Last summer, I spent a day helping my dad refinish his basement. It’s in the house I grew up in; my parents have owned it for almost 40 years.
The house itself is well over a hundred years old. I was born and raised in New Westminster – the oldest city (and former capital city) of British Columbia. And my parents’ house is one of the big old houses of the late 1800s.
Down in the basement, there’s a massive brick central column, meant to catch the ash from the fireplace above, and transfer some of the heat down. The wooden beams that spiral out from it are huge, ancient, and of varying sizes and shapes, locked together with enormous cast-iron plates and screws.
As we were cleaning up the basement, I found an odd, old nail:
I can’t find a ton of information online about square nails, but they’re certainly old. One company claims to have been making them continuously since 1780.
I love old stuff, and I love having even a tiny piece of the house I grew up in.
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