That Quonset Summer: Final Chapter

Settled. Finally.

Continuing Mom’s Stories...

In the summer of 1968, my parents sold our home ranch out on the south fork of the Milk River, and bought another place nearer to town.

There were myriad challenges.

But the most important was that it was bare land.

Absolutely everything needed to be built.

Construction was immediately started on a new home, and at the same time, on several barns, corrals and outbuildings.

The ranch buildings arose much more quickly than the house.

And that left us in a further dilemma.

Where to live.

The people who had purchased the ranch were justifiably anxious to take possession and our new house was far from completion.

My parents decided to move us into the newly-completed, steel-ribbed quonset.

It was an adventure.

And it's told here by my mother, Enes, from her journals.

(If you missed part one, you can find it here. Part two. Part three. Part four. Part five. Part six. Part seven.)

As the summer progressed, new items were hauled into the quonset from the old ranch.

Our summer home began to look more and more like the back yard of a junk dealer.

Soon there was only a foot path past the 'clinic' to the 'living area'.

We had to do more and higher leaping over this and that to find items that we wanted. Happily, we finally became so efficient at finding things we almost knew which box contained what.

It was like watching a movie to see all the different expressions of our clients as we met them at the door.

I often wonder what went though their minds as they drove up to the quonset and faced that huge sliding door with the shingle hooked to the latch which said: Dr. Mark Stringam. Veterinary Office.

They always knocked and waited. So if they felt a little over-whelmed, they at least had a little more time to assemble their mixed feelings and shattered thoughts.

Still, a quick survey never failed to bring a look of shocked amazement and it usually took a few seconds to pull themselves together.

"Everything is sure handy, isn't it?"

"Imagine! Everything you own right here!"

"Sure is cozy in here!"

We had set up our clinic in a corner of the quonset next to the double doors.

And right next to our 'living room'.

Our examining table was three boards on two saw horses.

Clients brought their animals to be examined and we dispensed drugs right there.

One day, we had just managed to straighten the bed covers when we heard a car drive up.

A friend knocked, and then brought in his dog for a distemper shot.

Before we could guess the animal's intentions, he had made a bee-line for the corner of our couch, lifted a leg, and sprayed all over it.

Our friend was so horrified, he apologized for his dog every time he saw us for months afterward.

But all good things must come to an end.

An early snow storm was predicted.

The quonset was chilly in the 'warmer' summer months. What would it be like with the world around it encased in ice?

Sub zero.

And that would just be a start.

There was only one solution. We had to move into our unfinished house.

Throughout the day, with the clouds piling up on the horizon and looking more and more threatening, I carried loads of household goods from the quonset to the car and then drove them across to the house.

It was hard, tiring work, but one look at the horizon would always serve to steel my muscles and lengthen my stride.

By evening, we had a cozy set up in the basement, with a tidy fire crackling in the new fireplace and stuff sitting or hanging everywhere.

We could hardly move.

But at least we were warm!

The promised storm swept over us, howling in frustration as it flew past the windows and chimney, trying to find a crack.

But the house was solidly built and we stayed warm and comfortable inside imagining what life would be like back in the quonset on this night.

For the children, this was just another phase of the adventure.

For me, it was a glimmer of hope that one day, soon, I would again have running water and flush toilets.

And a bath tub!

Sheer luxury!

That Quonset Summer: Part Seven

The only existing picture of Mom's 'kitchen' in the quonset.
Behind her are The Shelves.
Oh, and that’s youngest brother Blair...on the chair.

Continuing Mom’s Stories...

In the summer of 1968, my parents sold our home ranch out on the south fork of the Milk River, and bought another place nearer to town.

There were myriad challenges.

But the most important was that it was bare land.

Absolutely everything needed to be built.

Construction was immediately started on a new home, and at the same time, on several barns, corrals and outbuildings.

The ranch buildings arose much more quickly than the house.

And that left us in a further dilemma.

Where to live.

The people who had purchased the ranch were justifiably anxious to take possession and our new house was far from completion.

My parents decided to move us into the newly-completed, steel-ribbed quonset.

It was an adventure.

And it's told here by my mother, Enes, from her journals.

(If you missed part one, you can find it here. Part two. Part three. Part four. Part five. Part six.)

VeterinarianWork...

Our popping bolt friends announced the rising of the sun and we found we didn't need any other alarm, though, in fact, we weren't just exactly ecstatic about rising at 4 A.M.!

Sleep became impossible as flocks of birds began their daily effort of trying to gain a foot hold on the slippery dome of the shed.

They chirped excitedly as they scratched and slid.

We could see the shapes of their fluffy little bodies and wings as they lit on the sky light.

They were having such great fun sliding and flying.

We snuggled down in our warm beds watching and listening.

Soon, our bull chorus greeted the day with their lusty song. Where is everybody this fine day! Where is my breakfast, my grain and my hay?

We quickly shivered into our clothes and rushed through breakfast.

I filled my canning kettle with cold water and set it on the stove to heat while we ate.

I was always anxious to finish dishes and straighten our 'apartment' before a veterinary client came.

On this particular morning a Matt Clemens was bringing his cat for a rabies shot.

He brought him in a sack.

Mark laid the sack on the clinic table (three boards over two saw horses), put on some leather gloves, and began rolling the top of the sack down to the wild cat in one corner.

Two beady eyes gleamed from the depths of the sack.

Before the cat could spring, Mark clamped one hand on the neck and head, and the other hand on his back through the sack.

He extracted the cat and held him out flat on the table.

Then it was my turn to hold the creature.

I had done this many times but my courage had not improved with the practice.

In each hand, I clamped two legs just above the claws and wedged my wrist on the neck of the cat, forcing the jaw over and the vicious teeth away from me.

He flexed every muscle as he strained to be free making a desperate attempt to turn his head and slide it out from under my arm. His head was small and he could turn it almost completely around.

Like an owl.

His sharp teeth were just grazing my wrist.

Just as the needle penetrated into the muscle of his hip, I moved my arm a little to try to get a more secure clamp on the cat's jaw.

The movement released the animal just enough for him to twist his head a fraction more and he clamped his teeth into my wrist.

“He's got me!” I whispered, transfixed as numbness crept through all of my muscles.

Very slowly, Mark said, “Let . . . him . . . go . . . both . . . hands . . . at . . . once . . . quickly!”

I couldn't move!

The cat couldn't move!

There was no pain.

“Let . . . him . . . go . . . now!”

I suddenly came to life and obeyed.

The cat, too, came to life. Extracted his teeth and shot like a bullet off the table and across the floor and up to the highest far away place.

Which happened to be the steel shelves where I had all of my dishes and kitchen supplies.

There he sat, with every muscle tensed for a spring, looking down on us with all the venom of a rattle snake.

Our 8-year-old, Blair, had been watching all the proceedings with much interest.

He suddenly grabbed the sack and said, “I'll get him Dad!”

For a moment, we were so astonished we couldn't move.

He advanced towards the cat.

I climbed a ladder at one end and Blair climbed the table at the other end and held the sack open near the cat's head.

The creature turned its head and looked at me and leaped right into the sack!

Well.

I thought I had a face that would stop a clock, but I didn't know it would scare a wild cat!

At that moment, my arm began to give me the most excruciating pain.

Feeling faint, I lay down for a moment while Doc called the M.D.

He advised us to get a tetanus shot immediately, which we did.

Three or four hours later, my arm was aching from my finger tips to my shoulder and the swelling was beginning to move into the upper arm.

As night came on I became increasingly nauseated and dizzy.

I can't remember too much about the next three days except the pain and dizziness.

I spent most of the time in bed.

However all 'good things' must come to an end.

At the end of the third day, I was out pulling weeds in the lane of new trees we had planted in May.

That Quonset Summer: Part Six

Quonset and nearly completed house.
There's a garden in that yard somewhere!

Continuing Mom’s Stories...

In the summer of 1968, my parents sold our home ranch out on the south fork of the Milk River, and bought another place nearer to town.

There were myriad challenges.

But the most important was that it was bare land.

Absolutely everything needed to be built.

Construction was immediately started on a new home, and at the same time, on several barns, corrals and outbuildings.

The ranch buildings arose much more quickly than the house.

And that left us in a further dilemma.

Where to live.

The people who had purchased the ranch were justifiably anxious to take possession and our new house was far from completion.

My parents decided to move us into the newly-completed, steel-ribbed quonset.

It was an adventure.

And it's told here by my mother, Enes, from her journals.

(If you missed part one, you can find it here. Part two. Part three. Part four. Part five.)

I thought I would have so much time for various projects as the lazy summer stretched out before me, but as the days lengthened, so did our stride!

There was no grass to cut or watering to do, but there was a garden to hoe and we discovered we had planted it in the original garden of Adam and Eve. The one they had when Heavenly Father punished them for being disobedient by sending them weeds so they could 'work by the sweat of their brows all the days of their lives'.

I decided that Adam hadn't tended his garden very well because there were a great many prolific varieties there that had undoubtedly sprouted from seeds of plants he had not pulled.

I crawled on my hands and knees trying to sort out my tender green vegetables from all the other abundant growth.

And then there was the rain.

It seemed like every time I thought I had a few minutes for my garden, it would rain.

All summer we alternated between a cold drizzle or a down pour. (The word COLD became part of us like our arms and legs. We had cold noses, cold toes, cold fingers, cold ears, cold tongues. Our whole internal tract must have been COLD.)

Rain sounded like several million marbles on the ribs of the quonset.

The first time I heard it, I thought it was hail. I ran anxiously to the door and discovered that it was only a light rain falling softly on the pasture grass.

When it became a downpour, the sound really rattled your brain.

One evening, we had just settled into our beds for the night when we heard the sound of thunder in the distance.

Would it come this way or would it pass?

Faint flashes of lightning lit the sky light and seconds passed before we heard the thunder.

I began to count the time between the flash and the crash. When the flash and crash came close together, I hid under the covers.

Unfortunately, it didn't shut out the sound.

We had given our children some instruction on what to do if there was lightening - stay away from fences or puddles or trees.

Just lately, we had added 'don't touch the side of the quonset'.

So when there was lightening, even in mild form, our children would pull their beds away from the walls.

We must have spread the alarm very impressively because they moved their beds about 16 feet from the wall!

This storm moving in on us sounded like a particularly violent one.

We could hear a roaring sound with the approaching rain.

When the pellets hit the shed, we knew it must be hail.

We covered our ears trying to cut out the awful sound.

It was like being inside a barrel with a million hammers pounding on its side.

Just when we thought we would surely go mad, the storm quit and we found the quiet almost as hard to adjust to as the noise.

This was our first experience with a hail strike in the middle of the night.

We felt we had been punished in a strange way and we fell into a restless sleep as the moon again lit the skylight.

That Quonset Summer: Part Five

Continuing Mom’s Stories...

In the summer of 1968, my parents sold our home ranch out on the south fork of the Milk River, and bought another place nearer to town.

There were myriad challenges.

But the most important was that it was bare land.

Absolutely everything needed to be built.

Construction was immediately started on a new home, and at the same time, on several barns, corrals and outbuildings.

The ranch buildings arose much more quickly than the house.

And that left us in a further dilemma.

Where to live.

The people who had purchased the ranch were justifiably anxious to take possession and our new house was far from completion.

My parents decided to move us into the newly-completed, steel-ribbed quonset.

It was an adventure.

And it's told here by my mother, Enes, from her journals.

(If you missed part one, you can find it here. Part two. Part three. Part four.)

Keeping Clean

There were problems with the clothes washing and the baths, but somehow, everything seemed to work out.

We 'borrowed' the bathroom of a friend.

Mom's 'home away from home'.

But the twice weekly trip to the Laundromat was an experience in itself.

I never knew there were so many interesting and unusual people in the world.

They must all frequent Laundromats.

I was constantly amused, entertained or shocked.

Laundromats seem to have a way of revealing and exposing personalities.

For instance - some people are very careful with their washing. The clothes are sorted in batches as to colour and material. White with white, dark with dark, nylon fabrics and socks and overalls separate. Warm water for most fabrics and especially wash-and-wear materials. The shirts and towels were washed separately and the white shirts and under clothing usually went about half through the cycle before the synthetic materials were added and so on.

Very particular.

Then there was the careless type who threw all the clothing into the washers in reckless abandon. Lumps and tangles with no thought of colour or material. The water temperature was set on hot and the sheets and dainty under things sloshed around with the overalls and socks. This type usually reclined in a corner with a package of cigarettes, a bottle of coke and a tabloid magazine.

There was obviously no communication with the bread-winner or 'clothing provider' in that household. It must have been a monumental task to provide enough money to replace all the 'shrunk up' socks, 'shredded' underwear. And TV dinners.

The Laundromat was also frequented by frustrated young fathers with baskets of dirty diapers. The rude awakening from the romantic courtship and few short months of happy wedded bliss had left its anxious furrow forever etched on their foreheads. The diapers were dumped (lumps and all) into the washers and the wastes gradually wore away in the water. If they hadn't dissolved, they were left in the washer or caught in the dryer or dried on the diaper to be peeled off at home, before the baby wore it again.

I had a pleasant conversational exchange with many men and women, young, old, or medium.

Many revealed all their family secrets which was often embarrassing. I couldn't help but think that it would be convenient, sometimes, to have a little switch that would cut off anything you didn't want to hear!

One old retired gentleman would come in with his small bundle of smelly laundry and the only family he had in the whole world, a skinny red Irish setter. He would dispose of his varied assortment of clothing into the washer and then he would settle himself on a bench and look about hopefully for a willing ear. Having found one, he would unwind and unload all his experiences of the last 75 years. 

Many times, I provided the 'ear' for him and often wished I had more time to listen to him. He always talked me right out the door and I always felt as if I had very rudely left in the middle of the conversation. All the way home and most of the day I would chastise myself for not giving up a little more time for the sake of the poor, lonely old man,

Several times I invited him to come out and visit but he never came.

One day, I happened in as a young mother was taking her clothing out of the drier. She had thrown her husband's wash-and-wear trousers into the washer and set the dial on 'hot'. You never saw such a wrinkled up mess in you life. 

She was almost in tears. "What can I do?" she whispered.

I tried to console her. "Maybe if you washed them again in warm water, the wrinkles may come out."

They never did and her husband must have been furious with her.

Dallying with the Dailies

Dad loves to read the local news,

He does it every day,

He likes to know what’s happening

And in the ‘news’ loop, stay.

Our cops have had it tough this week,

‘s the news from ‘Up the Hill’,

On Monday, someone stole their ‘loos’,

They’ve nothing to go on, still.

On Wednesday a sinkhole opened, down

Route Two a little bit,

Don’t think they’re doing nothing, cause

They’re looking into it.

Then Friday almost took the cake,

Their cruiser tires, you see,

Were stolen each and every one,

They’re working tirelessly!

Today when Daddy finished up,

He set the paper down,

Then minutes later, looked for it.

Was running all around.

He asked my sister if she’d seen,

She looked at him askance,

Then handed him her iPad…

That fly didn’t have a chance!

Cause Mondays do get knocked a lot,

With poetry, we all besought

To try to make the week begin

With gentle thoughts,

Perhaps a grin?

So Karen, Charlotte, Mimi, me

Have crafted poems for you to see.

And now you’ve read what we have wrought…

Did we help?

Or did we not?

You'll love the topic next week. True,

'Remembering'. (It's what we do!)

Thinking of joining us for Poetry Monday?

We'd love to welcome you!

Topics for the next few weeks 

(with a huge thank-you to Mimi, who comes up with so many of them!)...

Newspapers (September 4) Today!

Remembering (September 11)

Cheeseburgers (September 18)

Dreams (September 25)

Birthdays (October 2)

Family (October 9)

Dictionary (October 16)

Talk Shows (October 23)

Mischief (October 30)

Watermelon (November 6)

Grandma's Kitchen (November 13)

The Bus (November 20)

A Pet's Life (November 27)