The living room and, beyond it, the piano room sans piano, which I wrote about in An Irruption of Owls.
I began photographing my childhood home in the summer of 2012, shortly after my mother died. My mother left the house to my sister and me, and we didn't know what we would do with it. It is a big old Victorian-style house with six bedrooms, an antiquated kitchen, and an attic filled with family memorabilia stretching back to the Civil War. Although Patrick and I have been living in the house for the past eight years, it is not a practical house for a couple our age, so to make a long story short, my sister and I have decided to sell it. To let go of it is heart-wrenching. Over the next few weeks and months, I will be posting my pictures of the house and its contents here. My mother was the kind of person who held onto things, and I have pictures, for example, of baby clothes that were worn literally a hundred years ago. Because I am moving to France, I will take very little with me. A few keepsakes that will fit into a suitcase, and these photographs, will be all that remains for me of my childhood home.