Life in the Brick House

Page 4 (of 4)

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Story of the Bridge

When I was a child, the bridge across the Snake River into Weiser was quite impressive with iron girding over the deck of the bridge. But it had to be replaced when I was still pretty young – I would guess about 6 or 7 years old. So, the constructors for the new bridge jacked up the old bridge and moved it to new pilings to the east. That action required that the floor be removed, so wooden planks were laid down just a little wider than a car’s tires. One could look down and see the river flowing underneath the temporary flooring. Additionally red and green traffic lights were installed at either end of the bridge because it had become one way only.

Between the temporary flooring and the fact that the traffic lights would become stuck, I was petrified of crossing the bridge, especially if Aunt Bertha was driving us to church because she could drive forward, but could not drive in reverse. If the traffic lights became stuck, people on one end of the bridge would become impatient with their red light and come onto the bridge. This often resulted in cars meeting midway, and someone would have to back up. So you can see my dilemma.

The Christmas pageant at church was always a highlight of the year, and I had a very important part with lots of lines to say because I could memorize like crazy. Also, my dad always made his annual trip to the church for the Christmas program. However, I simply could not bring myself to cross the bridge that night. I froze like a deer in the headlights. Ever the resourceful one, my mother figured out how to make my crossing happen. She had bought a pair of red shoes for me and had put them away until I grew a little more. I loved those red shoes and was anxious to wear them. So she made a deal that I could wear the new shoes to the Christmas pageant. Voila! I wore the red shoes, crossed the bridge and said all my lines!

Uncle John

My dad’s brother, John, was a mainstay in the household. He had served in World War I, and when he returned to the farm, he became one of the sheepherders during the time the Turners raised sheep. Uncle John could be a loner, and in later years he moved his bed from the downstairs sleeping porch to the basement. No one ever knew why. When he lived in the mountains herding sheep during the summer he had developed the habit of not changing clothes often. My mother would send my dad downstairs to where Uncle John slept to gather up his dirty clothes to be washed. This included his socks, which after many days in rubber irrigation boots, had developed an unsavory smell.

We kids liked to go with Uncle John as he made his irrigating rounds. He always had a dog or two, and he allowed us to ride on the tailgate of his Willy’s Jeep. As a matter of fact, I learned to drive by motoring along the ditch banks in Uncle John’s Jeep with him by my side teaching me how to shift gears.

Uncle John played the harmonica and the Jews’ harp. I attempted both, but never became proficient. He was also the best reader of the comic strips I have ever known. He didn’t exactly read the words, he read the pictures. His stories were better than any written for the strip. We laughed and laughed.

One summer we made a trip to Yellowstone National Park. John stayed home to work, so Mom, Dad, Ray, Uncle John and I piled into the car, and off we went. Uncle John rode in the backseat with Ray and me. I cannot imagine how our games must have driven Mom and Dad crazy. We found the alphabet on signs, guessed mileage, and once we got to the park we counted bears. Once we were stopped for a picnic in a grove of trees, and Uncle John spotted a bear. He gathered us quick as a wink and hustled us to the car. It seemed strange at the time that suddenly the bear we would have counted had become something to fear. Uncle John explained that whole thing later by telling us stories of bears he had encountered while herding sheep.

Aunt Mabel

Aunt Mabel and Uncle Lucien lived kitty-cornered across the highway on the northwest corner of Noble Road. There was a large culvert underneath the highway, so I was allowed to use that to cross to their house. I remember it was filled with cobwebs and who knows what other creatures, but that path to me was essential since it took me to a place of some of my fondest memories.

It was at Aunt Mabel’s that I learned about tuna sandwiches made just the way cousin Mary liked (and still likes) them. I also tried to learn to drink coffee, but without success. Aunt Mabel would make a pot of coffee. It remained on the stove or in the coffeemaker until it was gone. She diluted it with water as it got stronger and stronger. I never got the hang of it.

I also learned to play Pinochle – well, sort of. Aunt Mabel, Mary and I would play three-handed, and Aunt Mabel liked to play what she called “cut throat” meaning every woman for herself with bids going high. She taught me how to play Canasta, a card game that found its way back to the brick house. She also had a hollyhock patch, and I made all kinds of hollyhock dolls, floating them in a tub of water. She also taught me to eat sour cherries (surely a sign of a strong woman not to pucker), and to this day, sour cherry pie is my favorite.

Aunt Mabel and Uncle Lucien had a cabin in McCall. They invited me to join them many times. They had a Nash Rambler, so if the cabin was overflowing with other guests, Mary and I would sleep in the Nash where the seats made down into a bed. I thought that was just about the coolest thing ever.

In a word, Aunt Mabel introduced me to many things outside of the realm of the brick house. She never went against my teaching at home, but she made sure that experiences were added that I might have otherwise missed.

School

We attended Jefferson Grade School. The two-room school was located one mile south of the brick house at the southwest corner of Jefferson and Buckhorn Roads. We called the rooms “Little Room” (1^st through 4^th grades) and “Big Room” (5^th through 8^th grades). Each grade usually had 3 to 6 students. There was one teacher in each room so we learned early on how to concentrate on our own assignments while another class recited.

Most of us girls wore jeans rather than dresses. This was so we could play on all the playground equipment and hang upside down on the monkey bars and not show our panties. Girls were also needed on the softball diamond to have enough kids for two teams. Lunchtime in the good weather was extended to an hour and featured lively ballgames. Jump rope was also popular among girls of all ages. We also played Dare Base (touch tag) and “Blackman” (little political correctness in those days). In the wintertime we played jacks, pick-up-sticks and card games in the classrooms.

Although we played “Blackman,” we were a racially diverse group of kids. The student body was made up of Japanese, Mexican and Caucasian students, and we all got along. I can’t remember a racial slur being said. My best friend was Betty Fujii. I spent a lot of time with the Fujii’s. My mother told me later, though, that there were families at the school who wouldn’t allow their child to stay overnight with a Japanese family. So I know there were post war prejudices although I didn’t experience them in my household.

The things I probably remember best from those schooldays are the trips to and from school. There were no buses, so families who lived near one another carpooled in the winter. In the spring and fall, kids walked or rode bicycles or horses to school. There was a horse barn on the school property (that’s where we played Auntie Over). I’ll digress a bit and also mention that it wasn’t until my second grade year that the schoolhouse had indoor lavatories, a kitchen (no hot lunches, though) and a gym. So, when I was a first grader, we used outhouses. I remember that in the wintertime, some younger kids resisted going to the outhouse and would leave a puddle on the floor. (I never did, thankfully.)

I rode my bicycle to school, a distance of one mile each way. The first half mile was on Highway 30 (now Highway 201), the federal west to east highway. It was very busy with cars and large trucks, so we learned early on how to ride close to the shoulder and to watch behind us for approaching vehicles. We dutifully rode on the right-hand-side of the road and observed all rules of the road, even signaling to turn. One day on my way home from school, an Oregon State patrolman stopped me and told me I was riding on the wrong side of the road. I was flabbergasted and told him that we had learned in 4-H that bicycles were to travel on the right, but if one was walking, they were supposed to be on the left. He disagreed, so I dutifully changed to the left hand side of the road, even as awkward as it seemed.

The next day, I told my teacher about the incident with the patrolman. She immediately called the County Extension Agent, our 4-H leader. No more was said until the following Saturday. A knock came on the door of the brick house. My mother answered, he asked if a “little redheaded girl lived there.” and my mother called me to the door. There was the tallest policeman I had ever seen (remember I was only a 5^th or 6^th grader).  He stood there in all his glorious height and in his beautifully pressed uniform and apologized to a little redheaded girl (me) that he had been wrong in what he had told me, and I should ride on the right-hand-side of the road from now on.

I also remember the feeling of grave responsibility for being allowed to ride my bike in circumstances requiring a lot of attention to the rules of the road. But every so often, we just had to make a bit of mischief. Whenever the highway department would stretch car counters across the road, we would ride back and forth over them thinking that we were tripping the counters and that we were being counted. I doubt that our weight would trip the counters, but it was a lot of fun thinking we had made a difference.

After I graduated in a class of six students from Jefferson Grade School, I attended and graduated from Weiser High School. The Jefferson and Annex school districts made arrangements to pay tuition to the Weiser school district so students would have a shorter trip to school than had they attended the high school in Ontario. All this made for a shorter day and more opportunity to participate in extracurricular activities.

Life Lessons of the Brick House

Living in a multigenerational household and one filled with many people taught me valuable life lessons, among them:

• How to quickly assess a situation and people when entering a room. We never burst upon the scene so to speak, but quickly learned to see what was actually going on and find our place in it.

• How to appreciate and get along with people of all ages and varied personalities. After Dorothy was born, the age range in the house was from infant to 90-something-year-old Grandmother.

• How to value one’s own privacy and the privacy of others.

• How to appreciate a slower and quieter life pace.

• How to love books, puzzles, music and all sorts of creativity and education.

• How to share and not be selfish or thinking one’s desires took precedence over others’.

• How to work when there was work to be done.

• How to be as non-judgmental as possible.

• How to be a child in an adult world.

• How to love and be loved.

Life in the brick house was not always easy, but it was filled with love, and it certainly contributed in large extent to my adult self. It is a beautiful house, elegant and grace-filled. It is also overflows with wonderful memories and the spirit of those who lived there together.

• Grandmother Jane Elizabeth McKee Turner

• John Allen Turner

• Guy Elmer Turner

• Lorena Elizabeth Smith Turner

  • John Elmer Turner

  • Kathryn Ann Turner (Baker)

  • Raymond Guy Turner

• Elwyn Raney Turner

• Helen Lucille Panike Turner

  • Dorothy Ola Turner Hogg

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From Kathryn Turner Baker