Friday, May 18, 2007
The Wheatlake House
The other day I decided to read my saved emails and I came across this one, written to my mother by my Big Brother Jim as a response to her telling us siblings that our childhood home was scheduled to be torn down. Of course, unless you had lived there you wouldn't know what he was talking about, but there are some memories that anyone who came from a big family or lived in a big farm house can relate to and I thought it would be nice to share it here...enjoy!
"June 21, 2004
Despite the condition of the place, my memories came flooding back when we walked into the place. I remember the warmth of the place, even in the cold of winter, when we came in the back door and the smell of supper cooking on the stove. How we waited for Dad to come home so we could tell him what we had done that day and to be together for dinner. I do so miss having dinner anymore, as we are in such a rush in this day and age. I remember Sammy dog licking Dad's smelly rotten feet in the front room and the nights we sat and watched TV and ate ice cream together. The time the guy shot the house from across the room. Coming over the hill from the east and seeing the Walsh Hilton lit up like a Jew church. Cutting hay and milking cows. Building the barn and swimming in the back pond. Eating apples with the cows in the back pasture and all those many trips out exploring the neighborhood. Drinking coffee and seeing deer run across the field to the west, with everyone jumping up and running out the back door to catch a glimpse of what they were. George Geib and Georgie Barns coming over. Hiding from Frank Barnes and his family till they went away. Plowing snow for hours just to get enough room for Dad to get in the driveway. Taking care of that worthless Taffy horse for Frank B. Fighting with my brothers and sisters, goofing around in bed at night till Dad threatened us with immediate death and dismemberment if we didn't shut up and go to sleep. Ted Geib falling off of the picnic table in the garage after drinking too much brandy after snowmobiling. The memories go on and on. What are treasures for us, are nothing for others that can't remember or just plain don't care about the past.
Till I die, I will remember.
Someday, I will write these things down so my kids and grandkids can remember too.