Lament of the log house

One of the first residences in Ekalaka was torn down recently. The old log house was once home to Jack Charters, and later to Amos and Romaine Lambert. At one time, the house stood on Main Street but was moved-log by log-to Munro Avenue sometime around the turn of the century. The following was written by Sharon Barrere, a descendant of Amos and Romaine Lambert.

I stand vacant, damaged, and worn by the ravages of time, looking through dirty windows. The years have taken their toll.

When first I was, the logs were fresh and strong, making solid walls, topped with a roof of red shale. I was a home, stout, warm and nurturing, looking out on a very primitive main street of a frontier town, under the Big Sky.

In time, around the turn of the century, I was moved, log by log, to be reassembled on a side street where I remained in my battered condition.

Somewhere in time, it was decided I needed a coat of stucco and was painted white. With logs covered, some windows boarded over, and a roof covered in shingles, I got a new and better look.

When I was young, I saw cowboys, horses, wagons, teams, and trail herds of cattle and horses. After that came cars, Model Ts, then the As. Real live people, their faces known to me, now are only names on stone up on the hill. My log walls have sheltered families, celebrated births, and mourned as some took their last breath. I even watched a bride-to-be hide until the couple could elope.

In later years, I was home to elderly people, relatives of the early owners. The last being the widow of a man born under my roof.

I am lonely, empty, and my family mostly gone.

This structure is crumbling. How long can I stand?

Sometimes things cannot be fixed. I have lost the battle. Therefore, I bid Ekalaka, my Lambert family, and friends adieu.