Every person, every place starts in the same way — new, pristine (even if only for a minute). Some never change. Some improve. And some, well, this happens. I can’t help but wonder why. What’s the story?

During my vacation last week, I trekked to Frenchtown, New Jersey (and shared Me, the Doors, and David Bowie for #ThursdayDoors). After perusing that borough, I crossed a narrow metal bridge over the Delaware River to Uhlerstown, Pennsylvania. This farmhouse sits on the road right as you land in the Keystone state.

I can’t help wondering what it looked like when it was fresh and new, when the glass windows were open with a slight breeze blowing the curtains, when the white door had a fresh coat of paint and opened often to welcome friends and neighbors. I also wonder who lived behind those walls and what their lives were like. I hope they didn’t fall apart the way the house seems to have.

If only walls could talk. What would the doors to the past of this structure, once opened, reveal?

This post is one of many through Thursday Doors by Norm Frampton. See other doors — from around the world — on his weekly linkup and/or on the Twitter at #ThursdayDoors.