Page 64 - People & Places In Time

Growing Up In Exeter
Because my grandparents’ home included just two bedrooms; as their two daughters became young women, sharing a room with their brother wasn’t pos- sible. So, my dad’s room became the back porch, a cur- tain hung for privacy. This is when casement windows were installed, placed side by side they extended across the back and part way along the short north wall. The walls were finished to complete a bright, cheery space, enhanced by the pale yellow and turquoise paint. A door from the porch opened to steps extending down to a brick patio covered by the canopy of a large Mul- berry tree. Another door opened into the kitchen and one to the small and only bathroom for the home. This tiny bathroom in the middle of the house was shared by my grandparents and three teenagers.
Years later when my sister Carol and I were left to spend a night with grandpa and grandma we slept
in twin beds crafted by my grandad, the same beds my aunts shared when it was their bedroom. Delicate, floral patterned wallpaper covered the walls. Lace curtains framed the Venetian blinds that in turn covered the large double hung windows behind the headboards. In Sum- mertime the breeze gently flowed over the blinds while we slept as peaceful and secure as any child could ever have or want. This bedroom was quite large and served as my grandmothers sewing room as well. The chair
she used at the sewing machine sits in a closet in my bedroom today; there’s a distinctive creek each time I sit down, it’s the same sound I heard when my grandmoth- er was working at her sewing machine in the far corner of this room that I remember so clearly.
Later as I grew older, I was allowed to sleep
on the back porch as well. Dads bed was replaced at some point with a convertible sofa that folded down to become a bed. Sharing this space as well was a small white painted desk and matching end table; once again beautifully crafted by my grandfather. A free-standing closet stood in one corner, completing the room. Two wood shelves extended down a portion of the back wall in front of the windows. The shelves displayed a variety of clay pots holding her collection of plants, and from time to time a small cage used to rehabilitate injured birds. My grandmother with her plants, her compassion
for all animals and canned fruit in the cellar, was in my estimation the essential “Earth Mother”.
Until my grandmother left her home, (living
there from 1912 to 1984; grandad had come in 1909 to
find a house before bringing his family) and for as long as
I can remember, I would find time to sit in this porch come bedroom, on the sofa, with a large Navaho blanket brought from Arizona draped over it. I read the magazines (Arizona Highways and Country Gentle- man) stacked on the end table or I would lay down to dream of the world beyond Exeter. On nice spring days, even the warmest of summer days, I could crank open the windows to enjoy the breeze as it filtered over and through the venetian blinds. The quiet peace I experi- enced in this porch room, the contentment I felt, will never be experienced in the world I live in today. The den I’ve created in the home where I am living today is the direct result of the time spent on my grandparent’s porch.
My grandmothers’ yard was filled with flowers through all the seasons. Entering the driveway from the street, a tall Deodar Cedar towered above everything, even the large Mulberry trees in the front yard. Just past the cedar began the rock and cactus garden. Rocks, large and small were collected and arranged describing a miniature mountain range. Interspersed among the rocks were cactus collected from desert trips in Cali- fornia and Arizona. Next came the rose garden, not so organized, simply a collection of many rose bushes of different shapes and colors. Down the driveway passed the roses was a peach tree that Grandad had grafted
to produce a varied assortment of peaches ripening
all summer long. Now, the drive widens just passed
the house as you’re approaching the garage and shop; on the left a large Oak tree, to the right is an extensive flower garden. Here you could see blue Iris and yellow Daffodils that began in spring, then Chrysanthemums, Zinnias and finally Marigolds. As I write this, I can see my Grandmother standing in the middle of this garden of flowers, in her apron with pruning shears in hand and cut flowers filling a bucket. The flowers continued with red and white Geraniums and Daises all around the back yard bordering the white picket fence. On
the red brick patio were many terra-cotta pots, some
of them painted and filled with a varied assortment of plants; more pots with plants could be found on the front porch. Next to the house a climbing Rose filled a trellis extending to above the roof’s eave. This is the spot where so many Easter pictures were taken; for as you can imagine, here was a yard well suited to Easter egg hunts. All along the cooler north side of the house in
the shade were ferns and Camellias. In summer I would climb and sit in the large Calimyrna fig tree found at the end of the driveway, near the alley, eating the giant figs by using my two thumbs to pull them apart. In winter
I would climb a Tangerine tree at the north side of the house to do the same, the thorns didn’t make this tree as easy to climb. There could be no better place for a boy to spend his youth, climbing trees and eating the best tasting fruit imaginable.
Our paradise merged seamlessly onto the al- ley, a thoroughfare that extended our world the length of the block, from Lewis’s upholstery and key shop on Palm to the funeral home on Pine; more recently the Smith Family Mortuary. Sandy Foster who lived with her family just across the alley from the berry patch, would marry Leamon Smith and today they own the mortuary that had been Morris Erickson’s; the man my dad often referred to as “digger”. It was here next to our alley, there was provided an unmatched source of adventure when we discovered the crates that caskets had been deliv- ered in to the mortuary. These large containers were hauled down the alley to our backyards and become forts, mazes and playhouses until once more hauled to the alley by my grandfather, this time as trash.
Halfway down one side of the back yard was the washhouse, with a square, revolving clothesline standing next to it. Both once again built by my grand- father. This white painted, board and bat shed housed, beneath sliding windows, a pair of cement and quite deep, wash tubs. Next to the tubs sat the Maytag wash- ing machine with a clothes wringer attached between it all. The washing machine was filled by a hose attached to a faucet over the wash tubs. Not to be confused with washing machines of today; this washer was a square cast iron tub on four legs with an agitator in the
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