Sunday in Frenchtown: The Old House

My great-grandparents and their children, on the balcony.

Welcome to Frenchtown, tucked away along the river on the west side of town, home to many of my hometown's French Canadian immigrant families in the late 1800s.

The building above was likely built when the area was subdivided in 1863, and enlarged over the years. My grandparents moved in after their marriage in 1883, and raised their five surviving children, plus my great-grandmother's daughter from her first marriage, in the six-room flat above the store.

They took out numerous mortgages over the years, and it appears the structure was remodeled in about 1914. That was around the time my grandmother, a middle daughter, moved into the now-closed general store area with her husband and young daughters, my older aunts.

In 1930, the building was converted into a family home, and it received additional updates in 1960. The photo below was taken about 1954. At that time, the third generation, my grandmother's daughters and nieces were chatting on the front steps after Ascension Thursday mass, with Grandma Annie leaning against a pillar.

The old house in 1954, taken from the southeast side.

In the intervening years, the house became a focal point for holidays and family gatherings, most notably summer stays with Grandma Annie and Réveillon Open Houses on Christmas Eve. Finally in 2003 with Grandma Annie gone for more than two decades and a maiden aunt  living their alone, it was sold to a loving family who carefully gave the building its most massive rehab ever, converting a two-flat structure into a one-family home. My siblings and I couldn't be happier. The house has entered its third century under good stewardship. The owner tells me she feels friendly vibes there. That would be Grandma Annie and her parents; they loved that house.

I have my own house to love, also built in the 19th century, but I drive past the old house when I need a boost. It's sacred to me now, the simple clapboard structure.