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View from the Sandusky River, Fremont, Ohio, circa 1964
If you've done any boating at all on the rivers and inland waterways of this country, or for that matter probably any other country, then you will be familiar with this type of landscape view. Not quite a picture of the "floating world" (Ukiyo-e (浮世絵) in the Japanese woodblock print sense, but as you glide or sail or float along, you are allowed glimpses into life along the water, and you try to imagine what sort of people these are, these riverbank dwelling people who enjoy the sort of view you are temporarily floating through. In no time at all you find yourself making up stories about them based on what draws your eye as you drift by, comparing styles of architecture and landscaping, becoming increasingly critical of the quality of the yardwork, the upkeep of docks and retaining walls or lack thereof, where applicable. You begin picking out the properties you would most like to spend time in; which ones you would avoid or gladly come back to visit, and which, if available, you could see yourself buying one day.
Sight-seeing from the water is a little voyeuristic but expected, generally speaking. People are rarely surprised to see you in their back yards. When you wave they generally wave back.
Of course, the point is there's so much more you can't see, isn't there. The past, for instance, when the Sandusky River flooded, in 1904. At which time this particular house on its bluff above was not even here, having been built in 1928 or 1929 and featured in an issue of House Beautiful in one of those years (and if you happen to come across the particular issue I would be extremely grateful if you would let me know, as I have so far searched in vain).
The property, as you might imagine, has changed hands a number of times since. At one point there was a playhouse behind the group of trees on the left, a tiny replica of the main house. And a badminton net set up nearby. And a host of other clues: a girl who was surprisingly good at tether-ball, a boy who didn't like to fish. A girl who would stand so still and patiently that bluejays would eat birdseed out of her hand. A boy who would sit for what felt like hours, staring out the middle window on the second floor, looking down at you on the river slowly flowing by below as he tried to imagine what it would be like to be someone different and older, going by and looking up. Knowing that there was more to the world than the part you could see from down on the river, or that he could see from up there. Much more.
Yes. You say exactly what we are all thinking. Yes.
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You continue to amaze me! I feel as if I am there...looking out that window! This is THE house in Fremont, right?
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