709 North Strong Street and the midnight dash.

I know I speak of my formative years in Nickerson as mostly happy, but there was something lacking.  While the majority of the homes in town contained running water and indoor "facilities" the sewer system and the running water had not yet reached our little street.  The running water consisted of a pump in the kitchen, a pipe that led from the sink to the wall where there was a hole that let the water run onto the ground out back.  We had Muscovy ducks which were very happy with this method of ridding our selves of waste water.  Ducks like water and they could always be found in the middle of the mess.  That is what ducks do.  Interesting note here; to my knowledge Muscovy is the only domesticated duck that is able to fly.  At least I think that is right.  I had 37 ducks of different breeds here on South Road several years back and only the Muscovy could fly, which they did with amazing regularity right up to roost on my air conditioning unit.  Nasty damn things.

Any way, that was the set up for the running water in our house.  Bathroom facilities were an entirely different matter.  That little job was taken care of out the back door and down the path to the little wooden shack that was perched over a deep hole.  The cool porcelain of city bathrooms was replaced by a wooden bench with a hole cut in it and the white roll of "toilet tissue" gave way to the Sears catalog.  Sometimes it was a Montgomery Ward.  Sears was favored for it's absorption, well all the pages except the ones which were colored because they were slick.   Oh, and sometimes we were real lucky and had a corn harvest that produced soft corn cobs, but that was never.  And there was always the danger of  "picking up a sliver " if one moved the wrong way while on "the throne."  That combined with my fear of dark places and black widow spiders was enough to keep me in a paranoid state most of the time and my bowels in a locked state. Those are just some of the hazards of life in poverty Ville.

Using of the facilities in the daylight was one thing, but at night it was an entirely different matter.  Living in the country brings a whole new set of problems.  First, there were no street lights on Strong Street, or the next street over, or the highway either.  Flashlights were unheard of at our house.  There was a kerosene lantern which we could use if we could find matches.  Now I want you to know that no way in hell was I going out to that God forsaken place alone, and neither would any of the other kids.  The river was not far away and sometimes we could hear a cougar or mountain lion calling.  I think there might have been a panther at one time or maybe a panther was a cougar.  Coyotes yipping in the field behind the outhouse was a regular occurrence.  Mother assured us that coyotes were more afraid of us then we were of them, but I was not sure about that!

So I learned early to not drink a bunch of water before I went to bed and thus maybe avoid that trip in the middle of the night.  I think the sisters found it easier to wet the bed than walk that lonely walk.  It seemed like it was a very long ways to the bathroom, but reflecting back, I do not think it was that far.  I think it might have been 60 feet, but it sure seemed a lot farther to my little body.  If there was a moon then the shadows scared me, and if I had the lantern the shadows scared me.  If an owl hooted then right there was the end of the trip!  If I could stay on the path it was alright, but if I veered to the left just a tad I was in a cactus.  If I strayed to the right I was in the chicken fence.  I do recall how bright the moon used to be out there in the middle of the night.  And the stars!  There were millions of them.  I could pick out the big dipper and the little dipper.  I look at the sky at night now and it is very pale.  I am glad I have those memories.  Kenny and I were in Utah once and lived in a campground.  I could see the stars then.  I wish I could go back there and appreciate it.  The Utah sky is bigger than the Kansas sky.

So, anyway, there you have the drawback to the Strong Street life.  But, I survived.  I know there are some of you that are reading this that think how horrible that was, but it really wasn't that bad.  It was an inconvenience for sure, but it was what it was.  I am very glad that I have indoor plumbing now because I am terrified of the dark.  I have a night light in the bathroom and if I leave something in the car, it will have to keep until morning.  I do not think there is anywhere left in this world where there is not indoor plumbing, but if there is, I do not want to go there.

As I write this, I can see that path in my mind.  I remember the neighbors had a concrete floor in their outhouse.  Hank Windgate did not have a door.  The Ayers family just had a tin tub with a hole in it over a bigger hole.  So all things considered, I guess we had it pretty good.  My daughter, Debbie, has a saying that seems apropos here:  "What doesn't kill you or make you bleed, will make you strong."  So there you go!

Freezing weather, candlelight, and the barn?

A mind is a terrible thing to waste, I hear.  I spend a lot of time trying to figure mine out, but I have decided it is best to just go with what pops into it from time to time.  Take last night, for instance.  I heard about a candlelight vigil at the River walk in honor of the policeman and 2 civilians who died in the fiasco at Planned Parenthood in Colorado Springs.  It was advertised as unsponsored which told me it was a gathering of the community.  As it turned out, it was a photo op for a church that shall remain nameless, but that is all beside the point.  It seemed like a worthy endeavor, so I bundled up with 2 of everything on my frail little body and away I went!

Of course I went early since that is what I do.  My friend Janet showed up and we lit our candles, sung hymns, said a prayer or two.  Since all the cameras were finished rolling the leaders decided not to walk to the police station so we were dismissed.  Janet and I made a stop at Coyote Jack's store on Union where he made us a cup of hot cocoa.  (You will be hearing more about him in a later blog.)  I dropped her at her car and headed home.

I decided to take South Road even if it was icy and deserted and wild animals hang out there and jump in front of the car.  I just like to avoid traffic when I can and South Road was surreal with a soft snow falling.  For some reason, my mind wandered back to the barn on the Stroh place where we lived when I was probably 6 or 7 years old.  As I recall you came up the driveway to the house.  There was a detached garage to the right side where the kitchen was located.  Further to the right was a granary and a chicken house.  And closing the circle going back to the drive was the barn with a long low loafing shed(?).  I think that is what it is called.  But the barn was prominent.

Bear in mind that this memory is 68 years ago and much has been through this old brain, but as I recall I stepped into the barn through an oversized door that barns have.  On my right was a big wooden barrel.  Inside it was grain.  Directly in front of me was a stall for a cow to stand and her head was placed between two boards to hold her in place for milking. This was called a stanchion.   A pitch fork full of hay was put in the manger and she could eat while she was being milked.  Now milking was an art in itself.  The milking stool was a board with 1 leg.  The "milker"sat balanced on that while milking.  Now let me see if I remember that process!

First you placed the bucket under the udder.  Then you got yourself balance of the "stool".  Then you grasped a teat with thumb and forefinger where it protruded from the udder and  applied pressure as you "stripped" down to the end of the teat.  I know this is not sounding like anything is going to happen, but it does.  I am probably not your best source of "how to milk a cow not using a machine", but it does work and the milk squirts into the bucket, except some where in the process (and do not miss a beat or the cow will "hold her milk") you need to aim at the cat dish and fill it up because they are hungry.  Barn cats are profuse in a barn and necessary to keep the mice thinned out so they do not get in the grain.  Barn cats are that only.  They are not for petting or holding.  Most of them would just as soon rip your face off as look at you and you learn to respect their territory.  Come in, milk the cow, fill their dish and leave.   I think these are known as feral cats today.  And ever so often a disease goes through the colony and they all die, but be patient and more will magically appear.

There were several stalls for milking, but as I recall we only used the one and only had one milk cow at a time.  There was a hayloft up above that we were not supposed to go into because we might fall and break our neck, which, according to folk lore, happened a lot.  There were rooms in the back where the other cows (and God only knows what purpose they served) and the one horse could hang out when a blizzard was coming.  And in the spring we had to walk the fields and pull up poison weeds and burn them. 

The low part of the barn was used for whatever it needed to be used for at the time.  As I recall mother had geese and as I recall they were damned mean!  If I strayed (and I did once) into their domain the big gander would attack me and I had to be saved.  This is strange because I have 9 geese out back that love me.  They have never attacked me and 3 of them let me pet them.  I think that gander was just plain mean for the fun of it.

So this is what I thought about on the way home last night.  If I could live my life in reverse I would go back to that place.  It was where Donna stuck her finger in a turtles mouth and John Britan said it would not let go until the sun went down.  It was where Mary set in the mud puddle and Dorothy was born.  It was my brother in overalls and my sister got her first pair of glasses.  It was the big yellow tomcat eating the baby chick.  It was mother going to "club" and dad coming home drunk.  It was my childhood and my roots.  I want to go back there next summer and see if that house is there.  I want to listen and maybe here the kids at play.  Back to the days when someone took care of me.  When I was cute and loved.  Or at least that is how I remember it.

I have recovered in more ways than one.

I have recovered from the vacation.  That is always good.  I was disappointed that the Lilacs were not blooming while I was there.  So I checked when I got home and mine are closer then they are in Kansas!  That worries me because they have always been two weeks ahead of us.  Looks like the predictions that the climate zones are shifting are right on target.  Oh, well, not much I can do about that.
Today is my annual trip to see the doctor.  For the record, I do not like to go and since I am much like the wonderful one horse shay from the days of yore I am waiting for the big one.  You remember that poem?  I do not want to go look it up and quote it right now, so I will just tell you the jist of it is that a craftsman of years ago built  a wagon for a horse to pull and used the best of everything and did such a wonderful job that it lasted until one day when every piece gave out at exactly the same time.  I think my body will do that!
But I want to tell you about the old Doctor back in our home town.  He was located in a small red brick building that sat in the middle of the block between the church on the corner and the start of the Main Street downtown.  I do not remember his name or anything about him except that during my growing up years I was very sickly and since mother worked cleaning houses her hours and his were not always the same.  If momma could not get me in during office hours, he would come to the house.
Sometimes I would have an earache so bad I bled out my ears.  Then I would be constipated and next it was diarrhea.  High fevers were the normal at my house.  Stomach aches that kept me in bed were frequent.  Doctor figured I would never live to see adulthood.
Finally for lack of anthing else to do, he took my tonsils out.  Never had another sick day in my life.  I am now old enough to be considered old  and I take one thyroid pill a day.  And I go to the doctor once a year because I am supposed to go.  But, you know, I think back on the days when Doctor came to the house.  Do doctors make house calls now?  I do not think so.  And where I go is a 5 story building with labs and specialists and doctors and optometrists and about any service you can imagine.  A far cry from that little 4 room brick building on Main Street where one man and his nurse, who was also  his wife, dealt old time medicine to the people in Nickerson.
I have not been down the mainstreet lately, but I will go in August.  Going to see if that little building is still there.  I know the church built a big place out on the highway.  I know the school is no longer across the street from the church.
Time marches on.