When I was a child, long before my family tree was big enough to branch far and wide, I would journey with my parents and sisters to my grandparents’ house in the country for holiday gatherings. MeeMaw and Pop-Pop owned a typical, large farmhouse – white with black shutters – which sat across from a big, red barn with fading paint. The scene couldn’t have gotten more Norman Rockwell if it had tried.

The story was that my grandparents had purchased the house at a great price but wanted to move it to land that MeeMaw’s family owned outside of town. To do so, Pop-Pop would tell us with a glint in his eye, men with hand saws came out and cut the house into pieces, resulting in four sections that were loaded onto trucks and driven to their new location. Because the oft-told story would end with a wink and a smile, I was never quite sure if I could believe it. That said, MeeMaw and Pop-Pop had purchased the house as newlyweds and lived there for the duration of their nearly-80-year marriage, so the romance kept me a believer.

I remember investigating the walls of the house after our family’s holiday meals together. I would walk gingerly when I heard a creak in the floorboards, convinced I had found the weak spot that was sure to come unglued from another part of the house. I thought myself a young detective, but I’m sure my relatives just found me odd and skittish.

A few years ago, fueled by longstanding curiosity and a suggestion from a friend, I searched property records in my grandparents’ town to see if I could get information about the house being cut into pieces and moved out to the country. Unfortunately, any information that ever existed was long gone by the time I went investigating.  What seemed like a tall tale, including the police escort and city’s need to disconnect power lines so trucks carrying the house segments could pass through intersections unobstructed, seemed even taller since I couldn’t find proof of its happening.

I'm actually glad I was never able to verify Pop-Pop’s story. Both he and MeeMaw have passed away and no one tells the house story quite like my grandfather. I’m left with memories of my childhood inquisitiveness while the undying romantic in me imagines a procession of trucks driving slowly down the street like some kind of parade. As always, MeeMaw and Pop-Pop are posed atop the first truck like a bride and groom figurines atop a wedding cake.