Out
east of Denver, off the Interstate and
about twenty miles south on state road 95 stands the house. Being two storied sets it apart from most
houses of its era, about World War I.
The others were usual one storied with some Victorian trappings: a tower,
a bit of stained glass in the front door, fancifully turned spindles in the the porch’s bannisters. This house, facing east, stands off the
highway about a hundred yards amid three thirst stunted cottonwoods and some
desiccated shrubs unwatered for years.
Off to the left runs a rutted road that leads to the back. Recent tire marks suggest a rendevous for
teen age frolics in illicit drinking or couplings. The yard was naked except for weeds dead from
the December cold.
east of Denver, off the Interstate and
about twenty miles south on state road 95 stands the house. Being two storied sets it apart from most
houses of its era, about World War I.
The others were usual one storied with some Victorian trappings: a tower,
a bit of stained glass in the front door, fancifully turned spindles in the the porch’s bannisters. This house, facing east, stands off the
highway about a hundred yards amid three thirst stunted cottonwoods and some
desiccated shrubs unwatered for years.
Off to the left runs a rutted road that leads to the back. Recent tire marks suggest a rendevous for
teen age frolics in illicit drinking or couplings. The yard was naked except for weeds dead from
the December cold.
No
mailbox stood out front — not even a tilted post remained although the ground
was still compressed by the wheels of the R.F.D. drivers making their daily
stops. Steps leading up to porch are
rickety at best even without the three missing treads. Also gone is part of the porch
bannister. An empty space is agape where
a door and sidelights had once stood possibly the result of a midnight raid of
a homebuilder with not quite enough money.
The two story porch is supported by square columns made of six inch
planks still showing a few splotches of white, perhaps the remains of
plantation pretensions. Boards long gone
from the porch floor make like miniature moats to the trespasser. Probably this area had been furnished with
caned-back rockers, benches, a glider, a porch swing, maybe even a hammock.
mailbox stood out front — not even a tilted post remained although the ground
was still compressed by the wheels of the R.F.D. drivers making their daily
stops. Steps leading up to porch are
rickety at best even without the three missing treads. Also gone is part of the porch
bannister. An empty space is agape where
a door and sidelights had once stood possibly the result of a midnight raid of
a homebuilder with not quite enough money.
The two story porch is supported by square columns made of six inch
planks still showing a few splotches of white, perhaps the remains of
plantation pretensions. Boards long gone
from the porch floor make like miniature moats to the trespasser. Probably this area had been furnished with
caned-back rockers, benches, a glider, a porch swing, maybe even a hammock.
Inside
the dust driven by the winds has accumulated in whirls. Of course the kids years ago had come for
miles to pleasure themselves breaking out the windows . Each of the four downstairs rooms has a
fireplace that had been sealed up with holes for the pipes of the heating
stoves. Even though every room has two
windows, at least the occupants had some heat.
A dozen or so recent Coors cans attest to a rustic bacchanal. Evidently once there had been a built in
sideboard because its alcove is an ugly void.
Attached to the dining room is the kitchen which juts out west toward
the mountains. The sink is long gone
with only a hole in the floor which had held the drain pipe. Probably pried out for scrap and sold by some
desperate soul to feed his family during hard times or to slake his thirst with
a six pack of Coors or maybe even two.
the dust driven by the winds has accumulated in whirls. Of course the kids years ago had come for
miles to pleasure themselves breaking out the windows . Each of the four downstairs rooms has a
fireplace that had been sealed up with holes for the pipes of the heating
stoves. Even though every room has two
windows, at least the occupants had some heat.
A dozen or so recent Coors cans attest to a rustic bacchanal. Evidently once there had been a built in
sideboard because its alcove is an ugly void.
Attached to the dining room is the kitchen which juts out west toward
the mountains. The sink is long gone
with only a hole in the floor which had held the drain pipe. Probably pried out for scrap and sold by some
desperate soul to feed his family during hard times or to slake his thirst with
a six pack of Coors or maybe even two.
The
northwest room downstairs has a built-in closet added later. This was probably the bedroom of the parents
or maybe the grandparents so that they could avoid the stairs. Upstairs would be the sleeping quarters for
the rest of the family. Four rooms seems
a bit excessive even for the fecund families who lived on the plains but were
also frugal. Even if the parents did
sleep upstairs with the grandparents down below, two rooms could have easily
held eight children with two to the bed.
Maybe the spare room was for a spinster sister or aunt who had no where
else to go. It could have belonged to a
bachelor brother who owned a piece of the farm.
We’ll never know.
northwest room downstairs has a built-in closet added later. This was probably the bedroom of the parents
or maybe the grandparents so that they could avoid the stairs. Upstairs would be the sleeping quarters for
the rest of the family. Four rooms seems
a bit excessive even for the fecund families who lived on the plains but were
also frugal. Even if the parents did
sleep upstairs with the grandparents down below, two rooms could have easily
held eight children with two to the bed.
Maybe the spare room was for a spinster sister or aunt who had no where
else to go. It could have belonged to a
bachelor brother who owned a piece of the farm.
We’ll never know.
No
doubt at least four generations had once called this place home, a place to
cherish or escape. Today we can only
imagine the love and hate that strutted through the rooms, crises that waxed
and waned, problems that bubbled and boiled.
Love of a parent for an unworthy child. Brothers vying for
anything. Sisters comparing boy
friends. Fighting amongst the kin over
an inheritance. A wedding for love or
necessity. The death of a grandchild
from whooping cough or the death of a
grandparent from old age. The parties on
a summer Saturday. Christmas
dinners. The prayers for rain. The worries about making mortgage
payments. If we knew such tales as these, we could embody the ghosts that drift about the place.
doubt at least four generations had once called this place home, a place to
cherish or escape. Today we can only
imagine the love and hate that strutted through the rooms, crises that waxed
and waned, problems that bubbled and boiled.
Love of a parent for an unworthy child. Brothers vying for
anything. Sisters comparing boy
friends. Fighting amongst the kin over
an inheritance. A wedding for love or
necessity. The death of a grandchild
from whooping cough or the death of a
grandparent from old age. The parties on
a summer Saturday. Christmas
dinners. The prayers for rain. The worries about making mortgage
payments. If we knew such tales as these, we could embody the ghosts that drift about the place.
The
house is blasted by the winter winds and broiled by the summer suns. the boards
are warped with protruding nail heads. Each year it weakens. Finally one winter worse than those of past
decades will pile snow upon the roof. A
blast will descend from the ice caked banks of the Yukon and blow the house
down. An alternative is that on a hot
summer’s day a cloud no bigger than a man’s hand will grow into one that’s as
black as a mother-in-law’s heart and stretches from here to yonder. Darts of lightening will spark down to
earth. A funnel will form and
metastasize hitting the house with one wild eddy of wind and scattering the
shards all over the plains. A more realistic expectation is that some liquored
up teenagers, seeking new thrills, will set it afire to see a really big
fire. They will dance to rhythms
unconceived and the sparks will soar into the purple night of the plains.
house is blasted by the winter winds and broiled by the summer suns. the boards
are warped with protruding nail heads. Each year it weakens. Finally one winter worse than those of past
decades will pile snow upon the roof. A
blast will descend from the ice caked banks of the Yukon and blow the house
down. An alternative is that on a hot
summer’s day a cloud no bigger than a man’s hand will grow into one that’s as
black as a mother-in-law’s heart and stretches from here to yonder. Darts of lightening will spark down to
earth. A funnel will form and
metastasize hitting the house with one wild eddy of wind and scattering the
shards all over the plains. A more realistic expectation is that some liquored
up teenagers, seeking new thrills, will set it afire to see a really big
fire. They will dance to rhythms
unconceived and the sparks will soar into the purple night of the plains.
As
yet, the house still stands moldering away out on the emptiness of the plains,
a mute Wurthering Heights waiting for a Bronte to tell its tale.
yet, the house still stands moldering away out on the emptiness of the plains,
a mute Wurthering Heights waiting for a Bronte to tell its tale.
About the Author
My Biography in 264 Words
Although I
have done other things, my fame now rests upon the durability of my partnership
with Carl Shepherd; we have been together for forty-two years and nine months
as of today, August 18th, 2012.
have done other things, my fame now rests upon the durability of my partnership
with Carl Shepherd; we have been together for forty-two years and nine months
as of today, August 18th, 2012.
Although I
was born in Macon, Georgia in 1928, I was raised in Birmingham during the Great
Depression. No doubt I still carry
invisible scars caused by that era. No
matter we survived. I am talking about
my sister, brother, and I . There are
two things that set me apart from people.
From about the third grade I was a voracious reader of books on almost
any subject. Had I concentrated, I would
have been an authority by now; but I didn’t with no regrets.
was born in Macon, Georgia in 1928, I was raised in Birmingham during the Great
Depression. No doubt I still carry
invisible scars caused by that era. No
matter we survived. I am talking about
my sister, brother, and I . There are
two things that set me apart from people.
From about the third grade I was a voracious reader of books on almost
any subject. Had I concentrated, I would
have been an authority by now; but I didn’t with no regrets.
After the
University of Alabama and the Air Force, I came to Denver. Here I met Carl, who picked me up in Mary’s
Bar. Through our early life we traveled
extensively in the mountain West. Carl
is from Helena, Montana, and is a Blackfoot Indian. Our being from nearly opposite ends of the
country made “going to see the folks” a broadening experience. We went so many times that we finally had
“must see” places on each route like the Quilt Museum in Paducah, Kentucky and
the polo games in Sheridan, Wyoming. Now
those happy travels are only memories.
University of Alabama and the Air Force, I came to Denver. Here I met Carl, who picked me up in Mary’s
Bar. Through our early life we traveled
extensively in the mountain West. Carl
is from Helena, Montana, and is a Blackfoot Indian. Our being from nearly opposite ends of the
country made “going to see the folks” a broadening experience. We went so many times that we finally had
“must see” places on each route like the Quilt Museum in Paducah, Kentucky and
the polo games in Sheridan, Wyoming. Now
those happy travels are only memories.
I was
amongst the first members of the memoire writing class. While it doesn’t offer criticism, it does
offer feed back. Also just trying to
improve your writing helps no end.
amongst the first members of the memoire writing class. While it doesn’t offer criticism, it does
offer feed back. Also just trying to
improve your writing helps no end.
Carl is
now in a nursing home, I don’t drive any more.
We totter on.
now in a nursing home, I don’t drive any more.
We totter on.
