I seem to have this thing for old abandoned buildings, houses in particular.
Old broken down dwellings... houses, barns or whatever, untouched for years...
well, there's just something about them that just fascinates me.
Most of these photos were taken in eastern North Carolina near Mt. Olive,
which is also the pickle capital of the south, in case you are interested.
I call it pig and pickle country since there are also hog farms literally as far as the eye can see.
You would most likely be able to find these great old places around every turn.
I was absolutely mesmerized when we drove by these broken down old places.
I imagine most of them, if not all, were sharecropper homes.
I would love to know more of the history...maybe someday I'll do some research.
Crumbling roofs, rotting and blistered window frames with shattered glass or no glass at all,
If you listen closely, you just might hear echos of the laughter of children who once lived there,
or the loving call of a mother letting the family know that supper is on the table. 
Most of these photos were taken in eastern North Carolina near Mt. Olive,
which is also the pickle capital of the south, in case you are interested.
I call it pig and pickle country since there are also hog farms literally as far as the eye can see.
The land is flatter than a flitter if you are using southern speak
and on a clear day, you can see for miles.
You would most likely be able to find these great old places around every turn.
I was absolutely mesmerized when we drove by these broken down old places.
I imagine most of them, if not all, were sharecropper homes.
I would love to know more of the history...maybe someday I'll do some research.
The windows of this one is almost like you are looking into the eyes of an empty soul.
Rather eerie, don't you think?
Crumbling roofs, rotting and blistered window frames with shattered glass or no glass at all,
neglected yards where masses of tangled weeds have completely taken over,
all make up these hauntingly beautiful images of an era long past.
If you listen closely, you just might hear echos of the laughter of children who once lived there,
It makes me wonder how long it has actually been since those walls heard the voices of a child
and how many generations the house has been standing.
Undoubtedly, the families living here didn't have much money.
Somehow I envision damp, old photograph albums stuffed with sepia toned photos,
draped in cobwebs, stashed away in attics or other dark places.
But I doubt anyone could have afforded a camera.
And these barns haven't seen any animals for quite some time.
The photo below is what looks to be an old brick silo.
There is a tree growing right into the side of the bricks and coming out the top.
Now that's what I call character!
This particular old farm house is actually just a few miles from my home.
What a great old place it is and it kind of breaks my heart to see it sitting empty.
~
It was written about an old house in Suffern, New Jersey near the railroad tracks.
Although the locations are different, the same can be said about any abandoned home,
regardless of the zip code.
The House With Nobody In It
~Joyce Kilmer
Whenever I walk to Suffern along the Erie track
I go by a poor old farmhouse with its shingles broken and black.
I suppose I've passed it a hundred times, but I always stop for a minute
And look at the house, the tragic house, the house with nobody in it.
I never have seen a haunted house, but I hear there are such things;
That they hold the talk of spirits, their mirth and sorrowings.
I know this house isn't haunted, and I wish it were, I do;
For it wouldn't be so lonely if it had a ghost or two.
This house on the road to Suffern needs a dozen panes of glass,
And somebody ought to weed the walk and take a scythe to the grass.
It needs new paint and shingles, and the vines should be trimmed and tied;
But what it needs the most of all is some people living inside.
If I had a lot of money and all my debts were paid
I'd put a gang of men to work with brush and saw and spade.
I'd buy that place and fix it up the way it used to be
And I'd find some people who wanted a home and give it to them free.
Now, a new house standing empty, with staring window and door,
Looks idle, perhaps, and foolish, like a hat on its block in the store.
But there's nothing mournful about it; it cannot be sad and lone
For the lack of something within it that it has never known.
But a house that has done what a house should do,
a house that has sheltered life,
That has put its loving wooden arms around a man and his wife,
A house that has echoed a baby's laugh and held up his stumbling feet,
Is the saddest sight, when it's left alone, that ever your eyes could meet.
So whenever I go to Suffern along the Erie track
I never go by the empty house without stopping and looking back,
Yet it hurts me to look at the crumbling roof and the shutters fallen apart,
For I can't help thinking the poor old house is a house with a broken heart.
Whenever I walk to Suffern along the Erie track
I go by a poor old farmhouse with its shingles broken and black.
I suppose I've passed it a hundred times, but I always stop for a minute
And look at the house, the tragic house, the house with nobody in it.
I never have seen a haunted house, but I hear there are such things;
That they hold the talk of spirits, their mirth and sorrowings.
I know this house isn't haunted, and I wish it were, I do;
For it wouldn't be so lonely if it had a ghost or two.
This house on the road to Suffern needs a dozen panes of glass,
And somebody ought to weed the walk and take a scythe to the grass.
It needs new paint and shingles, and the vines should be trimmed and tied;
But what it needs the most of all is some people living inside.
If I had a lot of money and all my debts were paid
I'd put a gang of men to work with brush and saw and spade.
I'd buy that place and fix it up the way it used to be
And I'd find some people who wanted a home and give it to them free.
Now, a new house standing empty, with staring window and door,
Looks idle, perhaps, and foolish, like a hat on its block in the store.
But there's nothing mournful about it; it cannot be sad and lone
For the lack of something within it that it has never known.
But a house that has done what a house should do,
a house that has sheltered life,
That has put its loving wooden arms around a man and his wife,
A house that has echoed a baby's laugh and held up his stumbling feet,
Is the saddest sight, when it's left alone, that ever your eyes could meet.
So whenever I go to Suffern along the Erie track
I never go by the empty house without stopping and looking back,
Yet it hurts me to look at the crumbling roof and the shutters fallen apart,
For I can't help thinking the poor old house is a house with a broken heart.
~
