Holes

By Bridget

The house we grew up in was old. Not terribly old, but it was built around the turn of the century. I know Grandma's house was older and that always bugged me because I wanted the oldest house. I'm not sure if it was true, but it was rumored to have once been a house of ill repute. Combining that with a story about there being an old illegal still down the road where there was an artesian well, and we decided that Al Capone had been in our house.


The front of the house. Pictured Dad and Bridget.

Our house was still heated with wood. There was a wood stove in the kitchen and one in the dining room. The stoves shared a chimney. In the dining room was a vent in the ceiling that you could open and close to get heat into the upstairs. The vent was on the floor in the room that Molly and I shared and was incredibly hard to open. It was also so cold downstairs that we didn't want to lose any of the precious heat, so it was always closed. If we were able to open it, dust and crayons and anything else that had fallen through the decorative top, would rain down on the room below.

In the living room, there was also a hole in the ceiling, rimmed with a decorative covering. This hole, I think had been for a stove, but asking Mary, she doesn't think it was. The hole was big enough to stick one's leg through but not big enough for anyone to actually fall through. However, many other things could fall through the hole. It was great for when someone needed something from upstairs and you could just drop it through the hole without having to run down the stairs.

One night, Mom had her church guild over for a meeting. Her guild was St. Columbanus and consisted of other church ladies who lived in our area of the parish. Mom sent us upstairs so we'd be out of their way. They held the meeting in the living room, so we all gathered around the hole to hear what they were saying. At first we just giggled as we watched them. I'm sure this irritated Mom enough, but she didn't tell us to move until we started dropping things onto the ladies below. The last straw was the pencil dropped onto the Avon lady.

Another time, my parents were watching the movie Psycho 3. They had let us watch Psycho and they never got Psycho 2, but they would not let us watch Psycho 3. We were sent to bed, and then they started watching it. We knew that's what they were going to do, so Danny, Mary and I gathered around the hole, hoping to see or at least hear something. The hole was against a wall and the tv was in a corner on the other side of the room. If we strained, one at a time, we could glimpse a corner of the tv. We could hear the movie and even without the visuals I got scared. Eventually, probably because of our shuffling to see anything, we were discovered and sent to bed. I was secretly quite happy.

The Cattle Guy

By Molly

What Bridget said about the cars driving by on the road is true. We could hear a car coming about a half mile away. If I was outside, I always turned to look and see what kind of car it was. If the car turned into the driveway someone would recognize it and announce to everyone else who it was. Each person that came had some kind of roll call. If someone yelled out "The Schwann Man's here," a frenzy of running would start in the house as we yelled at Mom what we wanted. Mom would then get riled up trying to find money why yelling back at us what we couldn't have. If the roll call was "The Avon lady is here!", it would be a frantic rush to clean off the kitchen table so the Avon lady could show her lotions and perfumes on a clean table.

Sometimes it was the Metal Man. The Metal Man came by every so often to buy old metal machinery off of Dad. Theresa and I had turned an old bailer into our restaurant one time. We scoured the garbage pits for old treasure and filled up the inside of the bailer. The day the Metal Man bought the bailer he and Dad had to spend a few hours shutting down our restaurant. Theresa and I got a speech that day about collecting trash.

Next was the Cattle Guy. I hated the Cattle Guy. He drove a white cadillac. My memory isn't the best but I am pretty sure he had a set of horns as his hood ornament. The Cattle Guy would drive around the country buying, what-else, cattle. I was fine with the cows going, but one day he turned his sights on the horses.

Mary, Star the horse, Danny, Bonny the horse, and Molly

What Cattle Guy buys horses? Not a very good one. He walked up to the horses, put the beer he was drinking between his knees and opened the horses mouths' to see their teeth. I guess he liked what he saw because he bought two of our horses. While I will admit, I was really impressed with his skills with handling a horse and beer at the same time, I was mad watching the horses leave. The next time he came looking for cows one of our dogs peed on his leg. I was so happy.

Walking the cows back out to the pasture after selling one.

Learning to Cuddle

By Theresa

When I was younger I hated sleeping alone. I tried to prolong sleeping with someone as long as I could by moving from bed to bed in the house. I don't think there even was an empty bed for me in the house until Danny left for college. By that time I had become so accustomed to sleeping with someone, I didn't like sleeping alone. So I convinced myself there were people outside my window talking in the middle of the night and I asked my mom if I could sleep with her. Although she had moved me out of her bed a while before, I was able to stay with her because she had recently had Timmy and thus another child sharing her bed.

The first time mom moved me out of her bed I was put in bed with my oldest sister Mary. Molly and Bridget didn't seem too accepting of having anyone else in their room, I think they had enough drama in there. I believe I did spend a night or two in there and I was stricken by night terrors. The room gave me the chills for a while so I tried to stay away.

So I was put in bed with Mary who had her own room. I remember being a bit shy, but I was excited because she was my older sister. But then it came time for bed and I discovered something about Mary that I wasn't excited about. Mary's feet were the coldest, iciest things imaginable and she insisted putting them on me to warm them up. If she was going to let me sleep with her, I had to endure her warming her frigid feet on my calves. It was incredibly uncomfortable and I couldn't wait until they were warm. It was the same every night and they never seemed to warm up quickly enough. She knew how much I hated it so she started reading books to me so I'd be distracted from the pain. It seemed like a good exchange to me and I liked being able to cuddle up right next to her to get warm and comfortable. And so it became that I not only liked to share beds but I also really like to be cuddled up close.

I was recently putting Mary's son, North, to sleep and was amazed how familiar it was sleeping next to him. He cuddled right up to me and put his tiny feet in between my knees to get warm and cozy. It was nice to see that we had both learned to cuddle from the same person.

Theresa and Mary

Dogs

By Bridget

There was usually at least one dog on the farm. Most often we got these dogs when their previous owner couldn't keep them anymore, as with Ace, our uncle Tim's dog. Sometimes they'd just show up. Hunter, showed up around deer hunting season, hence the name Hunter, which my friends later changed to Cancer when his tongue started rotting off. The first dog I remember us having was Lindy. She was a fluffy black and white dog. I don't know where we got her, but she was a very nice dog. She somehow got pregnant, perhaps by a visiting neighbor dog or by visiting a neighbor dog. I don't remember us having another dog at the time, but I was quite young.

Molly, Danny, Bridget, Theresa, Mary and Lindy the dog.
She eventually had her litter in the hollow bottom of an old tree down by the marshy area by the road. Finding where our dogs or cats had given birth was hard. We had so many places perfect for giving birth: feed troughs, bundles of twine, hay piles, or even old trees as Lindy did. She had a few puppies and as always, we each decided which one was ours and named them. I was, oh so creative and clever at the time, so I named mine Puppy.

Mary, cousins- Michelle, Annie, Megan, & Brian, and Danny holding Lindy's puppies

I'm not sure what happened with all the other puppies from Lindy's litter, but I only remember my Puppy surviving. Perhaps there weren't as many as I thought there were or maybe they died or were given away. But I remember Puppy being around for awhile. She was a thin, short-haired dog, not at all fluffy like her mom. Her being "my dog" didn't really mean much to anyone except me. And even to me it didn't mean anything except I could say I'd named her.

Anyways, eventually, our dad ran her over. Our dad has ran over a lot of animals, a few dogs, a few cats, who knows what else. He ran over Puppy while he was cutting hay. Though the year was 1980-something, our dad farmed with horses. Our horses at the time were probably Nancy and Mike, or perhaps Sadie was still there. He cut hay with a machine that had sharp, triangular blades attached to a long metal arm that could be moved up and down. Puppy, and most of our dogs, always followed the horses out to the fields and ran alongside them as they worked. Puppy got in the way of the blade, and got a leg cut off. I remember this had happened before with a dog, but that dog had two legs cut off and had to adapt to only having the front legs and dragging its butt along. Puppy only lost one leg, so was much more fortunate. She was able to live for awhile longer with only three legs. She still chased cars and still tried to follow the horses. Sadly, she met her demise by once again getting ran over, this time for good.

Losing my Bed

By Molly

Bridget is three I years older than I am. She always has been ever since I was born. I asked her daughter Hazel yesterday when I should have kids and she told me not until I am her mom's age. I am the same age Bridget was when she had Hazel but I won't tell Hazel that because I hope she will keep telling me not until I am as old as her mom. I will never be that. I understand age difference now but when I was younger I never understood why Bridget was always older than me and why she learned to do things before me.

Bridget learned to read about three years before I did. Once she learned to read she never stopped. She was so proud of being able to read. She bragged to me all the time that she could read and I couldn't. I was so frustrated by this. One day we were in the sheep barn and she had a book and she kept reading from it and then would ask me to read and when I failed she laughed and teased me that I would never be able to read.

Bridget reading
The day Bridget learned how to write her name she came home from school and showed me again that she could do something I could not. We shared a room at time. Bridget told me we were going to play a game. The rules of the game were simple. We each got a crayon. After Bridget said go we had to run around the room writing our name on everything that was ours. Bridget handed me a crayon and said go. She proceeded to write her name on her bed, her dressers, her toys. After she had marked everything of hers she moved onto my things. While I sat and cried with my crayon in my hand struggling to learn to write my name she claimed my dresser, my toys, and my side of the closet. She eventually overtook my bed. I wailed at the thought that now I no longer owned anything because clearly you could read Bridget but my scribbles had no meaning.

Bridget going to school.

Becky

By Molly

Mary always says she had a completely different childhood than I did. She claims hers was much more difficult, mom was meaner to her, she had to wear old wool to Christmas plays etc., etc. I am not sure I believe all of it. Especially that hers was more difficult. She never had to grow up with an older sister who didn't share.

Mary had a doll named Becky. This doll was the prettiest doll I have ever seen. Her hair was red and lush, begging to be brushed. Her lips were curved into a bright inviting smile. She was graced with small freckles on her cheeks. Becky wore a green summer dress every day. She really was amazing.

We all kept our toys all together in the living room, but Becky was kept in Mary's room. Mary never let us play with Becky. I remember being told specifically not to touch her. Becky was Mary's doll only. Sure I could share all my Barbies with Mary but I could never play with Becky. Even if all 4 of us sisters were playing together and Mary blessed us with Becky's presence, Mary never shared her. She always voiced Becky, brushed her hair and put her shoes on and off. It was unbearable. Becky was strong and kept smiling the whole time, but under the smile I knew there was a hurt, that she wanted to be shared.

Being that Mary is 5 years older than I she had a much more full social calendar. Whenever Mary left the house Theresa and I would sneak into her room and play with Becky. We would style her flowing hair with the small brush she preferred, we would touch the freckles on her face and tell her we would be friends for a long time. It was lovely. Those afternoons when Mary was no longer there to stand between me, Theresa, and Becky were perfection. Theresa and I had a pact never to tell Mary.

It all went well until one day Theresa wrote on Becky. Theresa had a pen and decided to draw on Becky. I never knew why she did it but it ruined everything. We had to confess to Mary. Mary was mad but I it didn't compare to the pain I felt for Becky. She had those pen marks on her forever.

Before my dad sold the house we grew up in as children we spent a few days cleaning it out. I found Becky in a box in one of the closet. She was a little worse for wear, her dress had faded, her hair was in snarls but even through all that, after 20 long years, she still had her same unfading smile.

Becky now lives in a storage box in Mary's basement. The pen marks have worn with time.

Middle of Nowhere

By Bridget

We lived at least half a mile from our nearest neighbors. And they lived about half a mile from their nearest neighbors. Few cars drove past our farm during the day, far fewer at night. Most often, the vehicle driving past would be a tractor. Our biggest excitement during the day would be the mailman. He came around noon, the same time that "All My Children", our mom's soap opera, was on. We noticed everyone who drove past our farm as we were always outside, and when we were inside, from noon to one, we had a large window that faced the road and included a view of the mailbox. So when the mailman came, one of us would run down to the mailbox, during a commercial. Our driveway wasn't that long, except during the winter, then, you'd try to slip on whatever pair of shoes was most available, and run without a coat on to the mailbox. Danny once dared us to run down to the mailbox, in the winter, barefoot. I remember I made it and it was awful. Once we learned to ride a bike, it was much faster and easier to make it back before the commercials were over.

At night when we'd take walks, our mom would make us hide in the ditch if any cars passed. We'd see the lights coming down the road and she'd yell for us to get in the ditch. It was very exciting and scary. I'd close my eyes so they wouldn't be reflected by the lights and give away our hiding spot. It was hard to keep whatever dog we had at the time in the ditch with us as they were usually car-chasing dogs, but if you petted them enough, they'd stay. I don't know why we'd hide in the ditch as anyone who passed was a neighbor or going to our house. If it was someone going to our house, we'd sometimes jump out of the ditch to stop them to talk to them, but often we wouldn't realize who it was until they'd turn into the driveway.

Bridget and Molly near the driveway. Please notice the sheep by the table in the background.

Walking

By Mary

I grew up walking. We walked everywhere. We were always walking. We would purposefully go for a walk, but even when we didn't we were walking. We would walk out to the field to watch Dad mowing hay, plowing fields. When we got older we would walk out to relieve someone from baling hay or we walked out to watch them bale hay or we would just walk beside them and watch. We would walk out to the big woods to walk through the trees. We would walk up the hill to the sand pit to go swimming. We would walk to the sand pit to play in the sand to run down the hills. We would walk to the orchard to climb trees and pick apples it was the season. We would walk out to the pasture to check on the cows. We would walk out to the other pasture to check on the sheep. We would walk to the pasture to check on the horses. We would walk to the pasture to get the horses for farm work. We would walk to the neighbors to get the horses after they escaped. We would walk to the pasture to watch dogs being shot because they were going after the sheep. We would walk out to the pasture to bring the cows into the barn yard so one could be sold. We would walk to the nieghbors to deliver phone messages. We would walk out to the pasture to go sledding. We would walk out to the other pasture to go ice skating.

Now, I love to walk. I don't care if it's raining, snowing, freezing. I just want to get out and walk. It makes me thinks; it feels good. I walk to the grocery store, to the park, to friend's houses, around the block, but I miss the walks to the pasture, to the big woods, to the orchard, to the fields....


Walking out to the cow pasture to watch Dad & the neighbor mend the fence.