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Fatigued from years of gleaning storms of snow, sleet, and rain,
I was yet an innocent and therefore unashamed. Her smothered walls creaked and her shingled
roof leaked, The House That Jack Built some called it.
But that is where I enjoyed so much fun, In spite of the scarcity of both grub and
mon. With Imagination as my playmate and Time as
my friend, I'd return to that humble shanty and explore
once again.
I'd trade my white luxury for that battered tin tub,
Where I soaked clean after molding pies from mud,
On the threshold of The House That Jack Built.
The trip-provoking linoleum was cold 'neath orphaned feet,
And while we youngest cuddled, the elders rose from sleep.
Grandpa whittled and kindled a fire, Ma saw Pa to his work day,
And soon the heated kitchen melted the window's frost away.
The alarm that coaxed us wee tots from an iron-framed bed,
Was often the aroma of freshly baked bread, The child who won the scramble downstairs
to the main floor, Was she whose feet claimed center seat on
the open oven door.
Dreaded were trips to the outhouse during fierce wind or storm,
And when I'd race Fear back over the well-worn track,
To the cabin where I was born... I grew fonder of The House That Jack Built.
It wasn't unusual to answer a tap on the door to find a lonely hobo there,
Hungering for a meal when we had less than our share,
Still any drifter who approached was treated kindly,
While Ma delivered take-out meals only,
When Pa was home why he'd invite the *** to tea.
Honoring The House That Jack Built.
When the calm replaced the storm of a July torrential rain, many kids would run,
To grass-lined, water-filled ditches and play, Until intoxicated from over-indulgence of
fun. Those same trenches became skating rinks during
Winter,
As did the dirt roads, St. Lawrence River, and winding creeks,
But bonfires raged aglow, easing the nip of ice and snow,
That clung to scarves, mittens, eyelashes, and seats.
Tiny fingers and toes lost battles aplenty with Ole Jack Frost as did many an ear,
But with painful unthaw of piggy, lobe, or paw, help was usually near.
Family member, friend, or neighbor would heal the bites,
With massage from hands that knew, The shivering agony that Ole Jack Frost could
put a winter lover through.
During Summer's sweet vacation and sometimes on a school night,
When most were safe in Dreamland and the Village bathed in moonlight,
Friends would toss gravel near the bedroom window, and loudly whisper my name,
Then wait for me to join them in a majority-ruled game.
I'd crawl through open window and grasp ledge with strong hand,
Then grope for shoulder or ladder with dangling feet, before leaping to land.
Occasionally we'd chase lightning-bugs down to the river
Where sometime sailors were strolling about on anchored ship,
We would dive, swim, and play in the usual way,
But secretly 'neath moon and starlight it felt more hip.
Oft times we'd pursue tree-climbing, racing as close to summit as we could,
It was on one such occasion I fell to the ground,
Disfiguring many branches on the way down. It was awhile before I stood!
Almost crawled back to The House That Jack Built.
Grandpa would transform tree branches into bows and arrows,
And sometimes a nifty slingshot. With jack-knife and chunk of wood he'd carve
whistles, And delight curious children with gifts of
many a spinning top.
Each evening Grandpa would kneel by his bed I'd strain ears to hear his prayers,
Then he'd straighten his back and his bones would snap,
As I'd creep down the tattle-tale stairs of The House That Jack Built.
When Pa had time off from his Section man's job with the CNR,
He'd begin some home improvement but rarely got very far.
Because a neighbor would often show up with a watch needing repair,
Or he'd be obliged to help dig a well or cut some fella's hair.
Pa often labored long into the night with tools of slightest degree,
With kerosene lamp as his only source of light by which to see.
With deep concentration and God-given skill, Pa persisted 'til victory was won...
The time-piece was fit-as-a-fiddle before arrival of morning Sun.
The oldest girls helped nurse we younger four through measles and mumps,
With love, homemade chicken soup and Salada Tea.
After recovering our Great Lake Sailor brothers often rescued us
From branch of tolerant Maple or Willow tree.
When glass fragments or slivers pierced foot or hand,
Pa removed the party-poopers with tweezers and ease,
Then shoo patient away with a smile, making the injury somehow worthwhile,
I felt pirouetted and squeezed... there in The House That Jack Built.
Frequently we youngest four gathered bottles that were strewn in ditches,
And along the railroad track. Gliding our feet over well-worn steel rails
on our eager journey back. We'd exchange empties for jaw-breakers and
bubble-gum at Rose's General Store,
And whenever I agreed to sing them a song, We'd be given ice-cream cones for the deed
that was far from a chore. On the way home we'd pluck dandelions, buttercups,
and daisies, To present Ma with a colorful bouquet,
I'd add to it a rose or two if a certain neighbor was away.
If walls of home had open eyes and listening ears of course they'd witness and hear,
The muttered complaints and landing though faint of many a fallen tear.
Still, there was no television to carry us to places no child should go,
No ***-tube attempting to make us believe in all that just wasn't so.
We'd no telephone enslaving us in idle prattle-prat, There was no couch-potatoing, no pigging out
and getting fat.
We weren't saints and some of our shenanigans surely caused the structure to tilt,
Yet we somehow felt all safe and secure in The House They Say Jack Built.
Then one day city slickers arrived at our door,
Said soon we would be living in Farran's Point no more,
The house where Ma had birthed nine, Our Haven of Liberty that rested amid Willow,
Maple and Pine, Was part of some Seaway Power Project and
Jack's House would be torn down And we were forced to relocate, to leave our
delightful riverside town.
Gone would be the tall, proud trees, wild berries , rolling hills, winding creek and
close friend, Gone the canal that ships sailed through never
would I cheerfully view again. Gone the long tall grass we'd run through
barefoot after a swim at the River we cherished dear,
Gone the smiles from the faces of the Lost Villagers as eyes tried to hold back each
tear. As eyes tried to hold back each tear.