Not many can remember a time without indoor plumbing. I only remember a couple of occasions having to use this primitive fixture. In the summer it was the scariest and smelliest. Large spiders lived within these four small walls. There was no dilly-dallying. You went in, got it down and got the hell out. Sometimes…you even had to leave the door cracked a bit, so as to be able to breathe just a little bit. The winter, while cold as all get out, provided a safe place to land your bum. No fear of spiders and horrid imagined bugs, but also there was less smell. So, while it may have been 20 below, you felt a sense of relaxation and calm and you most certainly felt less hurried. I was about 5 or 6 when my Dad and a couple of others (I think Bob Abbott) decided it was time for the ol’ farmhouse to have indoor plumbing. There was a perfect room that could be converted and it happened to also be along the same wall where the well was located. It was a pretty easy job from what my Dad says. I remember it was a really neat thrill for my Grandma, and the rest of us as well. No more forays out to the outhouse in the dead of winter, the hot humid heat of summer or the middle of the night…a fate worse than death. In the picture above, I am walking across a deep hole (where the well is). I distinctly remember my mom telling me not to do it. See how well I listened? Things haven’t changed.
What farm isn’t complete without a “farm” dog. From the time I was born they had a dog named Lassie (German Shepherd). When she died, we didn’t think my Grandparents would replace her, but oh did they ever replace Lassie! One weekend we went up to the farm for a visit and a small little fuzzy ball of fur greeted us. We were thrilled beyond words especially after Grandma informed us that we could name him. So we tossed around a bunch of names, but finally ended up with Rusty, because he had such reddish orange hair. One of the first times Rusty and I bonded was when he was probably about 12 weeks old and I must have been about 9 or 10. I was lying on my stomach to steady my aim while shooting a rifle at the tin can target. Rusty jumped up on top of me and sat looking over my shoulder, with his cute little head cocked to the side as if to help me to make the perfect shot. I did hit the can, even with dog on my butt. It was at that moment, that I knew this dog was special and a rare bond and close friendship formed with Rusty and me. At night he slept below my bedroom window and whenever I went hiking in the woods, he was my faithful companion. During some of these walks he would occasionally disappear and flush out a skunk. The skunk usually won that round, and Rusty would reek of skunk. At those times, we would refuse to have anything to do with him and so he learned quite quickly that he didn't like this lack of attention. To this day, no one has any idea how this dog did it, but he would disappear for about an hour and come back smelling fresh as a rose. Those are the lengths this dog would go to in order to be near us. We assumed he rolled around in something to neutralize the odor.
I remember one particular summer I spent a couple of weeks with my Grandparents. They were in the chicken coop and I was in the house when I heard a car drive up. I went outside to find out who it was. Rusty came flying from somewhere and stood sideways in front of me. Everytime the man tried to get out of the car, Rusty would growl really deep and bar his teeth. No matter what I did, he refused to let me out from behind him. The man had to finally go away and said he'd come back another time. That dog was my protector and the most loyal friend I’ve ever had.
One of the first things I wanted to do after Tim and I started going out steadily was bring him to the farm and introduce him to my Grandparents and Rusty. At the time, Tim owned a Ford Escort. As we turned off the highway onto the gravel road that led to the farm, I warned Tim to not get out of the car until I said so. I think Tim was a little more than skeptical about my concerns. As we drove down the long narrow gravel driveway to my farm (about 1/4 mile long), the anticipation built to monumental proportions. As we pulled into the main drive area, Rusty came galloping up to the car with his head at par with the top of the car window. Tim took one look at me and said “I didn’t think you were serious!” I got out and Rusty bounded over to meet me with big dog hugs and slobbery kisses. I then told Tim to come out and Rusty greeted him in a friendly manner, knowing that Tim was okay. That weekend Tim and I took many walks in the fields and woods near my Grandparents farmhouse and Rusty was always at our side. I remember one particular walk across the fields, we were walking along when Rusty paused and started digging in the dirt. Tim and I kept going. Soon enough, Rusty was trotting along side of me with the addition of a distinct crunching noise. Tim asked what that was, and I speculated that it was probably a mouse or some other crunchy critter. Hey, the boy dog needed a snackie!
There isn't any one specific memory that sticks out the most about my Grandparents, but rather many different memories, smells, sounds and feelings about the farm. I have always loved the outdoors and to be able to wander freely and listen to the birds and hear the sound of the wind as it ripples through the pines. The wide open space so vast that you can look for miles and miles with obstacles or hi-rises, just the occasional farm houses, barns and silos dotted across the rolling fields of green, tan and browns.
Another memory stands out strongly about the farm. I had to verify this with my Dad, because it seemed so vivid that I thought maybe I was mistaken. I must have been about 4 or 5 and my grandparents still had some milking cows and I distinctly remember walking down to the “crick” with my Dad to bring the cows back up. Not sure how my Mom allowed it or felt comfortable with it. It's more likely that my Dad didn't ask just took me with him and figured he would deal with the consequences after the fact. All I know is that I remember not having any fear of these big beasts that were four times my size. All I saw were gentle giants with long purplish tongues. Maybe I had no fear, because I was with my Dad and he wasn't afraid. Who knows.