{Lent is fast coming to a close, and I have just a few rooms yet to explore. Thank you for reading these reflections. I write mostly for myself, an exercise to do something different as a Lenten discipline; I guess I could have done this in a private journal. Hmmm. Maybe next time.}

Joan and I have never had much of an attic, but the one we have now could practically be a rec room. It’s huge. And seasonal. Frigid up there right now. And in July, it’ll be too hot to do anything but quickly retrieve LPs for my radio show. (How those records weather the weather (pun intended) , I do not know. Maybe it’s because they are packed tightly side by side. The point is, we aren’t supposed to count that attic room as living space anyway; house rules.

We live in a small retirement community of nine homes. Until our house was built, the homes included basements for utilities and storage. But there’s a wetland beyond our backyards, and the two newest homes were built on slabs to avoid the occasional wet cellar. Thus, no basement space here. The other thing is, to keep things equal among us retired Presby-pastor types, we are all required to live only on one floor. Saves the landlords (a committee) from rescuing folks who tripped up or down stairs. Still, most of our neighbors in the older homes have put that basement space to good use. Turns out, it’s cool in the summer and warmish in the winter thanks to the furnaces. So, we residents of the newer homes have a whole second floor attic instead…to be used for storage.

I’ll return to that situation momentarily. But first, back to the Kellams having had little attic experience. The townhouse apartment we called our first home had one of those pull-down stairways leading to some attic space. In early marriage years, we had little to store besides suitcases and some Christmas decorations. The first real house we bought had a similar creaky pull-down contraption. It wasn’t fun to climb up there, but the builder had placed some plywood above the living room area, so we had some space for attic “stuff.” We laugh about this now, but the day I slipped up there and put my leg through the living room ceiling wasn’t that fun at the time. On second thought, after my embarrassment passed and we determined that my leg wasn’t injured, I think we did see the humor in the situation, and Joan may have grabbed a camera. Don’t look for the photo here.

Next new home…just like the first, but without the hole in the ceiling. Then came the Vermont manse, our first, and only, church-owned home. That was an interesting story. It was an old Vermont farmhouse design with the barn attached to the house so the occupants needn’t go too far to check on things in -20 degree cold. But a previous occupant of the manse, a pastor with not enough experience in raking and burning the lovely fall leaves of New England, had let a fire get too close to the barn and he set it on fire. Thankfully, the home itself was saved, and the barn area was rebuilt as a garage. Over the garage and over part of the living area, there was large attic space with a nice window lookng out on the front lawn. The overhead timbers, however, were charred, and flakes of the fire’s damage from forty-plus years earier fell into the attic, covering everything we stored there. No big deal, just ashy, and messy to clean up.

The Presbyterian manse and church, East Craftsbury, Vermont

I once wondered aloud if that space might be renovated into, oh maybe a radio studio, or a study. But as soon as church elder Albert Urie heard me hint at that idea, he brusquely brushed it aside. “There’s more than enough space in this old house for anyone!!” (Yes, two exclamation points.) He was right, of course. We came to appreciate the old Vermont saying, “Enough,” meaning there’s no use coveting; there’s enough. I believe it now.

Funny though. Years after Joan and I had left and a couple of other pastors too, the church remodeled part of that charred attic into a lovely bedroom. Turned out, they had to. The fire-damaged beams had become dangerously weak, so some renovation was necessary. (Another word we came to respect in rural Vermont: necessary. Is it, or isn’t it? Live accordingly.)

We moved to another old house when we took up residence at a church near Ithaca. Attic? Sure, but it was not accessible except for the very clever and foolhardy. There was no pull-down stair in that old house. Only a push-up panel. And that was located above the two-story entry way. Unless one placed scaffolding across the open staircase, there was no way to use the attic. Now, we had a lot of space under the house…a very, very primitive cellar, very damp. (No wonder my LPs have a bit of moldy-oldie aroma.) But I sure wish I could have gone up in that old house to discover what treasures might have been left behind generations ago. I’d have had to fight off the wasps and hornets though. We let them be. It wasn’t necessary.

Now, finally…have you enjoyed the tour so far?…back to our retirement home, the last one we’ll ever occupy. That big attic. Yes, there’s storage up there and my spring project will be to sort and toss. I guess I don’t really need my systematic theology notes from seminary any more. Or that photo of our 1970 Ford Torino. I know there must be someone out there who wants my retired 35mm cameras. But aside from the debris, we have toys in the attic.

A young Tyler in the attic competition

When we saw the space, and knew we weren’t supposed to live up there, we decided we could probably play up there. So, we bought a ping pong table. Joan and I had won the ping pong tournament at the Pocono honeymoon resort just days after we said our vows. So, that table seemed a good investment to polish our competitive skills. Plus, my old recording equipment is up there, and some of it still works. Some. But mostly, it’s the N-scale railroad layout that sits on two side-by-side former ping pong tables (not to be confused with the newer one we had bought).

When I retired, I took the little train setup I had carried along for a few years and took it more seriously. I bought more rolling stock, added additonal locomotives, built a village, a farm, an industrial area, piece by piece. Some plastic or wood kits, a couple of brass structures, tiny people to populate the town, cars and tracks, trees, etc., etc. I took years to build it, and enjoyed watching my grandsons run the trains. So, yeah…toys in the attic. It’s been too long since I played with the trains. Frankly, my passion was building and landscaping, rather than worrying which freight car was headed where and carrying what. The trains just go round the periphery of the tables, uncouple, crash, and cause trouble. Did I mention I have a broadcast tower and a drive-in movie? And a school baseball field? That for me was the fun part.

It was enough. And totally unnecessary.