Muscatine

Ned....you dredged up yet another recurring nightmare for me, the old push lawnmower.  My dad was "frugal" (some went so far as to call him a tightwad) and I pushed that old rotary mower for years.  Finally he broke down and bought a gas powered mower.  Not a new one of course, but very well used.  It was one of those early models that had a piece of rope about three feet long with a wooden dowel on the end of it.  You wrapped that rope around the top of the engine, and after 20 o30 tries, it would usually pop and run.  No discharge....I guess it was the early version of mulching. 

After a hard afternoon of mowing, I'd head down into the basement (only cool place in the house as he wouldn't spring for an air conditioner either), open up the old GE, and pull out a bottle of Pepsi so cold that ice formed on the top.  That old fridge is still running and probably has never been worked on. 

We never did have an outhouse, although I had cousins who lived on the outskirts of Davenport (now the 53rd and Elmore area) who did. 

Ah yes, summers of my childhood.

Baseball....lot's of baseball at a neighborhood diamond.  No leagues.  No adult supervision.  Ride our bikes to the A & W and get a quart of root beer in a cone shaped container.

Countless hours in a local creek, catching minnows or just tossing rocks into the water. 

Trying to catch a cool breeze in front of our one window air conditioner.  Better yet, go downtown to the movie theater.....cool comfort. 

Not even thinking about school until the end of August.

Driving to the state fair in Des Moines where we saw Andy Williams and the Osmond brothers.....Donny was about 7.

Sleeping on the front porch.  Campouts in the backyard in a tent made of an old blanket strung over a clothes line.  ( For the youngsters, that's how you used to dry clothes)

The gigantic 3-seater outhouse at Boy Scout camp. 

I saw this somewhere before but ran across it again.

A POEM "The Clothesline"
A clothesline was a news forecast
To neighbors passing by.
There were no secrets you could keep
When clothes were hung to dry.
It also was a friendly link
For neighbors always knew
If company had stopped on by
To spend a night or two.
For then you'd see the "fancy sheets"
And towels upon the line;
You'd see the "company table cloths"
With intricate designs.
The line announced a baby's birth
From folks who lived inside -
As brand new infant clothes were hung,
So carefully with pride!
The ages of the children could
So readily be known
By watching how the sizes changed,
You'd know how much they'd grown!
It also told when illness struck,
As extra sheets were hung;
Then nightclothes, and a bathrobe, too,
Haphazardly were strung.
It also said, "Gone on vacation now"
When lines hung limp and bare.
It told, "We're back!" when full lines sagged
With not an inch to spare!
New folks in town were scorned upon
If wash was dingy and gray,
As neighbors carefully raised their brows,
And looked the other way ... . .
But clotheslines now are of the past,
For dryers make work much less.
Now what goes on inside a home
Is anybody's guess!
I really miss that way of life.
It was a friendly sign
When neighbors knew each other best
By what hung on the line!

 gta1....My grandparents lived in a two room log cabin made out of walnut trees.  There was a power line that ran one radio.  Kerosene lamps were used to provide light.  There was no running water.  Instead, grandpa eventually enclosed a well outside that made it a part of the cabin.  Now all they had to do was pump the water.  Before that, the only water came from a spring and was carried in a bucket from the spring located down by the railroad tracks. 

There was an outhouse and chicken coups.  A rope swing hung from a black walnut tree.  There was a long stairway coming down the hill to the cabin made out of split logs for the steps complemented by a wooden railing. 

There was a root cellar built inside next to the cabin.  There were blackberry, raspberry and gooseberry bushes all around.   My cousins and I would ride our bikes from town to visit.   When we stayed overnight we slept on a feather bed which brings back fond memories to me.  Grandma would always make fresh bread for us or a pie from the berries which were readily available.  I can still here the whistle of the train passing by below on the side of the hill.  The quiet of the night was something else to appreciate.

We roamed the hills and explored everything around and just had a good time being kids in the early fifties.  My grandparents had to leave the country because of their health and moved into the city.  Life was never the same for them or for us grand kids.  Eventually, the homestead was sold and sometime later, the cabin mysteriously burned down.  That cabin was built by my grandparents and a way of life was lost forever.  I still grieve over that loss.