Chapter 4: The Childs Home (unedited)

CHAPTER 4

The Childs Home

Just a few hundred feet from the meeting room sits Grandpa Manuel and Grandma Hilda’s first home.  One of Grandma's uncles built it during the 1930s.  It's still in use today although somewhat updated from its original wood and clapboard frame.  The main floor consisted of a kitchen, a couple of small rooms and no electricity.  A wood burning stove in the kitchen was mighty welcome in the winter.  Grandma used to sit at a small table mending clothes or preparing meals.  One room served as the main bedroom, complete with a second coal burning stove that Grandpa would lay up with coal at night. 

Those wood-framed homes lacked insulation and the Valley's harsh winter cold was felt deep down in your bones.  Having enough firewood meant families could stay moderately warm.  In a lot behind Uncle Arnold's house, local men would gather to cut logs for firewood.  Woodcutting was hard work and there were few options to avoid it.  It was a time when most families owned more horses than cars.  But the Valley men used their smarts to make the whole process more efficient.  A car or truck would be driven up a small wood ramp with the axles sitting on blocks.  Then, they’d remove the left rear tire and replace it with a wheel that had a smooth drum on it.  After that, a belt was attached from the wheel to a saw blade which was also attached to a long table.  The car was put into gear, and the saw blade would make the long logs small enough to be chopped for indoor use.  

They used the same lot to slaughter pigs once a year.  All the men would gather and when it was done, they divided and salted the pork for preservation before placing it in cool storage.  While necessary, Austin noted, "I suppose that the adults figured children should be protected from some things, and they would not let us watch when the animals were being butchered."  Once again, the Valley men displayed a profound concern for the inner well-being of this their children by shielding them from the horror of animal slaughters.  

The home had a side and back yard, and Grandpa planted a variety of vegetables each spring.  "I remember how he worked that little planting area before or after his shift at the mill," recalled Austin, "We couldn't afford a tractor and pretty much didn't need one.'  Most folks didn't have the money and most of the plowing was handled by hand or horses, the latter either owned or borrowed.  

Grandpa also had his main root cellar built into the side of the hill out back.  Before electricity, root cellars and cool streams kept their food from spoiling.  Insulated by the earth, food stayed cool in the summer and never froze in the winter.  They'd store all kinds of food including canned beets, corn, cheese, turnips, and onions.  Grandpa also built a small smokehouse for deer and ham, all heavily salted down to preserve it.  He even had a wood shed.  It was like a mini-farm.  Not one to drink to excess, Manuel did enjoy wine and to that end, he maintained grapevines behind the house.  A friend nearby helped to crush and ferment the grapes, creating a rose-colored wine.  And so Grandpa Manuel used to say, "Jonestown Winery has made its debut."

He also kept beehives in the side yard.  The bees knew their master, and rarely stung him.  He would, however, cover himself when extracting their honey for the bees became irate at intrusions of this sort.  He always warned Austin, “Boy, don’t go near those bees.”  With one exception, those instructions were heeded.  One summer day, Austin tried to creep up on the bees but as the buzzing grew louder and louder, he scampered for the house, only 30 feet away.  Reminded of his foolish endeavor by several bee stings, Austin never did venture out near the bees after that.

Like their parents before them, Grandpa Manuel and Grandma Hilda would live and die within the Valley of their birth.  Manuel passed away in September 1969 at the age of 79 while Hilda lived another 11 years before leaving us in 1980.  Partners in life, they remain just that in death, lying side-by-side at the Lone Star Cemetery a few miles away from their home.  It is beautifully appropriate for them to be there together.