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Page 8 · column 6 of 6 · from the scan, no model involved
had been filled in. A new driveway took the place where Dad had made Mom a flower garden by carving out a piece of the pasture and adding it onto the yard.
Then, we went inside. There, just as I remembered, the old stairway to the upper bedrooms, that terminated at a three by three landing, two steps below the level of the upper bedrooms. There was the girl’s room, almost as I remembered. I could picture the old windup Victrola over against the far wall. The boy’s room was cut up, to make some closets and a bathroom. M.H.’s room was another bath, but the “far” room was much the same, the one Mom kept for any of the older girls when they came to visit.
The new owner wondered what we did for closets. There were precious few in the old house. I couldn’t remember. Such things weren’t important to a kid.
The meat house was still there, but Kathryn said the floor had rotted out. The wash house was there, as well, but she said it no longer had the big concrete island with the iron pots, where we used to heat water for Monday wash day, and where we used to make lard. I can still see my Mom leaning over those hot cauldrons, testing the cracklings to see if the lard was ready to take up, and adding just the right amount of soda to ensure a pure white, long lasting lard.
I could have sat in that recliner and watched some more football. I am sure glad I didn’t. Sometimes, you have to make a little extra effort.
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