the ghosts of my childhood rock in that chair

Baldwin resident Lauren Reiss, is a graduate of Herald Editor, Chris Connolly’s class on freelance journalism at the Baldwin Public Library. This story, a reflection on almost 30 years of walking past a certain house on Walnut Street, began as a concept during the class and has been refined over the last month. Reiss’ husband, Rafael Aguilo, a professional photographer, shot the accompanying images. If you have a Baldwin-specific memory or experience you’d like to share, please email cconnolly@liherald.com.

Ihave walked past this house hundreds of times since moving to Baldwin from North Bellmore 30 years ago and its soul never fails to reach out and touch someplace deep inside of me. When I was in my 30s and ran instead of walking, I referred to this inclined section of Walnut Street near the Plaza School as my personal “heartbreak hill.” My non-athletic body would struggle to run up the small hill without losing pace, but even as I labored, my attention was always drawn to the side yard of an old house along the route.

The house sits on a small plot of grass and is surrounded by a peeling white picket fence; many of the boards are missing or askew. This aged white skeleton provides support for the brambles and vines desperately reaching upward toward the sunlight that will only shine on them in the leafless depths of winter. Near the curb there is an abandoned pile of old boards and branches — someone’s unsuccessful attempt to stave off the entropy of time and nature. Just beyond the plot of grass is a short expanse of wild forest that creates the barrier between this haunting yard and the concrete driveway of the neighboring property. This small forest consists of a stand of tall trees, knee deep with a wild tangle that no foot has disturbed for decades. The scene never ceases to evoke in me the deeply buried sensations of my childhood, which, once stirred, feel soft and familiar — nuances of my soul that I have missed.