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Chapter 4:- Youth
My parents’ house was along side the dirt road, just west of the railroad tracks. When a train went by, you could hear it rattle and chugging loudly. Often, items in the house would rattle and shake.
Our house was called “The Big House” in the valley. It had white wooden siding and a broad wrap around porch on two sides. Three of the four sides had doors. Inside was a warm and friendly kitchen where people could sit around and talk, trying to avoid the confusion and bustle at meal times. Close to meal times, people would adjourn to the more formal living room to get out of the way.
An ornate iron fence surrounded the yard with four gates so travel would not be impeded in any direction. The fence was bought by Mother with her egg money and added beauty and protection to the property. To the south was a small, noisy brook crossed on a mossy old bridge to our stone springhouse where milk and butter were kept cool.
Englishers and foreigners would stop by the house, the first they saw in the valley, and to do business with people of the community. Our family helped, as we were able to translate English to Pennsylvania Dutch. This was a rare talent in the valley as almost everyone else spoke our dialect of German. We were proud of our language and thought that anyone coming into “our” valley should speak “our” language. If they couldn’t, well….
To a small child, the iron gate in our fence and the old bridge seemed like an entrance to a new world. Often, I would sneak through the gate, across the bridge and up my great mountain. The stream was walled with flat, mossy rocks that felt cool and soft on a hot summer day. It was fun to dig my bare toes into the cool, mossy soil.
Standing on the old bridge with its worn pathway through the moss and looking down into the stream was exciting. Silvery minnows darted and swam beneath the bridge and upstream. They would stop their play momentarily and come to you if you dropped tiny breadcrumbs into the water. The bridge shook as I walked sending chills up my spine.
I thought I was unobserved, and at four, did not realize that I was always under watchful eyes all the time. Everything was new and bright. A great adventure. I found colorful newts and salamanders under the stones. The orange ones with the colorful spots were my favorites. I picked beautiful flowers, at least I thought so, that grew near the brook for Mother. She always identified them for me. She was never too busy to teach me and I tried to remember their names as best I could.
My parents’ house was along side the dirt road, just west of the railroad tracks. When a train went by, you could hear it rattle and chugging loudly. Often, items in the house would rattle and shake.
Our house was called “The Big House” in the valley. It had white wooden siding and a broad wrap around porch on two sides. Three of the four sides had doors. Inside was a warm and friendly kitchen where people could sit around and talk, trying to avoid the confusion and bustle at meal times. Close to meal times, people would adjourn to the more formal living room to get out of the way.
An ornate iron fence surrounded the yard with four gates so travel would not be impeded in any direction. The fence was bought by Mother with her egg money and added beauty and protection to the property. To the south was a small, noisy brook crossed on a mossy old bridge to our stone springhouse where milk and butter were kept cool.
Englishers and foreigners would stop by the house, the first they saw in the valley, and to do business with people of the community. Our family helped, as we were able to translate English to Pennsylvania Dutch. This was a rare talent in the valley as almost everyone else spoke our dialect of German. We were proud of our language and thought that anyone coming into “our” valley should speak “our” language. If they couldn’t, well….
To a small child, the iron gate in our fence and the old bridge seemed like an entrance to a new world. Often, I would sneak through the gate, across the bridge and up my great mountain. The stream was walled with flat, mossy rocks that felt cool and soft on a hot summer day. It was fun to dig my bare toes into the cool, mossy soil.
Standing on the old bridge with its worn pathway through the moss and looking down into the stream was exciting. Silvery minnows darted and swam beneath the bridge and upstream. They would stop their play momentarily and come to you if you dropped tiny breadcrumbs into the water. The bridge shook as I walked sending chills up my spine.
I thought I was unobserved, and at four, did not realize that I was always under watchful eyes all the time. Everything was new and bright. A great adventure. I found colorful newts and salamanders under the stones. The orange ones with the colorful spots were my favorites. I picked beautiful flowers, at least I thought so, that grew near the brook for Mother. She always identified them for me. She was never too busy to teach me and I tried to remember their names as best I could.
