Familiar Territory

Sometimes it’s nice to return to a familiar place when you travel. 

There aren’t as many decisions to make about where to stay and what to see because you’ve seen it all before.

I think my family’s tradition of spending Thanksgiving in St. Augustine for the past 25 years might confirm this. 

It started one year when my sister and I spent the holiday with friends, leaving my parents alone and restless. 

They drove two hours north of Orlando to St. Augustine and later told us it was the most festive holiday they’d ever spent filled with fellow tourists, historical houses and lots of lights. 

They said we just had to try it the next year and go along with them. 

They were right. 

And we’ve been going to St. Augustine for Thanksgiving ever since.

Sometimes though, as I pack my little weekend suitcase I wonder if something new will catch my eye among all the familiar sights. 

But this year it was those well-known spots I wanted to check out.

I was curious to see how the nation's oldest historical city fared after Hurricane Matthew blew through in October.

I'd seen the reports that the storm hit at high tide, flooding the streets with nearly four feet of water.

As I walked along the bayfront {with some of it cordoned off for repairs} I saw gates unhinged, peeling paint from water damage, yards filled with debris, and front doors waiting for repair. 

Some restaurants and a few hotels on the waterfront were still closed.

But the resilient locals were carrying on with their annual festivities of trolley rides through town and candlelight tours for the holidays, even though some areas still looked a little under the weather.

I was most anxious to see how my favorite gate fared.

It's the famous red door so often photographed, that's across the street from the inn where I stay every year. 

Engaged couples, brides and tourists are always lingering around it, cameras poised to catch the best light.

But there it was. 

Still standing.

Even though it looked pretty much the same, there was still something different about it and I couldn't figure out what it was. 

Then I realized it was the house next door that made the gate look different. 

Built in the 1890s, it always looked run-down and disheveled, but now there was a No Trespassing sign tacked to the porch and the fence was torn down.

With the side open to the house, the gate looked smaller and a lot more fragile.

Our innkeeper Pat, told us the elderly woman who had lived there recently died after living as a recluse in the house for decades. 

She said the house was filled with trash and heavily damaged by termites since it had never had air or heat installed.

As she described the inside of the house after being neglected all those years, I imagined it must be fascinating.

Then Pat surprised me as she said, “I bought the house. Do you want to go see it tomorrow?”

I felt like I was a character in my beloved Nancy Drew books being gifted with a tour of the mysterious house across the street!

The next day, Pat unlocked the door and showed us the entry way filled with trash and the light fixture dripping with cobwebs. 

We saw the old bathtub and the walls covered with peeling wallpaper made out of fabric.

There was a lonely dresser standing in the corner of an otherwise empty room.

We saw the stained glass window, dirt covering the jewel-colored panes, on the landing of the old staircase.

Pat led us up the steep steps of the attic where we stood under the turret.

We caught a glimpse of the bay from the windows that once probably had an unobstructed lovely water view.

There was even an artesian well out back that at one time drew water from the bay.

Old houses captivate me with their history and character. 

I wonder about the stories of all who lived within the walls or walked through the halls.

I imagine the grandeur they once experienced before they were abandoned or left in disrepair.

I probably ascribe too much heart into a structure made of wood, bricks and stones, but isn't an old house a mirror of our own lives sometimes?

How do we restore what’s crumbling? Revive what's worn out? Repair what's dilapidated and neglected?

Photo of how the house originally looked at the turn of the century.

Maybe it takes more effort and determination to find a fresh perspective along the way than to let our frame of reference go to ruin and do the clean up afterwards.

The work of transforming the familiar into something new isn't easy.

What I don't realize is that there's new all around me.

We are never stagnant but ever-changing, moving in the installments of our lives from one episode to the next, growing in experience and expanding our faith.

What if instead of going through the motions of the mind-numbing familiar, we searched out a new side of God? 

What if we dipped our pens in fresh ink to join him in how he’s writing {and rewriting} our stories? 

Pat told us she isn’t sure yet what she'll do with the house since the city will ultimately decide the course for her plans. 

But the carriage house next door to the house is in much better shape and she’s already begun the renovations there for an apartment that will be completed soon.

I can't wait to see what beauty she'll create from the dirt and debris.

Before I left, I took one last look through the grate of my favorite St. Augustine gate. 

Last year my niece grabbed my camera and captured my first-ever photo of the garden on the other side of the gate. 

But this year just as I thought my eyes couldn’t take in one more new scene in St. Augustine, I caught a glimpse of the gardener herself {pictured center above in navy blue} as she worked behind the gate.

As I drove home I realized there were so many unexpected additions to the itinerary this visit that I ran out of time to eat lunch at my favorite restaurant. 

I'm already looking forward to going back again next year.

I'm having coffee with my friends at Holley Gerth's place at Coffee for your Heart. Join me there by clicking the image to read more posts!