Memories

July 16, 2008 at 10:45 pm · Filed under People

“Dad, are we there yet?” In the days of my youth, I recall repeating those very words nearly every Sunday morning from the back seat of my father’s car. His reply was predictably always the same. “We’ll be there when we get there.” From as early as I can remember, until well into my mid to late teens, we spent the better part of Sunday at my Uncle Otto and Aunt Ada’s place. It was about an hour drive from our farm to their home in the small college town of Waverly. In the summertime, the drone of the car engine, the rhythmic thump of rubber tires on concrete highway seams, and the muggy heat in the back seat was enough to lull me into naps that more often than not lasted the whole trip. The only air conditioning came from the two wing windows in the front seat. Moreover, in wintertime, because the heater never seemed to work too well, we would bundle up and huddle under blankets to keep warm. Still, I excitedly looked forward to this weekly journey to visit my father’s brother and his wife mostly because I came to love their house. To this day, certain smells, textures, and sounds have the power to bring back memories of simpler times and those visits.
Otto and Ada had converted the white, older three storied home into a boarding house when farming had become too much for them in the early 1950’s. Over the years, it has been home away from home to numerous college students wanting to live off campus and a variety of traveling people needing short-term housing. Sitting on a corner lot on the main street going through town and only a few short blocks from the college campus, it was the ideal location.
Uncle Otto meticulously took care of the upkeep of the house and property. A two-story carriage house, which stood at the back of the lot, served as garage on the bottom and storage in the loft. Along side of, and between the house and carriage house garage laid the gravel driveway and parking area for the boarders. Nestled off to one side of the drive was my aunt’s vegetable garden, which she allowed Otto to tend from time to time. Edging my aunt’s pride and joy, lilac bushes bloomed each summer, filling the air with sweet perfume. Even though they were on the town’s water system, an old-fashioned hand operated pump gushed well water with ease to irrigate the rows of carrots, tomatoes, radishes, beets, and sweet corn.
Along the entire front of the house, an airy porch with several comfortable chairs welcomed visitors and boarders alike. In summertime, an antique claw-footed table on the porch always had lilac cuttings lovingly placed in a vase. Inside the front door, the front room is where we would watch television, Dad would play old favorite tunes on the organ, or we would all just sit and visit about the happenings of the previous week. From time to time Otto and Ada would share slides, pictures, and souvenirs from their two trips to Germany where they visited with the Hartmann (old world spelling) families that did not immigrate to America. Often times my older, married cousins and their children would come and we would all pass the time by playing board or card games. Down a short narrow hallway to the left was the kitchen where aunt Ada would cook and bake the most delicious peanut butter cookies I have ever tasted. Here she taught me the “proper” way to wash and dry dishes, how to tell when a boiled egg was done to perfection, and how to slow dance. Also down the hall was a very small half bath that had been a closet at one time, and my aunt and uncle’s bedroom, which was strictly verboten (German for forbidden). The upper two levels of the house were also off limits because that was where the boarder’s rooms were. That all changed in the summer of my twelfth year.
That summer my aunt and uncle asked if I would like to spend a couple weeks living with them in that wonderful house. I was overjoyed at the thought and immediately said I would love to. Dad said it would be good for me and that Ada could always use an extra set of hands around the house. I even got one of the rooms on the third floor normally rented out as my own. Of course, I had to share the bathroom with the other boarders, but that was part of the adventure. In those few short those weeks I filled my time with exploring the “forbidden” places in the house, helping with dishes, cleaning, and laundry, and helping in the garden.
Looking back, I can see now that much of whom I have become occurred because of what happened within the walls of Otto and Ada’s boarding house. When I catch the aroma of sweet lilacs or peanut butter cookies wafting in the air, I think of my aunt’s sweet smile. She always greeted me with a hug, a family tradition I carry on and always will. When I pull the rough husk and soft silk from an ear of sweet corn, I remember times spent in their garden with the summer sun overhead. Sometimes when I am driving alone in my car and hear the thumping song of tires meeting pavement I smile as I remember fondly those days of my carefree youth. To quote Oscar Wilde from “The Importance of Being Earnest”, “Memory… is the diary that we all carry about with us”.

Written for College Writing I

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