I was born and raised in the City, so I'm a city-girl at heart, but I will always remember mygrandparents' weekend place we called "The Country House."
When I was small, I remember feeling like it took forever to driveout of the city, chugging along the four-lane highway crowded with carsmoving no faster than 30 miles an hour. After what was an interminabletime to a youngster, we finally reached Pacific, a truly small town,where we would take a different road.
My grandfather, or Grampy as we called him, would drive carefully up and down, up and down, up and down 
the hilly two-lane road. (To this day, I'm still sick if I must travela very crooked road.) My grandmother--Granny--in the front seat sathalf-turned to keep an eye on the 3 of us in the back seat. My brother,sister and myself always used to fight for the window seat, so we couldgaze out at the view: the green fields, the farms, barns, livestock:horses! pigs! mules! chickens! and o'course, my favorite: moo-cows!{Aww right--I wuz 3--what did I know?}
We drove along, singing our favorite nursery rhymes, singing musicfrom my grandparents' era [which is why I know the words to songs thatwere written long afore I was born], and trying to catch "Cloud Babies"when we reached the top of the hill. Never heard of "Cloud Babies?"Imaginary, invisible friends/companions, o'course. We rode excitedly,watching for our turn-off, onto a dusty one-track-down-the-middlegravel road. I don't ever remember my Grampy driving fast but when wegot to the gravel road, he drove even slower.
We rounded a corner {aye, it was a 90-degree corner}, drove slowlyon the dirt road that followed the river below. The sun just sparkledon the green water you could barely see through the leafy branches oftrees running down the steep bank all the way down to the water.Sometimes, the tree branches would brush along the side of the car andthe three of us children would try the impossible: all crowd over tothe opposite side of the car--to keep from falling in the river,naturally! The road made another 90-degree bend and there it was!
The Bridge! {Put your feet up, don't wanna get 'em wet!} It wasan old iron span, floored with thick wooden planks that clicked andclacked as the car tires rolled over the joints. It creaked and groanedas we inched our way across it. I nearly held my breath until the carfinally eased its way down the ramp and off onto the valley side, downthe incline, weeeee...look, more moo-cows! mooo...
Then we finally reached Catawissa, a teeny village of just a fewhouses, the farm store, and the church on the hill leading out of towninto the wider countryside. This leg of the trip was shorter and itwasn't long before we turned into a private road that led past theKolbers' farm house (Wave at Daisy!) around a hillock, down a slopinglane.
The Kolbers' farm stretched along the road on one side, but on theother were several small cottages (mostly, one main room, a minisculebathroom and a tiny bedroom). Just beyond the cottages' back doors laythe cliff overlooking the river. (Stay away from the edge!!)
Here we are! Grampy climbed out of the car, unlocked the metalgate, and swung it back out of the way so he could drive the car up thesmall bank to the flat parking area under the cedar trees.
We all jumped out and ran around yelling at the top of our lungs.Free! Free! First one to catch a lizard wins! We scrambled over to therock terrace cut and fitted into the slope of the hill to form agradually declining curve. Part of the rock wall created a steep stepor a bench with a back to lean against, depending on your view.
We hunted lizards that used to sun themselves on the warm rock--andcaught them, sometimes! Chased butterflies and moths across the lawnall the way down to the terraced garden. Walked through the garden tosee if any tomatoes were ripe, is that a cucumber I see?, thumped thewatermelon to check it, picked a few patty-pan squashes to fry, lookedat the corn...and just breathed in the fresh air!
The Country House itself was actually constructed of 2 World War IIsurplus Quonset huts my grandfather purchased and then joined together.You opened the double screen doors and unlocked the heavy, wide door.Inside it was just one big room for cooking/eating/entertaining. Atyour right hand was a small built-in bookcase that partitioned off ansmall entryway and along the left-hand wall was a doorway, one step upto the second level of the house: the large bedroom.
Right in front of you was this enormous breakfast bar with tallmetal stools: all hand-crafted by my grandfather, a sheet-metal workerfor all his life. Don't think "sheet" as in aluminum foil or even metalthat is now used to make furnace ducts here--this was no flimsy metal.This was rigid half-inch solid polished steel bent and curved into asemi-circle. The top was fitted with a red leather padded roll to leanagainst or slouch on if you preferred and the bar surface was rock-hardwood darkened with age. On the back side of the bar was a built-instainless steel counter fitted with a sink for washing dishes/rinsingthe vegetables from the garden. (Lord, how I'd love to have that barnow! Though how I'd get it down the basement stairs would be amiracle.)
My Granny had a 1920's model stove--the kind I've only seen recentlyfor sale as a "vintage" piece--and an equally old refrigerator with around coil unit on its top. A large, round green-painted table andchairs occupied the center of the room. Here we ate our meals--andplayed board games: Parchisi, Chinese marbles, Scrabble; played cardgames: Crazy 8's, gin rummy, Michigan rummy; or played dominoes. It wasquiet and peaceful after dark. You could hear frogs croaking, owlshooting way up in the trees, squirrels rustling, the occasional thumpas a June bug flew into screen. You could see fireflies dancing in thenight, blinking, blinking...
The House had electricity for lights, but there was nofurnace--just wood stoves: one huge rectangle beast in the living roomand a pot-bellied stove in the bedroom. You could listen to theradio--a large console model from the 1940's that sat on tall legs--butthere was no television. No telephone. Who needed those things?
But the one thing the County House had was windows: a huge picturewindow facing the down-hill slope of the land, where you could watchbutterflies and birds from the comfort of the old, overstuffed couch; aset of four casement windows you could crank wide open and sit on thefull-length cedar window seat that opened for storage of fat pillowsand soft blankets and sheets; long panes of glass in the old frontdoor; a narrower set of casement windows set in the wall behind thefront door; and even a small window over the old kitchen stove set highin the wall. In the bedroom were several more sets of casement windows:one facing the front of the house; a pair in the wall opposite the doorand another window on the side of the house facing the river. And ifyou opened all the windows--well, generally there was a breeze. Theonly place that didn't have a window was the bathroom. Okay, it wasreally a half-bath--no tub, no shower--there was actually no runningwater in the house!
No water? Hah! Grampy rigged up enormous rain barrels on platformsoutside the back door--all built on stilts above a precipitously steepcliff that fell to the river behind the house. Rainwater was stored inthe barrels and dispensed through a gravity-fed system into the sink inthe bar and into the stool and hand sink {zink, as Granny sometimessaid} in the bathroom. You couldn't drink the rainwater though--youcould wash with it and wash the dishes with it but only if you heatedit first or, if you brought it to boiling on the stove, you could cookwith it.
Grampy would bring this huge green-glass 5-gallon water jug fromthe city, carry it inside on his shoulder, remove the cork, and turn itupside down into a scrolled metal stand he had made for just thatbottle. You just put your cup under the spigot and turned it on like afaucet. If you picture a modern water cooler that glugs and bubbleswhenever water is dispensed, then you almost have the image of that oldwater bottle.
If we were lucky enough, Grampy would take us fishing with him in theold flat-bottomed jon boat. And if you were really good, you got to goalong when Grampy baited the trotlines after dark.
We would drive slowly further down the hill, past the last twocottages, and turn the car or sometimes the old 53 Chevy truck onto awide flat jutting out into the river. Then carrying the minnow bucket,Grampy would lead the way to the dock.
[You actually could climb up the cliff a little further along theriverbank at this point, scrambling up a narrow track that zig-zaggedin its ascent. Grampy had set a few flat stones along the path to helpin the climb and there were a few saplings you had to grab here andthere to make your way up the middle stretch of cliff that was nearlyvertical. I climbed that cliff more than once, always with Grampy rightbehind me, but it was still much easier just to walk up or down theroad and look for "pretty" rocks in the brown gravel beneath yourfeet.]
We'd get in the boat, push off from the dock, and Grampy wouldstart the motor and we'd put-put out to some magical spot only he knewhow to find in the dark. I don't know how he did it--he could find histrotline marker, jugs and floats even on moonless summer nights. Wecould hear voices bounce off the water, snatches of song fromsomebody's radio as we passed by. Pretty soon, Grampy would throttleback and finally cut the motor and we'd just drift with the currentuntil he reached out for a stick that stood up out of the water andhalted our drift.
He'd reach down under the black water and pull up the end of thetrotline and drift his way down the line, from hook to hook, baitingthem all. I don't remember now what we talked about but we did--aboutfish, definitely, the weather, whatever grandparents discuss with theirgrandchildren. Then he'd start up the motor and we'd make out way backto the dock, tie up the boat, and drive up the hill.
It would be about bedtime then. We'd all change into our jammiesand brush our teeth and climb into the bunkbeds--again Army surplusbunks. When my brother and I were very young--before my sister camealong--my Granny would tuck both of us in on the lower bunk. I slept atone end, my brother at the other--and we'd frequently have "kicking"fights until we got too sleepy to do even that. Granny would literallypin us into the bed with over-sized safety pins that fastened the sheetand coverlet to the mattress. After my sister was old enough to comeout to the Country House, she and I shared the top bunk. And just likeon the bottom, Granny pinned us into bed, me at one end, my sister atthe other.
Sigh--boy, was I one lucky girl! I'd give anything to go back for alittle while and relive those times again. But "time and tide wait forno man...."
We sold the Country House after my grandfather developedAlzheimer's in his later years. Grampy passed on in '86, Granny in '93.Sometime during the last two years, the Country House burned down.There's nothing left standing except for the two chimneys.
I can't go back, save in my mind--and I will always have my memories.
Madehlinne
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