How old do you think it is?
Not too sure.
Couldn't tell you either.
This was the oft-repeated and rarely satisfying exchange between my parents and I on road-trips. As a child, I had a relentless fascination with decrepit old buildings. I wanted to know the age of every crumpled grey barn we passed, and the story of each tired-looking farmhouse. Maybe they didn’t even have one, and maybe I just read too much Little House on the Prairie, but my love affair with old spaces has endured to this day. Now, I get to live in one.
It’s not an abandoned farmhouse with its windows smashed in, but it’s still pretty great. Two weeks ago I moved into a century-old house in Strathcona, Vancouver’s oldest neighbourhood. I ponder the history of my home every single day, and feel satisfied each time I open its yellow front door.
There are three of us in the house, plus a dear scruffy dog named Marsou. My bedroom is small but lovely, with dental crown molding and a window overlooking Pender Street. From it I watch people on the sidewalk below, and in this way I’ve come to learn how eclectic this area is.