Crooked Little House

There was a crooked man and he had a crooked smile.
He had a crooked sixpence, he walked a crooked mile.
He had a crooked cat and he had a crooked mouse.
They all lived together in a crooked little house . . .
- traditional folk song

It is winter, and time to revisit some of my favorite winter photographic haunts. This is one of them: the burnt cabin that sits by itself on Loveville Road. It is a place of broken windows, open doors, and tarnished dreams.

I admire a good set of ruins. There is a memento mori sort of thing about them: something that makes you consider the passing of time; ponder your own mortality. (“When 900 years old, you reach . . . Look as good, you will not.”  - Yoda.)

What I was thinking, though, as I took this photo, is that in all of the pictures I have taken of this place (and oh, yes, there have been many!), I have always had difficulty lining up the lines of all those lovely broken windows and open doors.

And on this day, I finally realized why. And now I shall be at peace, having discovered that my inability to impose photographic order is not a result of my own failings, but a simple fact of life. It is the nature of the thing: the cabin itself was built crooked!

The tune to accompany this photo is Jimmie Rodgers, with Crooked Little House. (You may remember two of his more famous songs: Honeycomb, and Kisses Sweeter Than Wine.) Sing along if you feel like it! Ohhh . . . there was a crooked man and he had a crooked smile . . .

P.S. Tired of winter already? Here's a glimpse of the burnt cabin in spring. :-)