I saw a ghost
As humans I think it is only natural to think about who we are and why we are the way we are. As an artist I think it is how we ponder our experiences to answer those questions that gives us inspiration. I don’t think artists are unique, obscure, spiritual guides, but I do think to be an artist is to try and answer what makes us human.
I’ve always felt like Lydia Deetz, Laney Boggs or Wednesday Adams. I think I’m strange and unusual; creative and drawn to the dark side. I was in fact born on a Wednesday and as the poem goes: “Wednesday’s child is full of woes.” I loved Unsolved Mysteries, The X-Files and ate up all the paranormal series made. I absorbed everything I could in that pertain to all things “spooky”.
I thought for a long time that it was just because I was “weird”. Most people don’t want to think about death, what comes after, or obsess over things that go bump in the night. But I do. I love it. There are a few other topics I love just as much, but that’s for another time. So why do I think I am so drawn to this? Because I saw a ghost.
I lived in the farmhouse my Great Grandfather built when I was a child in Layton, UT. Built in 1913, the craftsman-style house was small and simple. My Great Aunt Lucile told me of the day my grandfather was born in that house several times. My Great Grandma Bessie was strong, driven and creative. She almost gave birth to my grandfather in the onion field behind her home because she was determined to finish the row of onions she was weeding when her water broke. She barely made it inside before my grandfather arrived!
My Great Grandmother passed away shortly before I was born. My parents had not yet found a place to settle so it was decided they would live in the house she left behind. The farmhouse was close to everyone and everything that they needed and although small, it was the perfect place to start out. I spend my early years getting pecked by chickens, feeding peaches that fell from the trees to sheep and digging up the lost treasures of my grandfather’s childhood. Things like my Great Grandmothers bobby pins, my grandfather’s marbles and the bones I convinced myself were from dinosaurs rather than cows.
I spent a lot of time playing on the farm alone. Several family members tell me of times I sat and appeared to be “talking to myself” or playing games with someone that wasn’t there. I was asked who I was talking to, and I would say “playing with Grandma and Grandpa”. My Grandparents were not there. It was just me, playing alone. My grandma showed me a photo album of her and my grandfather’s childhood and families. I immediately picked out my grandparents that built the home I lived in. I had never seen a picture OR had them discussed with me before. Years later my cousin lived in the same home with her small child. She was a single mother doing her best. Sometimes her daughter would be found playing and talking to herself. She too said she was playing with Grandma and Grandpa when she was asked what she was doing. I believe they came to help when extra hands were needed. To provide a little more love and a little more attention. I can’t say I see ghosts now, but I did see a ghost or two. Once upon a time.
