This is an opinion column

I don’t even know why it is sad to me. It represents a time long before I was born – and I’m dancing around the just over the half century mark.

The only way I had any awareness of the piano being there is because it sits on the porch of a house facing County Road29 in the community of Old Texas. That is one of the many backroad route options from my house to Red Level in Covington County.

My husband was raised in Red Level. His mother – who I used to affectionately call the rattlesnake of Red Level – still lives there.

The tension with my mother-in-law used to be a recurring theme in my column. I would give occasional updates. Then one day I don’t know what happened, but all the animosity just melted away. We can look back and laugh now.

We decided the problem was that we were too much alike and both Gemini. So, if your mother-in-law isn’t all that crazy about you, don’t give up quite yet. I mean, it may take longer than it takes to pay off your mortgage before it changes, and you may have to step outside of your personality a couple times, but don’t give up hope.

I had noticed the old piano on the porch of the abandoned house for years. The house is behind what was once a country store at the turn in Old Texas for years. It became a bit of a mental landmark for me.

Every time I passed it, I would be reminded of a time I had never known – this massive upright, either mahogany or oak – just sitting there as if waiting for familiar fingers to return to its ivory keys.

By the time I was born, most households had televisions, many of them color. Everyone older could easily remember just a few short years prior when it was a radio around which everyone gathered.

But before radio, it was the piano that served as the wide screen television. They were played for entertainment, celebration, and soul searching. Friends and family alike would circle them and sing. It was…the way it was, until the radio came along.

In a few decades, the popularity of radio would suffer the same fate as the piano. But for some reason, seeing that piano on that porch reminded me of another time.

In passing, I would try and imagine how that must have sounded – the acoustics of a wooden room – in such an otherwise silent place.

I can’t remember the piano not being on the porch. I have been making the trek for almost 30 years. It sits like it was waiting for someone to return to get it. It waits through the summer when the kudzu vines climb the columns, and it is there at Christmastime when the cold wind blows.

It is still there even today, but the last time I passed I noticed the old house had surrendered to time and circumstance. It had collapsed within itself, and the roof of the porch followed suit. It covered the piano.

I don’t know why I find it sad. I guess I miss the time it represents. I won’t be able to see it when I pass anymore. It is strange. I can’t see it, but I can almost still hear it.

Amanda Walker is a columnist and contributor with AL.com, The Birmingham News, Selma Times Journal, Thomasville Times, West Alabama Watchman, and Alabama Gazette. Contact her at [email protected] or at https://www.facebook.com/AmandaWalker.Columnist.