ROANOKE TIMES
Copyright (c) 1996, Roanoke Times
DATE: Saturday, June 15, 1996 TAG: 9606170046
SECTION: CURRENT PAGE: NRV-8 EDITION: NEW RIVER VALLEY
DATELINE: FLOYD
SOURCE: TOM MOATES SPECIAL TO THE ROANOKE TIMES
We moved into the Phlegar House the evening directly after the auction.
The antiques from that house, set on the lawn and sold by fast-talking auctioneers, were unlike anything I had ever seen - ornate radios with horn speakers, hand-tooled furniture, even an elaborate metal sundial had been knocked from its mortared-stone pedestal in a flower bed to be sold.
We moved our more-modest furniture past two large piles of antique castoffs and mattresses left in the yard and began setting it down with echoed thuds in strangely empty rooms.
It seems sad, Carol, my wife, said, picking up on the mood of the place.
It took a while to get situated; it was almost like we were on a trial run and the house was monitoring our progress to decide whether we got to stay. It wasn't long, however, until we were plowing gardens, planting flowers and herbs, and cutting neglected fields. With five children of our own (and a granddaughter who arrived while we lived in the Phlegar House), no doubt the vibrations our family raised - with every room occupied upstairs and down - reminded the place of its long history with the Phlegars.
It wasn't long before the trial-period feeling dissipated and the house accepted us as family. We canned our veggies, cut our firewood, frequently cooked on a wood-burning cookstove in the ancient kitchen, and, being so close to town yet back off the road, were rarely lacking visitors ... it was much the way things had been with the place since 1816.
When we moved out, leaving the house was like leaving a friend. It was like leaving a friend that not only had been good to us but one we also had cared for, fixing leaky roofs, patching chimneys and fixing broken pipes. When I pass near the place - now vacant - I strain to catch a glimpse of the house in the hollow to check on it. I feel the urge to drive down to it and spend some time there, but a locked gate now blocks the entrance.
Wondering about the uncertainty of its future and the future of the old trees in the yard leaves me melancholy. It's like the friend is calling me back to share more time together - it seems to miss the vibration of a large family. Maybe it will be full of vibrant energy again soon. Maybe tons of kids will get to shuffle up the worn steps and chase each other around the 80-foot hemlock tree in the yard while learning about Floyd's history. I certainly hope so.
LENGTH: Short : 48 linesby CNB