Drive - A Memoir 23rd Installment
would
be out for only 10 excruciating minutes. We needed the gloves because
at 20 to 30 below zero anything moist would immediately freeze to
anything metal, like the pump handle, especially your tongue. Every
child has experienced this crisis of painful entrapment to some
extent in the northern territories above the 43rd
parallel. The pump house was just a wood shed that enclosed the pump
jack. Because the only convenience we had on this primitive farm was
electricity, the Old Man had wired up an electric motor to a gear
driven jack that would run the pump rod up and down until water would
rise out of the well, slosh down the spout in spurts and into our 10
gallon can. It would take most of our frigid 10 minutes outside to
fill the can; then we’d yank the knife switch to shut off the
motor, grab the milk can handles and run–walk, hefting the 80
pounds of water into the kitchen. The wood stove would be warming the
kitchen nicely by then, and we’d pour about half of the can of
water into the hot water tank built into the stove and put the
‘optimistic
can’ (a can half full) in the corner by the water dipper for
everyone who needed to get a drink.
Our
little farm family was growing. Our parents bought the farm, I
believe, early in 1947, – so Linda and Russell were born in Idaho
Falls, Linda in May of 1945, and Russell in January of 1947. I was
born September 19, 1948, born ‘to farm’ on the farm. Then there
was a five year gap before the next baby arrived. Our folks were,
apparently, too busy with toddlers and a new farm to consider a new
baby. Vicki was born October of 1953. Then came another long gap of
time and Eddie arrived in March 1957, and he was the last youngster
to arrive while we lived in the old house. Jerry was born in February
of 1959, and Carma, the last of seven children, arrived in July of
1961. Both were born while we lived in the new house. The parents…
now this is a hard one to figure what year, but I do know they were
born on the same date, March 26th
but in different years. Edith was in 1926 and Vernon, I was told, was
eight years older--that would put him in 1918.
All
the kids got a bath every Sunday night in a 30 gallon wash tub –
whether they needed it or not. After Sunday dinner was cooked and
devoured, the water tank attached to the stove would be steaming, and
the whole house would be warm. Edith would drag out the wash tub, put
it by the potbelly stove, and fill it half full. Then she’d wash
baby Eddie’s hair while holding him in the water and she would
always get wet because Eddie thrashed his feet splashing water all
over.
500 more words tomorrow
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