A kitchen window can be a marvelous place to look into the world and watch slices of life being lived.
Mom was a kitchen person. She liked to cook and bake, so she spent a lot of time at her kitchen sink, situated below a window.
That window faced the West and included the view of the vacant lot next to us. A huge Locust tree shaded most of that side of the house. Two big stumps sat within the ring of its shade. Used for many purposes, they were best for sitting in the shade on a hot summer day.
Also, a hose connected to the faucet on that side of the house, lay curled on the ground, ready to spring into action when needed. Mon often had the boys wet the ground near the house, so the dirt wouldn’t blow so badly. A large barrel, like the old oil barrels, sat nearby. It was our ran barrel – always full of water, rain or shine. One day I learned how handy a full rain barrel could be.
As a toddler, I sat on the counter, watching, out the window, as Mom worked at her sink. Soon, I was tall enough to stand on a small stool beside her and help. Now, as I think of some of the sights we witnessed. I feel like Alice stepping through the “looking glass” into a world almost forgotten. What fun to remember some of it again.
Most of the action I remember seeing out that window, had to do with my two brothers, only a year apart in age.? Usually there were several boys their age with them.? Danny O[Leary, the boy next door, and our cousin Jack Donley, often joined the group.? They were the same age, but a couple years younger than the rest.? Sometimes they scuffled and fought and got in the way of the older boys.? When things got?out of hand, if the boys didn’t handle it, Mom did.
The vacant lot made a good baseball field, and we watched parts of many of a game. Even the dog was allowed to play. The boys told me he was a fielder. If anyone got hurt during those games, Mom was always on call. If it wasn’t serious, the game continued.
Many happy times were played out in front of us, but there were also some unexpected and sometimes frightening episodes. When these Occurred, I never moved from my spot, for I knew instinctively, it was better for all concerned for me to stay out of the way.
As I think of some of those incidents now, I wonder how Mom handled it all so well. I wonder, too, if there were times she wanted to say, “I can’t stand much more of this.” However, at the time, I never doubted that she could take care of any situation that presented itself.
A few times, there at the window, I saw her hand, lifting a dish from the dishwater, stop in mid air, and heard her breath catch in her throat. Then there be a light sigh and the dish would find its way into the rinse water for me to pick out and put in the drainer.
As time moved on, the boys’ interests changed. It was keeping old cars in running shape for Hike, the oldest, and he spent every free moment he had with them. For Gene, it was breaking horses, doing hometown rodeos, and taking care of whatever livestock the family had at that time. Seven and eight years older than I, these two boys were the “greatest” as far as I was concerned. They were my brothers and my idols, and I held the distinct position of being the favored little sister of Hike, the mechanic and Gene, the cowboy. I addition to other fun and games, I was treated to special rides in cars and on horses. It doesn’t get much better than that when you you’re five years old.
Hike got his first car at thirteen. It was a 1916 Briscoe, he told me a while back, and he paid ten dollars for it. However, as I try to remember the different cars I saw out that window, I think of the old Model A’s and T’s. There was one with no top – open like a convertible, but not as classy. It had running boards and for short doors that nobody used. They jumped over them to get into the car. These various vehicles all ran some of the time.
Always bent over the engine fixing something, Hike had the hoods off more than on. Then, in a bit he’d pop into the driver’s seat and someone would crank the engine while he worked whatever was necessary at the driver’s wheel. Mom and I were treated to many “starting the car” moments. I remember the anticipation. Maybe, just maybe, this time it would start. I also remember short rides that didn’t quite make it around the block. I would finish the ride with somebody steering the others pushing the car the rest of the say home. Then off would come the hood again and there would be much discussion as tools were put to work here and there.
One day, as I stood beside Mom, she suddenly yelled, “Oh, my Lord, ” grabbed a clean dishtowel and headed for the back door. Through the window, I could see Danny O’Leary racing toward the back of the house screaming, “Mrs. Hodson, Mrs. Hodson.” She caught up with him outside, brought him into the house, blood spurting into the towel, and into the bathroom they went. She’d seen him lean too far into the car engine as someone was turning the crank, and a fan blade hit him in the head.
Funny, I don’t remember thinking that things wouldn’t be okay, as Mom was the best around fro taking care of hurts. It didn’t seem a bit unusual to me that Danny didn’t head home.
The other four boys, huddled in a group, stood inside the back door, silently waiting, all activity suspended for the moment. Shortly the bathroom door opened and Mom lead a pale, bandaged Danny out into the room. There were a couple of cuts but none too serious and she sent him home to tell his mother what had happened.
In a while we were at the kitchen window again, and the boys were back at the car. Danny had returned and standing some distance away now, waited to get in and ride with the rest, when and if the car started.
Another time, though I can’t remember why, one of Hike’s cars caught on fire while severl of them were working on it. What a sight that was! Before we could even move, two of the boys hoisted that barrel of water and doused the car. Rain barrels can be very handy. Nothing more was needed. I can still see Hike looking up at us, in the window, with his familiar, wry grin. Mom never said anything. Gene was close to fifteen when e got his first horse. He broke it in front of the kitchen window. There were a few gasps that day, too. Mom did gray young.
Always thinking of new ways to make some extra money, Gene came up with several interesting enterprises. I remember one of those very well. One sweltering hot summer day, mom and I, looking out the kitchen window, saw a quart jar sitting on one of the stumps. It had a snake in it – a rattlesnake to be exact.
There was another “My Lord,” from Mom as she headed for the back door on the run. Soon, with Gene in tow, the snake was promptly killed and burried. It seems he’d heard good money was being paid for snake venom and since he knew of a plentiful supply, he thought that would be a lucrative business. Since that money making scheme was squelched in a hurry, I never did find out how he planned to extract the venom from the snake.
At that time, Mom used a wood burning cok stove, so the boys were responsible for keeping split wood on hand. This also was done within the view of the kitchen window. IT was Jack that got too near this time and the ax glanced off his head. Another screaming boy, another bloody trip to the bathroom and another bandaged head, which all turned out okay, Jack and Danny eventually learned to look before they rushed into whatever was going on.
In later years, a new kitchen window became a part of our house. After some remodeling, the original kitchen became the dining room. The large back porch was turned into a much larger kitchen with new cabinets and a special work space, all built to Mom’s specifications.
That window had much to offer too, as it also faced the west. The big tree, the stumps, and the rain barrel were gone, but the vacant lot remained. A few years before and for some time after my Dad’s death, Mom had a baby-sitting business. In addition to her own grandchildren, she became Grandma Lylah to many other children in the community.
That vacant lot was their playground, and Mom, still spending most of her time in her kitchen, could see them all at any given moment. I never saw much from this window, but she did, and for many more years she remained the fixer of all bumps and bruises.
Since one cannot spend their entire day at the kitchen window, even if you are a kitchen person, I’ve often wondered what went on that wasn’t seen. There was evidently nothing to worry about as we, and all the rest, grew up in one piece. Perhaps that’s because all children are allowed a special dispensation on this earth, for God knows the adults can’t always be on top of everything.