A few months ago my sisters and I were discussing the notion that we all felt as though we had a book in us. The problem was that we lacked the motivation to put our ideas down on paper. Shannon came up with a solution and suggested that we each get together and write one chapter a week. Erin "Make-a-buck" took it step further and created an online newsgroup forum and suggested we make it into a weekly contest. The winner would ge a buck from each member.
Both of my sisters, my father and my mom signed up. The first week was fabulous. We each submitted a working title and a synopsis. Everyone was getting into the spirit of the project. The second week went even better and we all submitted our first chapter. The third week was okay, as only a couple of chapters trickled in. My sisters and I were failing at this project we had started - however, my father has taken on this challenge with incredible enthusiasm and we're all benefiting from it! He's compiling stories of his childhood - a part of history we've never really known about. We're thoroughly enjoying every story he's willing to tell and I asked him if it would be ok to post them here in my blog. He agreed, so here for your reading pleasure is the first of several stories I'll post over the next few weeks. I'm sure you will enjoy them as much as we do!
THE MOVE
by Roderick Brown
I must have been between four and five. It was late summer, a sunny day, very
pleasant…..I don’t remember all the details but it seems there was an awful lot of
activity going on. My dad and a couple of his brothers were busily loading all our
furniture, clothing, pots and pans in fact all our worldly possessions onto the back end of
a truck. Jack and Dick were helping with the smaller stuff. Dugal and I were getting in
the way of everyone. Sally and Alex were small enough that they were in a play pen or
something…Leastwise I don’t recall them making a fuss. Finally it appeared we were
loaded and ready to depart.
Evidently there had been a couple of previous trips and this was the moment of truth. The
last load. I did not realize what was happening, I just knew it was big and exciting.
My dad, being a railroad man, called, “All Aboard”.
Well there was a scramble…I recall some discussion between my parents about my being
big enough to ride on top of the load with Jack, Dick and Dugal. It was decided (by
necessity) that I had to ride on top as there wasn’t room in the cab for father, mother,
Sally, Alex AND ME. This made me feel quite grown up and one of the bigger boys.
I had always been something of a runt, always getting hurt, falling down, more often than
not, tears and a snotty nose being my trade marks.
Jack, Dick and Dugal, having been thoroughly admonished about their responsibilities of
ensuring my safety hauled me to the topmost point which was a mattress, kinda covering
things so they wouldn’t blow away.. Tugging on ropes and pushing things around created
a nest hole just big enough for me to crawl into……There was no way in hell that I could
have gotten off that truck if my life had depended on it……..
The journey and arrival must have been rather anti-climatic as I don’t recall much about
it. I do remember being thirsty and not being able to find a water faucet in the kitchen As
a matter of fact I got a big laugh from everyone when I asked where the bathroom was.
Someone pointed towards the back yard and announced, ”Down the Primrose Path where
the hollyhocks grow the tallest” Of course I had no idea what they were referring to but I
eventually found the old three holer outhouse. It was a little unique as it had two adult
sized holes at adult level and a smaller hole at a lower level. The traditional “Sears”
catalog hung off a nail centrally located. A small bag of lime in a pail sat in the corner.
This was for sanitary purposes. On hot summer days it got a little fragrant and the flies
would be quite numerous, so a handful of lime was scattered over the material in the pit.
I was still thirsty so I asked where the faucet was. My dad said, “Come with me”, and
going to the sink he picked up a metal pail that was sitting on a raised portion of the sink.
In the pail was a metal dipper.(There was very little plastic around back then). We went
out the side door and headed towards the road and a huge old maple tree right at the end
of the driveway. There was a small square of concrete on the ground with a strange iron
thing sticking up in the air. It had what looked like a spout on one side and a long iron
handle near the top. My dad hung the pail on the spout and proceeded to lift and lower
the iron handle. After several manipulations of the handle I was flabbergasted to see
water coming out of the spout and filling the pail. When there was adequate water in the
pail the pumping was stopped and my dad took up the dipper and filling it from the
bucket took a long satisfying drink of cold, sweet water. Refilling the dipper he handed it
to me and with a wink he said, “There is your faucet, but you have too do a little work for
it” The water was delicious and so cold it almost hurt my throat. When you get to be a
little bigger, he continued, this will be one of your chores….Keeping the water bucket
full and fresh…..”