A Tahilla Tale

Tahilla Farm Diary

Summer, 2013

I was rattled. How would I begin telling the story?

Thinking aloud—“So, I heard these strange noises,” I muttered. “Unexplainable sounds coming from the fireplace.” Exasperated, I sighed, “Ugh, I’m going to sound like a crazy woman!”

The doorbell rang. “Here we go,” I said, gliding across the polished wood floors in my socks before opening the front door.

A tall, slim man stood before me, greying at the temples with fine lines around his warm brown eyes. He smiled as I welcomed him. “Hello, thank you for coming.” He introduced himself: “My name is Christopher. I specialize in restoring old fireplaces.” We exchanged the usual small talk. “So, you know Hugh,” I said, “I heard you worked wonders on his fireplace.” “Yes,” he replied, “That was a challenging project.” I wondered what he’d make of mine.

The chitchat continued—it was the way of our small community. Christopher had been restoring fireplaces for over 30 years and recently took on his son as an apprentice. I guessed he was in his mid-to-late 60s, likely considering life beyond his work. I chuckled, expecting him to mention a cabin in Maine, as tradesmen often did. Sure enough, he said, “My wife and I have a cabin in the woods in Maine. It’s so peaceful. I hope my son will take over the business so we can retire there.”

I was always puzzled by that—retiring from the New Hampshire woods to the Maine woods. But I hadn’t lived in New Hampshire long. Perhaps one day, I’d understand.

We moved through the kitchen, which felt as familiar as warm slippers on a cold morning. My coffee cup rested by the sink, the scent of rich coffee still lingering. A bird darted past the window toward the cherry tree in the overgrown garden—a tangle of wildflowers and peonies, long neglected since the previous owner passed in 2012. I reminded myself to explore it after Christopher left.

It was my first summer here, and I was eager to unearth the garden’s secrets. Beneath the cherry tree, a granite stone nestled in violets read, Fenton, Ever Faithful. The previous owner’s cat, I was told. I wondered if Fenton’s spirit still roamed the house, making the noises that kept me awake. I scolded myself for such thoughts.

“Mind the ceiling,” I warned as we passed through the low-beamed kitchen cluttered with unpacked boxes. “Excuse the mess,” I added. “We bought the house six months ago and are still settling in.” Christopher, likely around 6’2”, stooped under the low beams—a familiar sight with my tall husband and sons. I winced as he ducked further.

My husband hadn’t seen the house yet—his work overseas kept him away until next month. Christopher and I stepped into the older section of the house. “Watch the—” Thud. Too late. He hit his head on the low door frame. I winced again, apologizing as if the house itself had misbehaved. A red mark was already swelling on his forehead. I made a mental note: Architect, sooner rather than later.

Quickly, I changed the subject. “We have five fireplaces, none of them working. The oldest is in the keeping room—from 1790.” Then I said it: “I hear strange sounds from that fireplace.” My face flushed with embarrassment. Christopher, to his credit, listened without amusement. “What kind of sounds?” he asked. “Slithering. Fluttering,” I said nervously. “I found old snakeskins in the basement. Do you think… there are snakes in the chimney?” I shivered at the thought.

Christopher, sensing my unease, suggested checking the basement. “Just a warning,” I smiled sheepishly. “I scattered mothballs. I read they deter snakes. Maybe ghosts too.”

The basement air was damp and cool, its walls a patchwork of old stone. I stayed by the stairs while he examined the space. After a moment, he turned, smiling. “The good news—no snakes. The noises are from your heating system, which vents through the fireplace.” Relief washed over me. “The bad news,” he added, “is that you can’t use your fireplace until we redirect the system.”

He explained the repairs needed—walls opened, stonework rebuilt. The scale of the project made my head spin. But relief outweighed the dread.

Noises explained. No snakes.

For now.