As we came to the end of the year and the beginning of another, it just seems natural to look back over the year and even years gone-bye. Steve and I have been sick with the flu for last 2-3 weeks and I haven’t even been out the house, except to go to the Doctor’s a couple of weeks ago. So yesterday as we were both much improved, we decided to take a drive north on S.R. 247. It felt good to get out of the house. The temperature had warmed and the sun was out. Life was good and then all of a sudden, I noticed the landscape had changed. About a half mile out of town the house that has always sat back a long lane on the right was gone. It couldn’t be but it was. The house my grandfather had built circa 1918 was gone. I knew the farm had sold, but I never thought they would tear down the house. Of course, it meant nothing to them. I mean, why should it? I am probably the only one that had any emotional ties to the house. My mother had been born in that house. The realization that it was gone tore at my heart. I know it sounds crazy, but I felt like they had taken part of my soul. As long as that house stood, I still had part of mom and grandpa with me. Tears rolled down my cheeks as I told myself I was just being silly, but yet they kept coming. Silently, I sat there in the car thinking of all the memories and times I had spent in that house.
Grandpa had built that house. He was young, newly married and they needed a place to live. My grandmother White’s brother, Uncle Everett Conkle owned the farm and allowed Grandpa and his sister, Josephine to build a home there and start their family. Soon they out grew the house and moved down over the hill beside the creek to live. My grandmother’s sister, Aunt Zuba (Conkle) Cox and her husband, Uncle Bill moved into the house and lived there the rest of their lives.
Uncle Bill was about 85 when I was a child of about seven. He was a very interesting character. I remember arriving at their house one day to visit. I sat in the living room while Aunt Zuba and mom talked. I was a nosey little girl but that day I was more interested in watching Uncle Bill. They had just finished their lunch and Uncle Bill was lying on the davenport resting. His right cheek was all puffed out as if he had been hit. Right beside him on the floor Aunt Zuba had spread out newspapers. On top of the newspaper was what I found out later
was an old fashion spittoon. Every once in a while, he would lean over and spit. Sometimes he made it into the can and sometimes it went on the newspaper. I thought he was sick, but Aunt Zuba wasn’t paying any attention to him. Later mom would explain to me what was happening with Uncle Bill. I thought it was a strange and messy business. After a while I lost interest and wondered into the kitchen. Aunt Zuba had cleared away the dishes and placed them in a sink that was covered on all three sides by a cloth skirt. To the right of the sink was a hand-pump which she used to pump water into the sink. I loved to stand and watch her pump the water. Next, I walked over to the kitchen table. I remember thinking, how strange. The table cloth was pulled up all around the outside of the table and placed over the contents in the center. Aunt Zuba had left the salt, pepper, jelly, sugar and left overs in the middle of table. Mom always cleaned off our table, but again, we didn’t use a table cloth, so maybe that was what you did when you had a tablecloth. Aunt Zuba and Uncle Bill didn’t have any kids of their own, but they had raised mom’s sister when their mother died. Aunt Zuba walked through the kitchen to the backroom and brought out a baby doll and an old fashion buggy. What fun I had playing with them.
Oh, the memories as they came tumbling back to me. I reached for a tissue, dried my eyes and blew my nose. The house was gone and my heart ached, but I had my memories! They made me smile.