My Home
I grew up in a house that was built in the 1840’s. (Just as a quick reminder, the time frame was around when Abraham Lincoln was alive) It was originally the first church built in the town. At some point was changed into a hotel. It was only one story, with a basement. The basement ceiling was constructed by the original logs that built the house. Just whole trees with the bark still intact.
Our house used a well, because of the coal mining in the area from years prior, the ground had shifted poisoning the water supply. Making it impossible to drink. So our house was equipped with tanks in the basement that filtrated the water, so it was able to at least shower in. As a child, I spent some time staring at the brown resemblance of water that came up from the well. It had lead, iron, and bacteria in the water. The color was close the burnt coffee that sat on the burner too long, with a ting of red. My dad would spend time concocting caustic soda in a plastic tub to filtrate the water.
Our neighbors wells would dry up in the summer time, because the wells weren’t deep enough. Sometimes, I felt fortunate that we at least had water. Spent time helping my neighbor with a wheel barrow with empty gallon jugs and carrying them to a fresh spring in the woods. Helping carry them back to her house. I was roughly eleven years old at the time. At age ten, for some reason our house had no water again. My dad had to dig up the well. I helped him pull it out of the ground. We went days without water. I spent staying up early into the morning outside with him, trying to help him whenever possible.
Sometimes, I realize why I drank soda so much. Because it was the only thing that was ok to drink. Almost all of my teeth had fillings in them by the time I was ten because of cavity issues related to the water. Also, probably from drinking so much soda. Even now I struggle getting myself to drink soda. Some memories: I.just.hate. Do you ever have a memory so bad that your body just rejects whatever item was there at the time? Mine is coke. The smell, the taste. It reminds me of my childhood. I can’t stand it. I tried to drink it again a few weeks ago. I took one sip, and my head just involuntarily was shaking no. It brings me back to these memories of my childhood. I guess they are unresolved. People mention drinking soda has a happy memory from their childhood. Mine.does.not.
Some people miss their childhood home. They would go back in a second. I feel a slight contempt? I wish I could have fond memories of my childhood home. There were some good memories there, but they get clouded by traumatic ones. But isn’t that all of life I suppose?
