When we moved into this house, it was already 71 years old. Having been built
in 1903, it’s now over 100 and we are its longest occupants. People have a fascination with old houses, and when it passes the century mark, it becomes an object of speculation. “Is it haunted?” they ask. “If it is,” I answer them, “it is with a gentle spirit.”

It was here I brought my wife and two young children so many years ago. The
house had not received so much as a coat of paint on a wall in about 25 years. Our friends and relatives, seeing it then, must have thought, “You poor dears, what have you gotten yourselves into?”

It had been converted into 5 apartments over the previous years, but was once a
nice, single-family residence. There had been a lot of re-muddling over those years that had caused it to lose a lot of the charm and quality typical of older houses. Some of its lofty 12-foot ceilings had been lowered with a heat-conserving 8-foot ceiling installed below them. Extra walls had been added to partition off large rooms into smaller rooms in an effort to create an adequate number of kitchens, bathrooms, bedrooms, etc. for maximizing the potential apartments into which it had been ultimately converted.

We wanted to restore it to its former glory. We had to start by just scrubbing on
what we had. Being one block from the local university where I taught, it had been used primarily by college students for the previous several years. When the last ones vacated prior to our moving in, they left food in the refrigerators, dirty dishes in the sink, a ring around the tub that looked like they had cleaned a car engine in it, and stove ovens that looked like the slag from a glass factory kiln had been permanently welded to the interior.

We picked the cleanest (I should say, least dirty) kitchen to use temporarily while we started cleaning on the worst one, which would become our new temporary kitchen for several years until we could finally get around to creating our dream kitchen. The odor in the one we were cleaning was a combination of rancid meat, sour milk, rotted vegetables and unidentifiable burnt offerings under the stove eyes. Most of the odor was coming from the food left to spoil in the refrigerator by the previous tenants during the two weeks of no electricity in the middle of summer between their vacating and our arrival. Even after throwing the food out and scrubbing the interior the odor remained in
the rubber door gaskets. Each day our next-door neighbor, who had become an instant friend, would come over to check on our progress. As she walked into the kitchen she would give an encouraging smile and say, “Smells a little better today.”

I tackled the heavy work like moving four of the five sets of appliances out of the house, disconnecting hot water heaters that served different apartments and connecting pipes so that one could serve all the upstairs, and another the downstairs. My wife, Pat, in the meantime, took care of the dirty work . . . the scrubbing.

Finally, the essentials of setting up housekeeping were adequately complete, and we were able to start in on the actual restoration. The house had had many owners and many renters over the years. Each must have wanted to put their personal touch on the house because in the living room we steamed off fourteen layers of wallpaper!

I can’t say enough for the work my wife put into this project. Nothing was too much for her. Sometimes, I would find her (looking like a chimneysweep at the end of a long day) on the very top of a step-ladder pulling loose plaster off the ceiling . . . the 12-foot ceiling! I would insist that she come down . . . at least I could reach it from one lower rung than she. But, the next day would likely find her up there again. Even though she was teaching piano soon after we moved in, she would work hard on the house right up until she barely had time to clean up and dress nicely before the first student of the afternoon arrived.

She was always patient and sweet-tempered. I never heard a bad word out of
her mouth. She never threw a tool down in disgust as I was prone to do. She always had a smile for me, for our children, for her students. It is no wonder I was inspired to write a poem about her that included the verse:

She is not merely patient,
She is forgiving.
Patience waits for perfection;
Forgiveness pardons fault.

The project of restoration took longer than we had first anticipated, twenty-five
years to be exact! In fact, there are things that we would like to do over and some
things that we have done twice already. But, the house has turned out well and we get many flattering compliments on it. Along with the usual assortment of bedrooms and bathrooms, we have a library, a huge music room, a glassed-in side porch, dining room, and big kitchen with many family heirlooms throughout. Often, visitors will ask me, what is my favorite room? I love this old house and enjoy the individual characteristics of each room. Always, I have answered, “Whatever room I am in.”

Recently, someone again asked the familiar question, and I answered it in my
usual way. Right at that moment, I heard my sweet wife demonstrating some beautiful Brahms piece to one of her piano students. I paused for reflection, and then said, “No. That’s not quite right. It’s whatever room she’s in.”

We are getting old now. I am retired; she continues to teach piano and will
continue as long as she can. She loves it so. But, one of these days, we will be gone from the house we love so much . . . the house she has lovingly made a home. The home that has seen our boys grow into men, has seen seven grandchildren play in its heart, has heard the music of Bach, Beethoven, Chopin, Liszt, Mozart . . .oh, the music it has heard! Sometimes, as I listened to her playing her piano, I would think that my time has come to its end . . . for surely music such as this is meant for heaven.

There is a peace within these walls. They have seen both happiness and
sadness. Loved ones have come and gone. Memories shall always linger here. Is it haunted? No! It is enchanted.

Matt has written and published five books: a biography “W. D. Mooney: Master Headmaster,” about the founder of several prep schools including the renown 100+ year-old Battle Ground Academy of Franklin, TN; “Trumpet of the Lord,” a book of trumpet descants to accompany over 100 well-known hymns, and containing a history of the biblical trumpets; “Universal Rx: The Hug and other poems, essays and short stories,” a collection of many of his shorter writings; and edited and annotated an out-of-print book, “Nancy Ward: Military and Genealogical Records of the famous Indian Woman of Tennessee.”
His most recent book is a collection of stories and tales from a multitude of citizens of Murfreesboro titled, “True Stories (and other lies) Told at City Café.” Visit his website, parkbenchpub.com for a full description of each book. Matt’s publications are also available at Amazon.com.

Mrs. Patricia “Pat” Ward (right) at the piano in her/the house’s music room where Mrs. Ward teaches piano to local school kids in the afternoons. The availability of these lessons, if any at all, can be inquired at wardnctm@bellsouth.net.

Also, their landscape remains pristine, strategically serviced by Blue & Green Maintenance, LLC.: