No One Famous Lived Here

My love of old homes is born out of intrigue for the stories of the person or family who once lived beneath a particular roof. Yes, I love architectural detail and design as much as I appreciate the fortitude required to undertake a renovation on a grand scale.  But it’s the human stories that capture my imagination. And here, lived no one of consequence. Yet, I remain fascinated.

A home is an intimate place, the four walls where our most authentic selves live, where dreams are built and messes are made. A place where we can choose to be kind and lift others up; to be industrious or lazy; to appreciate the past and ponder the future; to consider who we are and want to be.

In this home in Brentsville, VA, lived no one famous. No celebrity, no famous artist, no history-making figure. But respectable people had once lived and thrived here, serving their communities, flying their flag, and growing their families. Shouldn’t that be enough?

The house is named the Williams-Dawe house and is located across the street from the Brentsville Courthouse in Prince William County. The brick exterior was once painted in white stucco, so fine a finish that the locals dubbed it “The White House.”

I took a hard-hat tour of this house a few months ago as the county began to renovate it back to its once and future glory. I saw the rude reality of the renovation process—studs exposed, brick peeking beneath plaster, the portion of the roof line once blown in by a thunderstorm. This tour was not the sexy “after” phase of a renovation where the oohs and aahs are recorded. No, this was the dusty, moldy, and uninspiring phase for those who could only envision a grander day after all the hard work.

The house was built by Jane Dawe Williams (warms my feminist heart), widow of the former Clerk of Court. Her husband, had he lived, would have had a short commute across the street to the courthouse. Subsequent generations ran the house as a tavern, then a boarding house, then a school. One of its previous renovations was overseen by its new owners, artists who lived in DC and wanted a country escape.

The individuals who lived their lives in this house likely did so with their freedoms largely intact. But what of their collective nature? What did they aspire to do for the community as citizens? Did family members fight in wars to protect democracy? Did they make their voices heard? Did they vote?

Exquisite craftsmanship this house did not display. The problem-solving was clever but not perfect. The wooden stairwell to the attic presented a steep solution that was difficult to climb without clinging to the wall for support. The door that no longer fit within a doorframe due to the aging and settling of the house needed just a little trim off the top.

Ordinary lives lived by ordinary people who faced daily challenges and endured the drafts or leaky roofs while envisioning a better future for their home. In a time when celebrity is valued over integrity, when bling and blaring sound bites are adored over humility and hard work, I love what this house represents: authenticity. A place yearning to be a better version of itself.