Earlier today
I took Tonia to the spot
where Grandma's house used to be.
The little wellhouse,
with the electric pump inside,
that my father helped install
in the early sixties,
so grandma wouldn't have to pump
the old pump handle
anymore,
that little well house was there,
but the old farmhouse was gone.
The red chicken house was still there.
There was a new looking mobile home
where the brooder house and smoke house
and part of the chicken yard
used to be.
They had put in a new driveway,
so my car was in what used to be the front yard.
The old barn,
once home to a few dairy cows,
was missing so many boards,
I could almost see through it.
I backed out of the driveway,
and drove past the old farm,
looking forward to seeing
Ingalls Creek.
From Grandma's farm
to Ingalls Creek is a drive to the bottom of a hill,
then a hard right,
then a steep climb,
then a hard left,
then a long downhill run
past a vast meadow on the right,
down to Ingalls Creek.
That drive was just as I remembered it.
The bridge over Ingalls Creek
had been replaced,
which was just as well,
since the old one was wooden,
and low,
and had no guard rails.
The new one is higher,
concrete I presume,
and has guard rails.
But Ingalls Creek
itself
looked just as I remembered it.
Summers,
back in the sixties,
my sisters and brother and I,
sometimes with cousins,
Mike and Paul,
would wade in that creek,
and the water was clear,
and we could see the small fish.
When we got out,
we had to pull the leeches
off our toes.
When we got back,
we had to check for ticks,
and put calamine lotion on the chigger bites.
Now in winter,
Ingalls Creek looks just like
any stock photo you've seen
of a forest stream,
the water flowing between sheets of ice,
snow on the banks,
lots of trees arching over the stream.
Break.
I felt myself start to slip
into a state of depression,
as we drove back west,
back towards Kansas.
I'm trying to make a new life,
since my parents and my wife
are dead and gone.
I'm taking this trip with Tonia,
and trying to make it good for both of us.
I'm not quite certain
exactly what Tonia really wants from me.
She claims to be easy to please,
but then grumbles about little things,
here and there,
like anyone does....
Break.
We got a room
in Fort Scott,
and before the sun went down,
I took a walk,
to see a little of the town.
What I saw may be the landscape of future dreams,
not quite nightmares,
but not the most cheerful dreams,
either.
A very old,
run down,
desolate industrial area,
with a few buildings occupied.
The most haunting structure
is an old grain elevator,
rather large,
and empty,
with windows broken out,
way up at the top,
making me wonder about the vandals who broke them,
and making me afraid to go too close,
for fear the local cops
would stop me,
and ask for ID,
and make me scared,
scared of getting in trouble
for just looking around.
"Key Clothing"
or Key something,
is the sign on one building.
A very small placque,
attached to the wall,
near the door of the building
states:
"flood line: 1986"
with a line,
horizontal,
across the small placque.
It's located about seven feet up the wall.
The train tracks are nearby,
and active.
I saw a van,
with wording on the door
indicating it was a shuttle van
for those who operate the trains.
There were two trains waiting,
as I crossed the tracks going down the hill;
a third train went by,
as I started back up the hill,
to my motel,
the Azure Sky motel,
only $35,
I recommend it.
No lamps in the room,
just the overhead light,
but otherwise comfy.
A strange law,
maybe part of the Americans With Disabilities Act,
has caused so many towns,
my home town of Wichita,
and Fort Scott,
to put in curb cuts
at each corner,
but there is no common sense
follow through law
that requires sidewalks between the corners.
It makes this area of town look even more desoalte,
to see the sidewalks new,
with ramps,
at the corners,
and no sidewalks
in front of empty lots
and abandoned houses.
PS
I called my two oldest sisters,
and told them about Grandma's house.
I caught up with Lois,
the police sketch artist,
about turmoil in her personal life,
not to be detailed here.
But it felt good to speak with my sisters.
I didn't want you to have a false impression
that I'm dong nothing to combat my depression.
Hey,
I'm writing this diary,
right?
All comments greatly appreciated.
Update:
The house was a simple square,
divided by straight walls into four rooms,
four square rooms of equal size,
the front room,
with the pot bellied, wood burning stove,
the front bedroom,
the kitchen,
and the back bedroom.
A room was added,
just off the kitchen,
in the early sixties,
to house the indoor toilet
and bathtub,
with extra room for the deep freeze,
and a big cabinet
grandma always called the safe.
The upstairs
just had two big rooms,
up a very steep staircase.
Those rooms were so cold in the winter,
at Christmas time.