Explorers have a code and we adhere to it strictly. We don’t damage anything, we don’t break into buildings, we never remove items and we never deface a location. We’re there to preserve a record of the unseen history decomposing before our eyes. Capturing the spaces humans leave behind. It has become a bit of an obsession, I will not lie…there is wonder and a mystery to these places, a personal element. Some places are very ominous and very creepy, some places are very tranquil and serene and beautiful and other places are just sad. This is the case of the “Raccoon House”, and the “Stand Alone Home” as we’ll call them.

As we drive the dirt road kicking up dust in the rearview mirror, I’m on the lookout for the next abandoned home that stands alone, far off the road in overgrown prairie grass or just around the bend of the next gravel road. Fortunately these two locations were not far from each other. We follow through tall weeds the path that once would have been a driveway to a small home. As the entryway had collapsed into the basement, the front door was not an option of entering. What was at one time the bedroom had no window and was our point of entry. Two very large raccoons call this place home and scurried through the kitchen and down the entryway hole to the basement nearly giving me a heart attack and Ryan chuckled behind me from my pitiful scream. Both the exterior and interior are at the mercy of the elements. Collapsing ceilings and floors are frequently found in much of what we find in the abandoned structures we come across. We have learned over the years to be watchful and very cautious of our surroundings, to know the hazards that may lie before us. There is no charging in, but rather walking softly, which is why I caught the pair of raccoons off guard. Inside a mess of all types of items are strewn about in all directions. The smell of mildew and decay invade our senses. As we found with this home that we were not the first to come across this long abandoned home but it also had been discovered by undesirables. Vandals who tear through a place like a tornado, turning over furniture, randomly throwing personal belongings about, looking for anything of value of those that once called this place home. So many personal items are left behind and we are careful as we walk not to step on them as we are guests in this home and must be respectful of another’s belongings clearly forgotten about. The closet still holds dresses hanging on hangers, some still encased in plastic for

protection. A calendar curling with time is hanging on the wall dated 1993 giving us an inclination of the last time this home had life here other than wild life. A sweater hangs behind the door waiting as if the owner may come back, and upon entering, slip it on. A telephone still hangs on the wall in the living room. And boxes and boxes of books are scattered in almost every corner of every room. Except the kitchen, in there every piece of plastic Tupperware had made its way out of the cupboards or drawers to the floor. The upstairs held a bed still with bedding on it and once again shirts on hangers hung in that bedroom waiting to be worn once again.

The smell of raccoon and other critter droppings was over powering and we exited the “Raccoon House” to explore the “Stand Alone Home”. I chose this name as this home sat on the corner of a gravel road with no garage, no barn, and no outbuildings of any kind on the property. And unlike the previous home where almost every piece of belongings had created a maze of confusion as to where you should step, this home had most everything still in its place as if the family had only a short notice to pack or had simply left routinely for the day only not to return. In the kitchen cups and glasses are stacked either ready to be put away or set out to be served to an arriving guest. The living room has end tables holding lamps and couches and chairs waiting to be sat on. A vacuum sits in the corner as if it had just finished cleaning the carpets and had not yet been put away to the closet. The bathroom still holds hand towels and toilet paper is still on the holder. The rugs are in front of the sink and bathtub undisturbed. Bedding lies in place in the bedroom and the vanity holds lotions, a brush and the alarm clock has stopped shortly after 2:00. In the children’s room would stand a crib and a toddler’s bed.

Toys and games would spill out the closet onto the bedroom floor, wondering when the next time they would be held in a child’s hand. Still stuck to the bedroom wall are drawings and colored pictures from a child as the only décor to this once joyous room. We leave wondering and we will never know the mystery as to what possesses a family to vanish without taking a single personal belonging, there’s a story to be told of the sadness and the secrets that lie within of how they became frozen in time.