When I was a kid, my extended family on my dad’s side owned a dairy farm which was, at the time, just outside of Memphis, Tennessee. My grandparents lived in the main home, and one of my dad’s older brothers and his wife in another right next door. There were many siblings and cousins in that family – my dad was one of fourteen kids. Most of them stayed in that general area of the world orbiting the roughly 80 acres that included the fields, barns, a small farmhand house, garden, and those two main homes right next to each other – one for my grandparents, and one for my aunt and uncle who helped work the farm.
After my grandparents passed on (sadly, I never had the honor of knowing them), my uncle and aunt moved from the smaller home, known as “The Greenhouse” (due to the paint color), into the bigger brick home. For whatever reason, The Greenhouse morphed into the unofficial stuff repository for everyone in the family needing to make more space in their own homes.
I suspect there was a lot of Depression-era “I might need that someday” thinking happening. Over many years, it became the final home for boxes of books, trunks of clothing, the odd appliance or four, toys, records, paperwork, back issues of National Geographic, knick-knacks – you name it.
I thought it was absolutely amazing.
When we visited every summer for the annual July 4th picnic/Smith family reunion, I’d always find my opportunity to sneak away from the festivities and explore The Greenhouse. Mind you, the heat of a Memphis July is no joke, and initially, neither of the houses had air conditioning. It had to be over 100 degrees inside, but I didn’t care. I’d pull the creaky old screen door open and smell that magic smell of life-already-lived, and I’d be in heaven.
This is my aunt and my mom coming out of the screen door of The Greenhouse. Sadly, I have no other photo of it.
No one ever minded me being there, and as I sorted through black and white photos, dusty cookbooks, and ancient Ladies’ Home Journals, I would usually find a prize that I would be allowed to keep. I distinctly remember a copy of a Time-Life Nature Library book called The Fishes, and a small framed print of a horse. Once, I rescued an old bottle of Jean Nate perfume. Solid finds for a 9-year-old.
Eventually, the aunts, uncles, and more than a few cousins moved away or passed on. I grew up. The family sold off the farm bit by bit, and I believe a bank now stands where the Greenhouse served as Smith Family self-storage. I have no idea what happened to the remaining stuff inside, but I still think fondly about those summer excursions.
Where am I going here? I think many of us have had the experience of entering into an old space in childhood – attic, basement, barn, whatever – and finding it fascinating. What would we see? What would we uncover? Then…we all grow up, and somehow the wonder of exploring stuff turns sour. Sorting through old things shifts from the opportunity to playfully investigate a space into a distasteful, laborious, and possibly shame-filled chore.
Instead of “Oh cool, I wonder what’s in this box?”, it goes to
“Oh God, what am I going to find in that box?”
As if every container is booby-trapped.
Admittedly, none of the stuff in The Greenhouse was mine unless I claimed it – it was a whole household crammed full of other people’s postponed decisions. The stakes, for me, were low. Still, I think there’s something to consider regarding how we might approach our decluttering work. How often have I been working with a client, and we uncover something really valuable to them?:
- A family video thought to be long-lost;
- A sweater adored, forgotten, and now remembered;
- The key to a safe;
- The missing charger for the iPad; or
- Cold, hard cash.
Every single time (and so much of that last one, in particular). That all seems pretty positive to me. And yes, there’s usually a lot that is no longer relevant or helpful – but isn’t that an opportunity too?
Instead of, “Oh God, there’s so much junk here I don’t need,” why not
“Oh, excellent! Look at all the things I can let go of today.”
Instead of anticipating how awful sorting through a closet or cabinet will turn out, what might happen if you could assume that you’ll come across good stuff? Maybe it’s a stretch, but if you could approach the job with a tiny smidge of childlike wonder, or a sense of exploration, what would open up? Not all clutter is clutter. Sometimes it’s stuff waiting to find its next adventure.
What an excellent idea. Re-framing a presumed god-awful task this way makes sense to an often cluttered brain like mine!
I had to laugh at “presumed god-awful” – after all, I went into this profession because I DO enjoy organizing. Maybe those early years exploring in an old house had ripple effects, but I am optimistic that I can help people find a little something about it to appreciate. Thanks for commenting, Terry!
I love your example of how attitude is essential when decluttering. We need to declutter with optimism. It is about the mood and not so much about the stuff. When we are open to the possibility of making room, it allows us to be open and flexible about finding solutions for getting rid of stuff.
Yes, so much about the optimism and mood. Even if we can take the dread down a notch or two, and come to a neutral place, I think it makes a difference. Thanks for the comment, Sabrina.
I can see 9-year old Sara hunting through the Greenhouse looking for treasures. And from your description, it sounds like you found quite a few. I love how you help us to make the perspective shift from dread to joy. Judith Kolberg talks about something like this…calling it “Treasure-Hunting” as one of the editing techniques. Because especially when we’re approaching a task or project we’re hesitant or anxious about, those slight perspective shifts can mean everything.
Wonderful post all around. Loved the message and a glimpse into your beautiful family history and childhood.
There were actually a lot of cool places on that farm to explore – I certainly never had any hesitation about diving in. Maybe, in part, that experience is why I don’t have much hesitation when I’m going through any kind of stuff. Thanks for your comment and kind words, Linda!
I think the mindset we bring to any endeavor definitely impacts the way we experience it. I love this idea of approaching a sorting/decluttering task with enthusiasm and a positive attitude. I always feel this way. In fact, I tell clients in advance that it is a very positive process. Usually, after one session, they start to believe this as well.
By the way, how great your Aunt and Mom look coming out of a house that isn’t air conditioned. How did they do that? Such a classy era. 🙂
Yes, I mention it’s a positive process too…even an act of self-care.
And yes, they’re looking pretty spiffy, aren’t they? I suspect the photo was not from a 4th of July picnic, but rather a wedding or a funeral at a different time of year. Still, I’ll bet they wore dresses and hose even in the summer in those days! Thanks for stopping by, Seana.
I freaking loved this post! First, your descriptions are so vivid, I feel like I can feel the stultifying heat and the scent of that all-but-one Jean Naté bottle.
Second, “Oh, excellent! Look at all the things I can let go of today” is a stellar approach to what we do as organizers and how people should feel about exploring their own clutter. It’s an opportunity for delight (and discarding)! That reframing is key to embracing any decluttering project.
And I love that photo of your mom and aunt; they look like they just walked out of a movie. The Greenhouse may be gone, but it lives on in memories and in all with whom you’ve shared it!
Hi Julie – “stultifying” is a great word for it! I’m thinking it was good training for the days I’ve spent in garages and attics with clients ;-). Thanks for reading and commenting!
Love this post, Sara. Growing up, my cousin (she lived in California) and I (I lived in NY) spent parts of many summers living with my grandmother at her seaside house in New Jersey. We spent countless hours poking around the attic and the greenhouse (it was not green – but a place for growing plants). I truly appreciate your memories of the time you spent in the greenhouse.
I believe mindset is everything. Approaching our time spent with clients (who are almost always anxious) as a time of discovery – as Linda said “treasure hunting” helps our clients relax and be settled into the mission.
Treasure hunting, adventures, missions – all so much more fun and approachable than thinking of a slog through stuff. And why not make it fun, right? Thanks for your comment, Diane.
What a delightful post! I can remember times poking around in the attic looking for treasures.
I find it fun to sort through boxes with clients that have not been looked at for years. Although I must confess that before we open the boxes I secretly make a wish, “Please don’t let it all be papers!”
Oh, interesting. I really love looking through all paper, because it’s often biographical – even the bills and catalogues and old calendars tell a story. Either way, shifting from “doom box” to “discovery box” is helpful. Thanks for the comment, Jonda.
What a LOVELY post! I love treasure hunting. Let me know if I can repost for everyone to read, too. WOW. Love this so much.
Hi Karen – so happy you liked it. Please feel free to share on social media, and thanks so much!
I love the way you’ve described The Greenhouse – it sounds so magical – and was sad to learn that it no longer stands. And I love your positive outlook shown in this excerpt:
Instead of, “Oh God, there’s so much junk here I don’t need,” why not
“Oh, excellent! Look at all the things I can let go of today.”
Yes, I often wish I had taken more pictures of the whole farm place. It’s all built up now, and hard to remember what it was all like back in the day. Thanks for stopping by, Janet!