I stayed at my friend Rachel’s house in Bolton Hill while in Baltimore. Even just one row house seems to tell the story of hundreds of lives.
Above, a strange cement-like covering has begun to fall off the front of the house’s original bricks, worn away from the dripping water of window air conditioner units above.
Above is the entry hallway of the house, which has now been carved up into three units. Below is a sampling of the beautiful marble in the front vestibule.
Below is the cast iron stove, discarded in the basement and now probably worth a fortune to salvagers. I can’t read the details, but I imagine it is original to the house, and perhaps, like many houses on the East Coast, the cooking was done in the basement.
Also of interest is the ghost markings of a staircase that once led to the basement before it was divided into apartments.
The floor is made up of wood blocks, or possibly bricks. It is dark and mysterious in the cellar, but full of interesting cast aside items.
The fantastic stairway, its varnish now substantially darkened, is the focal point of the house. It has some of the most beautiful wood I have seen in a house in the United States.