adventureswithapostcardHome – Bedford, VA
Located halfway between Lynchburg and Roanoke sits the [very] small town of Bedford, Virginia. And, located in Bedford, Virginia, you’ll find this ridiculously bright house. As National Postcard Week comes to a close and Mother’s Day arrives, I wanted to show you a postcard location that is very close to my heart: my family/”childhood” home.
Growing up, I moved a lot. My dad was in the military so, every couple of years, we would uproot and move elsewhere which, honestly, is probably why I like traveling so much. Because of the consistent house swap every so often, we never really had a long-term “home”. Until this place!
Built in 1885, this home had been established for quite a while before we acquired it. It didn’t start out as a home; it was just a house, a building we happened to live in. But slowly, it started coming to life: my dad poured his sweat and probably blood into renovations, my mom gave it heart with her decorations, and we all breathed love and new memories into it. Eventually, it became a part of the family and became a real “home”.
So when I say “childhood” home, I mean it. I didn’t have a place to identify with until I was 13. I grew up in this house more than any other place I’d lived, so I guess this is it, right?
When we saw it in 2008, there were massive hedges out front, hiding the historic home from any outside viewers. Very Beauty and the Beast-type vibes. Once we acquired it, the bushes came down and the work began. My parents had the “Great Debate of 2008” that started with my dad saying, “no, you can’t paint the house pink” and ended with my mom replying, “fine, then yellow and aqua and red it is”. And thus, the “circus house” (as my brother affectionately called it) was born. Or I guess re-born, since it had been “alive” over 100 years by the time it found itself in our hands.
Since it has fallen victim to us, the house has been transformed by my parents into the craziest home I could ever have imagined. Inside the house, you’ll find an absurd amount of random collections perfectly arranged by my mother to show off her “aesthetic hoarding” (I came up with this term. She disagrees. She’s wrong. Spread the word).
However, I don’t think it’d be the same without it.
My mom’s collections come from years of antiquing, flea marketing, and thrifting. What some could consider junk, she considers treasures. Each one of these treasures has a memory tied to it; maybe not hers, maybe not mine, but somebody’s. Somebody once owned whatever item and loved it enough to save it and here we are doing the same.
I had to inherit the collecting bug somehow and it most definitely came from being my mom’s junk companion. Some of my best memories of us consist of goofing off in antique stores or bonding over some absolutely insane item we spotted at Goodwill- we probably have a couple hundred photos of us posing with our treasures and some that should never see the light of day due to the embarrassment that would most definitely follow.
My mom has taught me the basic essentials of existence, being cheap 101, the value of sentimentality, how to find joy in the little things, and so many equally important (and many other ridiculous) things.
I make fun of her for a lot of things, but I can’t make fun of the fact that she’s actually a pretty great mom and I wouldn’t trade her for the world.
Dear…
The following is inscribed on the back of the postcard:
Postmarked June 19, 1908:
“Hello!
Lyla, I suppose you are at home by this time or did you decide to stay over with Bud. Have you gotten everything fixed up with Tomy?”
To celebrate Mother’s Day, I wanted to share the ridiculousness that is my mother and thank her for passing on the collecting gene and for making this house a home. Please find her on Instagram @whimsybopper and tell her she’s an aesthetic hoarder for me.
And also, shout out to all mothers! If your kids are anything like my brother and I, you’re a hero. I can’t even keep a plant alive, so all my respect goes to you.
