful fall leaves turning shades of orange, burgundy and yellow. Piles and piles of leaves got raked into piles and children jumped in them for hours on end. Tractors busily bringing in the harvest from the farms. The houses were beautiful with amazing craftsmanship! Many of the houses are New England style colonials, with several of them being built as early as the 1600s. The character of these homes is hard to find in today's modern homes. The old library was just a few buildings down the road from my house. It was old inside the library building, but it was maintained to keep its original brilliance. My family still visits that library around Christmas for their gingerbread house displays.
This is a gingerbread house replica of the Wood Memorial Library on Main Street.
Main Street was where my whole life began. My house was there, the house I told myself for years I would buy back and live in for the rest of my life. My yard was there, the one where so many of my childhood memories took place. My room was there, the place I could lay my head every night to sleep. The memories of my little toys that kept me occupied. My special Skittles Spot with my dog. A million memories more took place there. The place where it all began on Main Street in South Windsor, Connecticut at 821.
View of Main Street.
Old historic post office.
