ORIGINAL ART & POETRY BY PAUL AND KATHY BOECHER©

The swift movement of the paintbrush shows the life that lived in the house. A family, a hearth filled with love, a building that had seen generations pass by. How many families have lived in your home? What’s the history of it? My house was built in 1876. It’s an old farmhouse that was built as one of the first homes in the city of Anoka. There are no “ghosts” that I’ve heard of. It’s been remodeled several times. Once after a tornado came through in the 1940s. I love my house, not for what it is, but for what goes on inside of it. There’s a lot of love. That’s what every home needs.

A cobblestone path, surrounded by trees

Leads up to a house constructed of mortar and brick,

With shutters for shade, preventing a freeze,

The doors were not locked, its light was a lone candlestick,

A fire to cook on and warmth to provide,

When days danced through autumn and trees lost their splendor,

More wood would be needed for warmth inside,

They never complained though bodies grew worn and tender,

A plain, simple house, with acres to till,

A place to call home, with labor that required hours,

A long time ago the time oft stood still,

But springtime allowed them to smell freshly cut flowers,

They looked to the earth to provide their food,

They planted the seeds and waited for God’s nourishment,

They harvested crops, gave thanks for the good,

They never gave up or gave in to discouragement.

That old fashioned life is all but forgot,

We depend upon others to provide for our needs,

God takes a back seat, but gone He is not,

We believe we control and rely on our deeds,

Our deeds do not save, our works are outcomes,

Of hearts that are thankful for all that Jesus has done,

He set our souls free, our sin He becomes,

When He died on a cross, our victory o’er death He won.