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ON THE STREET WHERE I LIVED
by C.L. Halvorson
I spent the early years of my life
living with my parents and two sisters, Sara and Diana, in a small, wood
frame house just a few streets from where I currently live. When I pass
by that house now, I wonder how in the world all five of us ever fit in
there. The house I currently own has twice the square footage and
there’s just me, my husband and one insane cat.
The house did have two features that
made it seem huge to my sisters and me, however. First, the house was
set very close to the street which left us a huge backyard. Diana and I
ponder whether the yard was really that large or if it just seemed big
to us at the time. Considering that it held two plum trees, a large
weeping willow, an above ground swimming pool, moderate sized swing set
and an ill fated vegetable garden, complete with corn stalks, we have
come to the conclusion that it was not our imagination.
“You grew corn in a backyard vegetable
garden in the middle of a city?” you ask?
“Yes, we did,” I answer.
In the late 60s and early 70s, Mama and
Daddy became latter day hippies. They took up meditation, Mama more so
than Daddy. Our clothes suddenly had more fringe than socially
responsible and pants flared so hugely below the knee it made walking a
real challenge. They became caught up in the early organic food
movement. The city wouldn’t allow livestock, thus the birth of the
backyard vegetable garden.
To Daddy’s surprise, my sisters and I
were very interested in the progress of the garden. It might have had
something to do with the fact that Daddy hired a very handsome young
gardener, Rene, to help him till and prepare the soil. Ah, Rene. Rene
was beautiful. Tall, to us at least, with jet black hair and eyes near
the same color with a dazzling smile. He spoke in a thick French
accent. We never understood a thing he said, but we hung on his every
word.
Once Daddy realized the source of our
fascination, we were banned from the immediate area. Much to our
chagrin, though, we were re-summoned at harvest time and put to work.
Have you ever tried digging up potatoes with a serving spoon? I have.
Let me tell you, this is one task you do not wish to experience. I
still have blisters thirty-five years later. Thankfully, the garden
lasted exactly one season.
The second thing that made the house
seem large to us, was our seriously overgrown imaginations. We grew up
in a world before video games, cell phones and cable television. Very
few toys “did something.” There were dolls that said “Mama” when you
turned them over and they opened and closed their eyes. There were even
some that drank real water from a bottle and “wet” themselves. There
were key wound toys that hopped or walked across the floor or table. We
had cars that, when you repeatedly ran them across the floor to wind
them up then let them go, they shot across the room.
For the height of technology, we had the
See N’ Say. The See N’ Say is a toy with a round, hard plastic case and
a large arrow on the front. It also has twelve or so sections at which
to point the arrow. Diana’s See N’ Say was the Farmer Says version with
an animal in each section and a pull string on the side. You point the
arrow to an animal, say the cow, pull the string and it said something
to the effect of “The cow says, ‘Moo’.” Amazing!
We had the most fun in the bedroom that
all three of us shared. When Diana, the youngest, still had her crib
(Sara and I shared an old, cast iron oversized twin bed that came from
our great grandmother) it was the “pokey.” Mama and Daddy loved old
western movies so we saw more than our share of them.
I played the role of the local sheriff,
with my faithful deputy, Slim, played by Sara. Diana was a natural for
the part of One-Eyed Gert, the dastardly cattle rustler. Sara and I
rounded her up and brought her before the judge to defend herself. I,
of course, was the judge and Sara the bailiff. This was a small town
and we all had to do our part. Gert was found guilty and sentenced.
Bailiff Sara hauled her off and gave her a boost up into the pokey. Our
work here complete, Sara and I wandered out to the backyard leaving
Gert to think about what she had done.
When Diana outgrew the crib, our parents
surprised us with a bunk bed. I, being the eldest, got the top bunk.
Sara took up residence on the ground level. Diana inherited the cast
iron bed. I was thrilled with this bed! No more of Sara’s elbows in my
back. No more of her crawling over me to get to the bathroom in the
middle of the night. No more of her feet somehow ending up in my face.
Life was good.
The bunk bed also held great
possibilities to serve other purposes. A little thought and imagination
turned it into a double-decker bus, like the one we had seen in the
Beatles movie, Help! A blanket tucked under the top mattress and
allowed to drape down to enclose the bottom bunk, turned it into a
sleeping berth on the Orient Express. It also played the part of a 747,
a cottage, a cave, a tent and a whole host of other things.
It also became the reason “Delta
Dawn” is known as “The Bunk Bed Song” in our family. You
see, in addition to being many wonderful imaginary objects, the bunks
were also the perfect place to practice one’s acrobatic prowess. One
night after being sent to bed, Sara, Diana and I began a good old
fashioned sing-a-long. Mama came in several times instructing us to
knock it off and go to sleep. As you know, a good sing-a-long just
can’t be interrupted with something as mundane as sleep.
“Delta Dawn” was that evening’s featured number. Diana crept out of the cast iron
bed and climbed in the lower bunk with Sara. I, being the bravest of us
all, opted for hanging backward off the top bunk with my feet wrapped
around the ladder that allowed easier access to the upper bed.
Normally, this ladder more than safely served its purpose. But that
evening, the mechanism gave way and I came crashing to the floor, ladder
and all right there smack in the middle of the second verse.
Mama and Daddy both came rushing in
after hearing the collision. They opened the door to find me sprawled
out on my back and all three of us laughing deliriously while still
trying to continue our song.
“What happened?” bellowed Daddy while
Mama picked me up and checked for broken bones.
“We were singing ‘Delta Dawn’ and
the ladder came off,” came the giggly reply.
“You knuckleheads aren’t supposed to be
singing ‘Delta Dawn’ you’re supposed to be sleeping. Now GO TO
SLEEP!” he ordered as he stormed out.
Well, that certainly put a damper on the
evening’s activities. Sometimes, Daddy was just no fun at all. Mama
reinstalled the ladder and scooted me up, convinced that I would indeed
live through the night. She put Diana back in her bed, tucked her in
and turned to look at us with her hands on her hips.
“What am I going to do with y’all?” she
asked with a grimace.
We shrugged at her, suppressing our
re-emerging giggles. Mama told us once to more to be quiet and go to
sleep. Then she turned out the light and closed the door behind her on
her way out. We listened as her footsteps vanished down the hallway.
Then, softly, ever so softly, from the lower bunk I hear,
“Delta Dawn what’s that flower you have
on?”
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