Ain't No Place to Start Like the Beginnin' - Part 2

So that's how it all began, me and Momma in that little shack there just out of flood range of Rough Creek. It wasn't such a bad start, I reckon, and we made out alright. I'm sure there were other folks around who didn't have it near as good we did, but I never met 'em if there was.

I guess, if the truth be told, I was kind of spoiled growing up there the way I did. I just took all of our creature comforts for granted and never gave it much thought. It was all I ever knew. But looking back on it now, I know how lucky I was and consider myself blessed to have had the good fortune I did.

That old house wasn't much to look at but it was what we had. I remember many times when one of those sudden summer thunderstorms would come up and the rain would be beatin' down on the metal roof of that old place. The rain would be so hard you could see that metal vibrating under the drummin' of it and so loud that you had to yell to be heard. But I never recall gettin' wet, so I reckon it did the job.

The windows were pretty handy in the summer time to let a cool breeze blow through so you could stand it to sleep at night. On the other hand, I also remember the wind would howl on those frozen winter nights and have those old tattersall curtains dancin' around a good bit. We didn't mind that much though, that old Ben Franklin woodstove we used for heat would bring a big sweat out of a little feller if you weren't careful about it.

We even had indoor plumbin', which was a pretty big thing back then around our parts. Papaw had laid some cast iron pipe in the ground so it wouldn't freeze between the well and the house. He had mounted an old hand-pump he got at an auction somewhere to the counter there by the kitchen window and we were living like the Jones then! Momma still had to heat up water on the wood cookstove for doing dishes and takin' baths, but that was fine, too. A step in about any direction was a step up for us.

We didn't have an inside toilet, Papaw said it wasn't civilized to do that kind of stuff in the same place you ate and slept. But we did have a good outhouse. Papaw had built it on a sled frame so it could be drug over a new hole with the mule when the current one got full. We kept the pit limed and put a mixture of coal oil and used motor oil in it to kill the flies and help with the odor as well.

The outhouse could get pretty rowdy in the hottest part of summer, but what were you goin' to do? That's one of those activities a feller just can't get around somehow or another. The dead of winter offered up no treats either. Seems like the colder that seat was the longer it took to get the job done. It just sort of made you draw up when you perched yourself on it.

There was an aweful lot of learnin' and dreamin' that took place with the small confines there. You could almost always find something to catch your interest in the small library of old magazines and catelogs maintained there, unless somebody had already used those pages. A phone book didn't ofter up much reading material but the pages sure were softer. It was usually the first to disappear. I guess everything has it's trade-offs.

We had electricity but there wasn't much to run with it. There was an overhead light in each room and a wall socket in the kitchen and the front room. We had an old tabletop radio on a little endtable in the front room to listen to the news and University of Kentucky basketball games. If Momma was in a spiritual mood, there may be a little preachin' and singin' come out of it on Sunday mornin' and that was about the extent of our entertainment consumption of electricity.

Out back there was a woodshed where we kept kindling and sticks of stovewood cut and dried. On one end of it, Papaw had built a small room for Momma to use as a washroom. He had acquired an old, used wringer washer from somewhere and set it up for her in there. It was electric when it wasn't broke. But Momma never missed a stride, even if it was and fell back on the washboard with a galvanized tub when she couldn't use it. I never remember not having clean clothes to wear.

There's still a few other things to tell about the ol' homestead and we'll get to those directly. As you can see, we had about everything you needed to live high on the hog and that's pretty much what we did. I think most people today would probably be surprised at how little it really takes to live a good life and be happy. I reckon most of 'em would just die if they didn't have a bunch of things buzzin', beepin' and blarin' loud noises at 'em. Personally, all of that makes me as nervous as a long tailed cat in room full of rockin' chairs. But I reckon that's just me.

Uncle Cooter