Diane Stringam Tolley's Blog: On the Border, page 6

Teeth-ing Problems

Mort pointed. “Who’s that guy in front?” He pulled the bookcloser. “There’s something funny about his face.” He looked at Sally. “He lookslike he lost his teeth somewhere.”I turned toward the couch where Mort and Sally were sitting,thumbing through a yearbook.Sally was wearing a little grin.She looked at me and I smiled.“It’s a…rather long story,” Sally said, finally.Mort raised his eyebrows. “I like long stories.”Sally looked at me expectantly.I rolled my eyes and, clutching Peter’s hand a littletighter, said, “Promise you won’t think badly of me?”He just laughed.For the record, that isn’t a response.Ahem…“Sally and I were nearing the end of school,” I began. “Grade twelve. We’d made it. The top of the heap.The kings and queens of the school. And the town.”Sally laughed. “Speak for yourself. I’ve always beenroyalty!”She wasn’t wrong.“Anyways, there was this teacher, Mr. S. And he was thenastiest, meanest man there ever was.” I made a face. “Oh, he was nice to the ‘A’students—including Sally and me, fortunately. But he would pick a struggling studentevery year to drive out of school.”Peter shifted in his chair. “Seriously?”I nodded. “Yup. He had a reputation. We’d heard about it,but only got to see it first-hand when we finally reached the upper echelons.”Sally snorted and rolled her eyes. “Upper echelons!”“You know what I mean. Anyways, there was this one guy,Randy. He was struggling. Wasn’t happy about schoolin the first place. Struggling with family connections at home. Just kinda—lost.The sort of guy who needs a bit of honest encouragement and a teaspoon or twoof basic human kindness.”Peter tightened his grip on my hand and I gave him a briefsmile.“He was the one Mr. S had singled out that year. Used towatch for him to come into the school and make a beeline for him and startharanguing him. ‘What are you doing here? You’re wasting your time and ours!You should quit and just go find a job!’ That sort of thing. It was prettyawful.”Sally’s smile returned. She sat and twisted one earring.Peter frowned at her. “Smiling, Sally-girl?”Her smile widened, but she said nothing.“Sally’s jumping ahead to the rest of the story,” I said. Ismiled, too. “It was pretty sweet.”“Well, you’d better get to it, because I’m wanting tostrangle that Mr. S with my bare hands about now,” Dad said.I turned to see him coming down the stairs toward us.I raised my eyebrows. I’d like to have sent this formermarine after Mr. Nasty just to watch the inevitable outcome. I cleared mythroat.“Anyways, Mr. S finally succeeded. Randy stopped coming to school.” I rubbed my forehead. “A real feather in his cap, don’t you think?”“Better be getting to this ‘good part’ or I’m going to go hunting this ‘Mr. S’.”I smiled at Dad, once again grateful for him in our lives. “Well, Sally and I had an appointment with the schoolcounselor. Something all the kids had to do. Something about ‘planning-their-futures-now-that-they-were-on-the-cusp-of-growing-up’.”I shrugged. “Real important stuff.”Dad crooked an eyebrow and gave me a look. “It is.”I laughed and held up my hands in surrender. “Okay! Okay! Whilewe were walking to the counselor’s office, we had to walk past Mr. S’s. And,through the partially open door, we saw him taking out some false teeth! I mean, who knew he even had them?”‘You stole them?” Mort asked, pointing to the picture.“Patience, my son.” I grinned. “It was a few weeks later andwe were at the big closing school party and corn bust. You know, where everyoneeats too much and regrets it for about six hours?”“Speak for yourself,” Sally said.I laughed. “And they were calling everyone together for thebig picture.” I pointed to the book on Mort’s lap. “Mr. S started toward hiscar and Sally and I knew instantly what he was going to do.”“Clean the corn out of those biters?” Peter asked.“Yup.” I looked at Sally. “We followed him.”“But…how did you get them?” Mort asked.“Actually, it was quite easy. We snagged Angela—Mr. S’sspecial pet—to come with us to get him for the picture. She was only too happyto oblige.” I smiled in remembrance. “Actually, it worked out perfectly! Whenwe arrived, he had just removed his teeth. Angela went up to him and he shovedthem out of site on the passenger side of the car and turned to talk to herwith one hand over his mouth. Then I quietly opened the passenger door and Sallyreached in and grabbed them. We rolled under the next couple of cars, then,when we were far enough away, stood up and made our escape.”“Where did you put his teeth?”“Tossed them into the creek on our way back to the picnicsite.” I grinned. “We were sitting with everyone else by the time Angelareturned saying that Mr. S was having problems. The principal finally went andgot him.”“The funniest thing was that he always insisted on being inthe front row of the pictures. This time, he tried to go to the back, but theprincipal wouldn’t let him. So there he was, toothless for all the world tosee!”Sally looked down at the picture. “Quite satisfying.”“He never caught you?”“Nope. He left the party right after the pictures and wasn’tin school for the next week. He must have found somewhere to get some newdentures made in a hurry because when he finally returned, he was sporting someshiny new ones.”Dad chuckled. “Sometimes a little payback feels so good.”“It didn’t really help Randy. But, you’re right. It feltgood.”Peter laughed. “Sooo…the moral is: don’t anger either of theHart sisters.”I pinned him with a gaze. “Orif you do, hang onto your teeth!” 
Use Your Words is a writing challenge!Each month, I exchange words with my friend and intrepid leader, Karen of Baking in a Tornado Neither of us knows what the other will do with her words.This month, Karen gave me: pin ~ school ~ town ~ earring ~ teethThank you, my friend!Now go see what Karen did with my words!BakingIn ATornado

Fishing for Cars

Guest Post from Little Brother, Blair!
 

We had just finished the Christmasseason and, not to my liking, I had returned to high school and my normalroutine: Drag myself out of bed early, milk the cow and feed the young bullsand heifers, go to school, return home, feed the young bulls and heifers, milkthe cow, eat mom’s wonderful meals, go tinker/build something in the shop, goto bed. Repeat.

I admit, the routine got a littleboring so if it was broken up some, I was happy for the change. 

One Saturday night, I had just slippedinto dreamland when I was suddenly rousted out of my sleep by a banging on thedoor.

I dragged myself out of bed,wondering why dad hadn’t appeared. I guess he was hoping I could take care of itand he wouldn’t have to.

There at the door were three peoplewho had been to a cabin several miles down the road in the forest reserve area.

Apparently, they had been at a partyat said cabin.

Apparently, they had had a goodtime at the party.

Apparently, that good time hadimpaired the driver’s ability and she drove off the road into a ditch full ofsnow.

Apparently, the driver had a very good time at the party.

Now this trio needed their carpulled out of the ditch.

I grabbed some chains, fired up thetruck and drove about a mile down the road to where they had taken theirunscheduled detour.

It was a beautiful clear winternight.

There was a nice layer of snow inthe fields and the moon was bright, which made it possible to see a longdistance.

Just a day prior to this encounterwith our partying visitors, there was a stiff wind that had cleared the roadsand placed all of the snow in the ditches.

Subsequently, the roads had no icepatches on them.

When we arrived at the ‘slightlydiverted’ vehicle, I could see from the tracks that the driver had taken a verygradual path off the road, positioning her VW bug on about 2 feet of packedsnow.

This gradual path was on a straightstretch of road and I was tempted to ask, “Were you so involved with singing 99bottles of beer on the wall that you didn’t realize you were gradually drivinginto the ditch?” 

I looked at the car for anappropriate place to attach a chain. There were two ‘pipe’ type brackets that hadonce held a back bumper but nowhere to easily connect a chain.

I wrapped the chain around thebracket that held the front bumper, then hooked it to the truck and started topull.

Watching through the rear viewmirror, I saw the chain pull the bracket off the front and lay it and bumper onthe snow.

The bumper still hung precariouslyfrom the bracket on the other side, but the part I had hooked to was toast. 

I needed to figure out a different solution.

I looked at the bracket and notedthat it could be fixed by a good welder, but that wouldn’t help these people continuetheir journey now. And I didn’t think they would have enjoyed camping in thebarn for the night.

I remembered that I had a largebundle of used bale twine in the back of the truck, a collection from all thehay I had fed the cows that day. I used it to tie the bumper to what was leftof the front post.

Then, praying it would hold, Iwrapped the chain around the pipe bracket in the back of the VW.

I guess my prayers were answeredbecause the car pulled out with little trouble.

The driver was very happy and toldme to stop by the A&W in Lethbridge where she worked and she would give mea Teen Burger Platter (my favorite).

But I guessed that when she soberedup, she would be extremely mad about me breaking her bumper. (I avoided A&Wfor a few months despite my love for Teen burgers. I didn’t want to get yelledat.)

All three partyers piled in the carand headed to Lethbridge.

I prayed they had sobered up enoughnot to get into an accident.

There was nothing in the papers soI guess they made their destination.

No news is good news!

That House

You see misfortune. We saw 'scaaaary'!There was a haunted house in Milk River.Haunted.Really.Demons lived there.Witches.Hags.You name it. If it was slimy and scary, it had a residence in that house.We children in the town skipped past on the far side of the street.Even in broad daylight.With our ears plugged and talking volubly, so as to drown out any and all noises that might escape that house.Even so, I'm sure that, on two occasions, I heard screams.And no, they didn't come from me.Sheesh.At one time, Milk River's haunted house had been just another normal, ordinary, rather elderly little home.Situated about half-way down the block.A family had lived there.Mother. Father. Children.But that was where the 'normal' part ended. At least that is what my friends had informed me.One night, the mother had asked her little boy to go down into the cellar to look for the family cat.It was dark in the cellar. He had lighted a match to see more clearly.And dropped it into a vat of kerosene.What that was and why a vat of it would be sitting in someone's basement, I didn't know, but it sounded dangerous.Suffice it to say that my facts really didn't hold well under scrutiny.But I was four.Who was scrutinizing?I was too busy shivering in delight.Moving on . . .So the little boy dropped his match into the vat of kerosene.It lit up like a huge torch.The kerosene, that is.He and his family barely got out alive.No one knows what happened to the cat.The family then disappeared.Never to be heard from again.Ooooooooo!Actually, none of us really knew what happened to start the fire.It was just one of those terribly unfortunate things.The family moved away, maybe to a family member's house to regroup.But reality wasn't as interesting to us kids as the stories we made up.Once, a group of us actually sneaked into the house and got as far as the kitchen.Standing in the center of the room was a partially-charred table, still covered with an equally-burned oilcloth and decorated with a bowl of blackened fruit.We were horrified.And ran from the house screaming.I know, I know, intrepid explorers we weren't.The house was eventually demolished.Mainly to keep us kids from scrambling through it like some sort of ride in a carnival.But even after another house had been erected and another family moved in, it remained the haunted house.Where the family lived.Before the fire.And maybe they're there still.Making noises and screaming at odd hours.The four-year-olds in the neighbourhood would know.

In, Through and Beyond

My Sweetie and MeNewly married.What a wonderful time.A time of love. Friendship. Companionship.A time of discovering for the first time that one has a true and forever friend. Someone to be with. Always.It's magical.Then, too, it is the time to discover those frailties that we have tried so very hard to keep from our sweethearts. And finally have to admit to owning. Like...everyone has bodily functions.Get over it.My husband I had been married for a couple of weeks.He had risen early in the morning and disappeared into the bathroom.I had stayed where I was. Warm and comfy and still deliciously drowsy.Soon the door opened and my new husband emerged, but . . . not looking as he had when he went in.He had blown his nose, while attending to other necessities, and given himself a nosebleed.Easily fixed. Just stuff a Kleenex into his left nostril.Oh. And he had discovered a pimple in his right ear. Quickly disposed of. And another Kleenex inserted to blot up any discharge.Now, back to bed to snuggle with his new wife.I stared at this apparition who was approaching my bed. It looked like my husband. But it had white tissues issuing from nose and ear. Could it possibly be . . .? I braced myself up on one arm. "Is that one Kleenex?" (Hand gestures to suggest pulling something which had been run into the head through the ear and now protruded from the nostril.)"Harrumph!""Was that a 'harrumph'?"With a glare, he jerked the Kleenex out of his ear, spun around and headed back into the bathroom.And firmly closed the door.He never answered my question . . .

A Game of Memory

Cheating a bit. Here’s a poem from a couple of years ago!
Her man and she were getting on in years, I’m forced to say,

The two of them were speaking with a friend the other day,

Explained to him that they had problems with their memory,

And he said writing notes would help the wife and her Husby.

They decided they would try it out, and write things faithfully,

Improve communication ‘tween him and his Honeybee.

I’m here to say the trial could be labeled a success,

For though they spurned their friend’s advice, they were happy, nonetheless.

When sitting watching ‘telly’ Husby got up for ice cream,

Politely asked his wife if she would like to share the dream,

She said, “I’d like a bowlful, Dear. But you should write it down.”

He shook his head, “No I’ll remember. What am I, a clown?”

She shrugged and said she wanted toppings on her frozen treat.

Some whipped cream and a cherry, both, would make her bliss complete.

“And please, my dear,” she said again. “You’ve simply got to write.”

He said, “I think that I’m detecting just a note . . . of spite.”

And off he went, quite message-less, into the kitchen there.

And she heard fridge and cupboard doors as something was prepared.

When he’d spent some time, she thought, an inordinate amount,

At last returned. She looked at him. “What have you been about?”

He handed her a plate containing ham and scrambled eggs.

She stared at it, then up at him, and calmly crossed her legs.

And reaching for the plate, she said, “Your mind’s a sieve, at most!”

“And, my dear, you’re getting old, ‘cause you forgot the toast!”
Photo Credit: Karen of bakinginatornado.comCause Mondays do get knocked a lot,
With poetry, we all besought
To try to make the week begin
With gentle thoughts,
Perhaps a grin?
So  Karen , Charlotte, Mimi, me
Have crafted poems for you to see.
And now you’ve read what we have wrought…
Did we help?
Or did we not?

Next week will be fun, I knowWith Cheeseburgers, we’ll have a show!




Thinking of joining us for Poetry Monday?We'd love to welcome you!
Topics for the next few weeks (with a huge thank-you to Mimi, who comes up with so many of them!)Remembering (September 11) Today!Cheeseburgers (September 18)Dreams (September 25)Birthdays (October 2)Family (October 9)Dictionary (October 16)Talk Shows (October 23)Mischief (October 30)Watermelon (November 6)Grandma's Kitchen (November 13)The Bus (November 20)A Pet's Life (November 27)

My BBB’s and Me

 It’s my turn again! When I get to host my amazing Blog Sisters in the Best of Boomer Bloggers!
First up is Carol Cassara of Carol A. Casara, Writer: "But,wait!" Have you ever felt misunderstood? the need to explain yourself?Carol Cassara offers advice on her blog in "Let Them Be Wrong AboutYou." 

Next is Laurie of  Laurie Stone Writes: Recently, Laurie’s husband Randy and she were sleeping soundly in the wee hours when their terrier, Libby, started barking. Only this wasn’t the dog’s usual “hearing a raccoon meandering outside” half-hearted growl. This was a full-throated, loud, angry protest. Libby leapt off the bed and stood by their front window, yapping in a maddened frenzy. Nervous at what she’d find, Laurie crept over, and peeked out.
And Jennifer of Unfold and Begin: Heard aboutaffirmations but you're not sure how to use them or if they even work?  Jennifer,of Unfold and Begin, shares results from a recent study on affirmations andwrites about how embracingaffirmations can shape your mindset.

Then Rebecca Olkowski of BabyBoomster:

Are you ready to start bouncing on a trampoline? Rebecca Olkowski interviewed a man who is an expert in this, and he is over 60. Find out the benefits of using trampolines and how they can help you stay healthy over 50.
Followed by Meryl Baer of Musings of a Shore Life: 
Meryl Baer of Musings of a Shore Life managed to avoid getting Covid 19 - until now. Vaccinated and careful until now, she succumbed to the illness and tells us how she coped in this week’s post - Summer Sticks Around and Covid Comes.
And Rita of Rita R. Robison Consumer and Personal Finance Journalist: California’s expected adoption of a law banning 26 chemicals used in U.S. cosmetics is areminder that, as consumers, we need to be aware of what’s in the cosmetics weuse, says Rita R. Robison, consumer and personal finance journalist. Take alook at her article on California’s action and check for toxin in the cosmeticsyou use at the Environmental Working Group’s https://www.ewg.org/skindeep/.
Then ME! Diane of On the Border: During the summer of 1968, Diane's parents moved their family into the newly-constructed quonset in anticipation of a future move into their not-yet-completed home on the ranch. It was a summer of adventure for the kids. For Mom? Adventures of a different sort as told in her journals...
And that's a wrap!I hope you enjoyed these posts from my amazing friends as much as I did!Thank you for reading!

That Quonset Summer: Final Chapter

Settled. Finally.Continuing Mom’s Stories...
In the summer of 1968, my parents sold our home ranch out on the south fork of the Milk River, and bought another place nearer to town.There were myriad challenges.But the most important was that it was bare land.Absolutely everything needed to be built.Construction was immediately started on a new home, and at the same time, on several barns, corrals and outbuildings.The ranch buildings arose much more quickly than the house.And that left us in a further dilemma.Where to live.The people who had purchased the ranch were justifiably anxious to take possession and our new house was far from completion.My parents decided to move us into the newly-completed, steel-ribbed quonset.It was an adventure.And it's told here by my mother, Enes, from her journals.(If you missed part one, you can find it here. Part two. Part three. Part four. Part five. Part six. Part seven.)As the summer progressed, new items were hauled into the quonset from the old ranch.

Our summer home began to look more and more like the back yard of a junk dealer.

Soon there was only a foot path past the 'clinic' to the 'living area'.

We had to do more and higher leaping over this and that to find items that we wanted. Happily, we finally became so efficient at finding things we almost knew which box contained what.

It was like watching a movie to see all the different expressions of our clients as we met them at the door.

I often wonder what went though their minds as they drove up to the quonset and faced that huge sliding door with the shingle hooked to the latch which said: Dr. Mark Stringam. Veterinary Office.

They always knocked and waited. So if they felt a little over-whelmed, they at least had a little more time to assemble their mixed feelings and shattered thoughts.

Still, a quick survey never failed to bring a look of shocked amazement and it usually took a few seconds to pull themselves together.

"Everything is sure handy, isn't it?"

"Imagine! Everything you own right here!"

"Sure is cozy in here!"

We had set up our clinic in a corner of the quonset next to the double doors.

And right next to our 'living room'.

Our examining table was three boards on two saw horses.

Clients brought their animals to be examined and we dispensed drugs right there.

One day, we had just managed to straighten the bed covers when we heard a car drive up.

A friend knocked, and then brought in his dog for a distemper shot.

Before we could guess the animal's intentions, he had made a bee-line for the corner of our couch, lifted a leg, and sprayed all over it.

Our friend was so horrified, he apologized for his dog every time he saw us for months afterward.

But all good things must come to an end.

An early snow storm was predicted.

The quonset was chilly in the 'warmer' summer months. What would it be like with the world around it encased in ice?

Sub zero.

And that would just be a start.

There was only one solution. We had to move into our unfinished house.

Throughout the day, with the clouds piling up on the horizon and looking more and more threatening, I carried loads of household goods from the quonset to the car and then drove them across to the house.

It was hard, tiring work, but one look at the horizon would always serve to steel my muscles and lengthen my stride.

By evening, we had a cozy set up in the basement, with a tidy fire crackling in the new fireplace and stuff sitting or hanging everywhere.

We could hardly move.

But at least we were warm!

The promised storm swept over us, howling in frustration as it flew past the windows and chimney, trying to find a crack.

But the house was solidly built and we stayed warm and comfortable inside imagining what life would be like back in the quonset on this night.

For the children, this was just another phase of the adventure.

For me, it was a glimmer of hope that one day, soon, I would again have running water and flush toilets.

And a bath tub!

Sheer luxury!

That Quonset Summer: Part Seven

The only existing picture of Mom's 'kitchen' in the quonset.
Behind her are The Shelves.
Oh, and that’s youngest brother Blair...on the chair.Continuing Mom’s Stories...
In the summer of 1968, my parents sold our home ranch out on the south fork of the Milk River, and bought another place nearer to town.There were myriad challenges.But the most important was that it was bare land.Absolutely everything needed to be built.Construction was immediately started on a new home, and at the same time, on several barns, corrals and outbuildings.The ranch buildings arose much more quickly than the house.And that left us in a further dilemma.Where to live.The people who had purchased the ranch were justifiably anxious to take possession and our new house was far from completion.My parents decided to move us into the newly-completed, steel-ribbed quonset.It was an adventure.And it's told here by my mother, Enes, from her journals.(If you missed part one, you can find it here. Part two. Part three. Part four. Part five. Part six.)
VeterinarianWork...
Our popping bolt friends announced the rising of the sun and we found we didn't need any other alarm, though, in fact, we weren't just exactly ecstatic about rising at 4 A.M.!Sleep became impossible as flocks of birds began their daily effort of trying to gain a foot hold on the slippery dome of the shed.They chirped excitedly as they scratched and slid.We could see the shapes of their fluffy little bodies and wings as they lit on the sky light.They were having such great fun sliding and flying.We snuggled down in our warm beds watching and listening.Soon, our bull chorus greeted the day with their lusty song. Where is everybody this fine day! Where is my breakfast, my grain and my hay?We quickly shivered into our clothes and rushed through breakfast.I filled my canning kettle with cold water and set it on the stove to heat while we ate.I was always anxious to finish dishes and straighten our 'apartment' before a veterinary client came.On this particular morning a Matt Clemens was bringing his cat for a rabies shot.He brought him in a sack.Mark laid the sack on the clinic table (three boards over two saw horses), put on some leather gloves, and began rolling the top of the sack down to the wild cat in one corner.Two beady eyes gleamed from the depths of the sack.Before the cat could spring, Mark clamped one hand on the neck and head, and the other hand on his back through the sack.He extracted the cat and held him out flat on the table.Then it was my turn to hold the creature.I had done this many times but my courage had not improved with the practice.In each hand, I clamped two legs just above the claws and wedged my wrist on the neck of the cat, forcing the jaw over and the vicious teeth away from me.He flexed every muscle as he strained to be free making a desperate attempt to turn his head and slide it out from under my arm. His head was small and he could turn it almost completely around.Like an owl.His sharp teeth were just grazing my wrist.Just as the needle penetrated into the muscle of his hip, I moved my arm a little to try to get a more secure clamp on the cat's jaw.The movement released the animal just enough for him to twist his head a fraction more and he clamped his teeth into my wrist.“He's got me!” I whispered, transfixed as numbness crept through all of my muscles.Very slowly, Mark said, “Let . . . him . . . go . . . both . . . hands . . . at . . . once . . . quickly!”I couldn't move!The cat couldn't move!There was no pain.“Let . . . him . . . go . . . now!”I suddenly came to life and obeyed.The cat, too, came to life. Extracted his teeth and shot like a bullet off the table and across the floor and up to the highest far away place.Which happened to be the steel shelves where I had all of my dishes and kitchen supplies.There he sat, with every muscle tensed for a spring, looking down on us with all the venom of a rattle snake.Our 8-year-old, Blair, had been watching all the proceedings with much interest.He suddenly grabbed the sack and said, “I'll get him Dad!”For a moment, we were so astonished we couldn't move.The he advanced towards the cat.I climbed a ladder at one end and Blair climbed the table at the other end and held the sack open near the cat's head.The creature turned its head and looked at me and leaped right into the sack!Well.I thought I had a face that would stop a clock, but I didn't know it would scare a wild cat!At that moment, my arm began to give me the most excruciating pain.Feeling faint, I lay down for a moment while Doc called the M.D.He advised us to get a tetanus shot immediately, which we did.Three or four hours later, my arm was aching from my finger tips to my shoulder and the swelling was beginning to move into the upper arm.As night came on I became increasingly nauseated and dizzy.I can't remember too much about the next three days except the pain and dizziness.I spent most of the time in bed.However all 'good things' must come to an end.At the end of the third day, I was out pulling weeds in the lane of new trees we had planted in May.

That Quonset Summer: Part Six

Quonset and nearly completed house.
There's a garden in that yard somewhere!Continuing Mom’s Stories...
In the summer of 1968, my parents sold our home ranch out on the south fork of the Milk River, and bought another place nearer to town.There were myriad challenges.But the most important was that it was bare land.Absolutely everything needed to be built.Construction was immediately started on a new home, and at the same time, on several barns, corrals and outbuildings.The ranch buildings arose much more quickly than the house.And that left us in a further dilemma.Where to live.The people who had purchased the ranch were justifiably anxious to take possession and our new house was far from completion.My parents decided to move us into the newly-completed, steel-ribbed quonset.It was an adventure.And it's told here by my mother, Enes, from her journals.(If you missed part one, you can find it here. Part two. Part three. Part four. Part five.)
I thought I would have so much time for various projects as the lazy summer stretched out before me, but as the days lengthened, so did our stride!

There was no grass to cut or watering got do, but there was a garden to hoe and we discovered we had planted it in the original garden of Adam and Eve. The one they had when Heavenly Father punished them for being disobedient by sending them weeds so they could 'work by the sweat of their brows all the days of their lives'.

I decided that Adam hadn't tended his garden very well because there were a great many prolific varieties there that had undoubtedly sprouted from seeds of plants he had not pulled.

I crawled on my hands and knees trying to sort out my tender green vegetables from all the other abundant growth.

And then there was the rain.

It seemed like every time I thought I had a few minutes for my garden, it would rain.

All summer we alternated between a cold drizzle or a down pour. (The word COLD became part of us like our arms and legs. We had cold noses, cold toes, cold fingers, cold ears, cold tongues. Our whole internal tract must have been COLD.)

Rain sounded like several million marbles on the ribs of the quonset.

The first time I heard it, I thought it was hail. I ran anxiously to the door and discovered that it was only a light rain falling softly on the pasture grass.

When it became a downpour, the sound really rattled your brain.

One evening, we had just settled into our beds for the night when we heard the sound of thunder in the distance.

Would it come this way or would it pass?

Faint flashes of lightning lit the sky light and seconds passed before we heard the thunder.

I began to count the time between the flash and the crash. When the flash and crash came close together, I hid under the covers.

Unfortunately, it didn't shut out the sound.

We had given our children some instruction on what to do if there was lightening - stay away from fences or puddles or trees.

Just lately, we had added 'don't touch the side of the quonset'.

So when there was lightening, even in mild form, our children would pull their beds away from the walls.

We must have spread the alarm very impressively because they moved their beds about 16 feet from the wall!

This storm moving in on us sounded like a particularly violent one.

We could hear a roaring sound with the approaching rain.

When the pellets hit the shed, we knew it must be hail.

We covered our ears trying to cut out the awful sound.

It was like being inside a barrel with a million hammers pounding on its side.

Just when we thought we would surely go mad, the storm quit and we found the quiet almost as hard to adjust to as the noise.

This was our first experience with a hail strike in the middle of the night.

We felt we had been punished in a strange way and we fell into a restless sleep as the moon again lit the skylight.

That Quonset Summer: Part Five

Continuing Mom’s Stories...
In the summer of 1968, my parents sold our home ranch out on the south fork of the Milk River, and bought another place nearer to town.There were myriad challenges.But the most important was that it was bare land.Absolutely everything needed to be built.Construction was immediately started on a new home, and at the same time, on several barns, corrals and outbuildings.The ranch buildings arose much more quickly than the house.And that left us in a further dilemma.Where to live.The people who had purchased the ranch were justifiably anxious to take possession and our new house was far from completion.My parents decided to move us into the newly-completed, steel-ribbed quonset.It was an adventure.And it's told here by my mother, Enes, from her journals.(If you missed part one, you can find it here. Part two. Part three. Part four.)
Keeping Clean
There were problems with the clothes washing and the baths, but somehow, everything seemed to work out.

We 'borrowed' the bathroom of a friend.

Mom's 'home away from home'.But the twice weekly trip to the Laundromat was an experience in itself.

I never knew there were so many interesting and unusual people in the world.

They must all frequent Laundromats.

I was constantly amused, entertained or shocked.

Laundromats seem to have a way of revealing and exposing personalities.

For instance - some people are very careful with their washing. The clothes are sorted in batches as to colour and material. White with white, dark with dark, nylon fabrics and socks and overalls separate. Warm water for most fabrics and especially wash-and-wear materials. The shirts and towels were washed separately and the white shirts and under clothing usually went about half through the cycle before the synthetic materials were added and so on.

Very particular.

Then there was the careless type who threw all the clothing into the washers in reckless abandon. Lumps and tangles with no thought of colour or material. The water temperature was set on hot and the sheets and dainty under things sloshed around with the overalls and socks. This type usually reclined in a corner with a package of cigarettes, a bottle of coke and a tabloid magazine.

There was obviously no communication with the bread-winner or 'clothing provider' in that household. It must have been a monumental task to provide enough money to replace all the 'shrunk up' socks, 'shredded' underwear. And TV dinners.

The Laundromat was also frequented by frustrated young fathers with baskets of dirty diapers. The rude awakening from the romantic courtship and few short months of happy wedded bliss had left its anxious furrow forever etched on their foreheads. The diapers were dumped (lumps and all) into the washers and the wastes gradually wore away in the water. If they hadn't dissolved, they were left in the washer or caught in the dryer or dried on the diaper to be peeled off at home, before the baby wore it again.

I had a pleasant conversational exchange with many men and women, young, old, or medium.

Many revealed all their family secrets which was often embarrassing. I couldn't help but think that it would be convenient, sometimes, to have a little switch that would cut off anything you didn't want to hear!

One old retired gentleman would come in with his small bundle of smelly laundry and the only family he had in the whole world, a skinny red Irish setter. He would dispose of his varied assortment of clothing into the washer and then he would settle himself on a bench and look about hopefully for a willing ear. Having found one, he would unwind and unload all his experiences of the last 75 years. 

Many times, I provided the 'ear' for him and often wished I had more time to listen to him. He always talked me right out the door and I always felt as if I had very rudely left in the middle of the conversation. All the way home and most of the day I would chastise myself for not giving up a little more time for the sake of the poor, lonely old man,

Several times I invited him to come out and visit but he never came.

One day, I happened in as a young mother was taking her clothing out of the drier. She had thrown her husband's wash-and-wear trousers into the washer and set the dial on 'hot'. You never saw such a wrinkled up mess in you life. 

She was almost in tears. "What can I do?" she whispered.

I tried to console her. "Maybe if you washed them again in warm water, the wrinkles may come out."

They never did and her husband must have been furious with her.