Originally posted in Facebook by Greg Stier on Wednesday, March 24, 2010 at 11:22am
I was talking to someone about the earliest memories a person can recall. We were comparing experiences. I was amazed at what I could dredge up from the depths. Most of my memories are vignettes, just little pieces of time from several years of my life. They are vivid memories though, bright clear pictures in my mind, attached to a feeling and an action.
I have lived in eight places throughout my life. I was born in Greensburg, Indiana and first lived in a house near Millhousen, Indiana. My parents rented a two story brick house where we stayed till I entered second grade. I don't remember much from this house, only a playset in the back, the milk box out front, and waving to a man on a tractor who was bush hogging the pasture next to us. Mom told me it must have been a farmer named Mente Ruhl who owned the property. The house is still there. One of my uncles bought the land next door and built a home there.
When I was two or three, we moved to a big white house near Westport, IN. There is a lot more available in the memory banks from that house. The house was a two story wood frame with white aluminum siding. It was surrounded by cornfields as far as a person, three feet tall, could see. We had one visible neighbor, across the road and up the hill. There were apple trees in the back yard and maples in the front. The yard was huge. Near the road was a concrete block detached garage with huge swinging doors and a dirt floor. To the right of the house was a barn with a haymow that Dad built stairs to reach. We used to play up there. I had an awesome toy horse with springs at four corners. It was ride'm cowboy whenever I was in the haymow.
Westport was where I learned to ride a bicycle, first down the easy slope in the back yard, then on the gravel road in front. It's hard to believe in this day and age of not letting a child out of your sight, but I used to ride as much as a mile or a mile and a half away from the house with my best buddy Wade Wiley, who's sister, Stephanie, I had a heavy crush on.
At one point, Mom and Dad added on to the back of the house. I don't remember much about the construction but I remember what it looked like when it was done. There was a Berber carpet upstairs, olive green and brown I believe. The kitchen counter was orange, bright orange. There was also a cool spiral stair to the basement. I remember the huge pile of dirt from excavating the basement too. Before it was graded, it was our mountain and our jungle. We would climb it like Everest and play hide and seek in the weeds that grew on it. The original house stairs had a landing halfway and we used to stand on the landing, reach down as far as possible and swing/launch ourselves to the floor below.
There was a blue metal fan that I figured out how to use making sheet igloos. By weighting the edges of a bed sheet with some of Mom's two million Readers Digest condensed books, and blowing air underneath with the box fan, there was an instant club house. We would crawl under the sheet and talk through the fan as it cut our voices into robot sounds.
We would sometimes sing along as Dad played the guitar. Our favorite song was Country Roads. It was our first request every time he pulled out the instrument. Mom and Dad loved to sing together and we were lucky to have that music.
I had the upper bunk bed and remember liking the taste of the wood railing. I scraped the finish off several inches running my teeth up and down it. I was a sleep walker as a kid. Apparently Mom heard a noise from my room one night and found me standing on my upper bunk, still asleep but believing I was in the restroom. I, apparently, got pretty good distance.
I first drove a riding lawn mower in Westport, not often or for long, but I did it. Today, I can't even let my ten year old on the lawn mower because he isn't heavy enough to keep the safety gadget, under the seat, from turning off the engine.
One time Barb and I raced around the house and as we reached the porch, I slammed into the wall. Barb hit half wall and half door. Her hand went right through the glass and cut her wrist pretty badly. I can still see the blood pumping out of her arm. That was intense for a five year old. I think it would be intense today.
I remember getting in trouble because a neighbor gave us a jar of dandelion jelly and when she visited again, I told her we still had it. I just didn't understand that not having eaten it would be a bad thing. We felt like we were in trouble when a big rain would make the basement wet. Dad would have us down there with huge sponges and buckets, sopping up the mess. It is my least favorite memory from that old house.
When I was six or seven, we moved to Bartholomew Co. near a town called Hartsville. We stayed at this house until I was halfway through college and the majority of my childhood memories are there but I still treasure the glimpses of life I remember from Millhousen and Westport.
I have lived in eight places throughout my life. I was born in Greensburg, Indiana and first lived in a house near Millhousen, Indiana. My parents rented a two story brick house where we stayed till I entered second grade. I don't remember much from this house, only a playset in the back, the milk box out front, and waving to a man on a tractor who was bush hogging the pasture next to us. Mom told me it must have been a farmer named Mente Ruhl who owned the property. The house is still there. One of my uncles bought the land next door and built a home there.
When I was two or three, we moved to a big white house near Westport, IN. There is a lot more available in the memory banks from that house. The house was a two story wood frame with white aluminum siding. It was surrounded by cornfields as far as a person, three feet tall, could see. We had one visible neighbor, across the road and up the hill. There were apple trees in the back yard and maples in the front. The yard was huge. Near the road was a concrete block detached garage with huge swinging doors and a dirt floor. To the right of the house was a barn with a haymow that Dad built stairs to reach. We used to play up there. I had an awesome toy horse with springs at four corners. It was ride'm cowboy whenever I was in the haymow.
Westport was where I learned to ride a bicycle, first down the easy slope in the back yard, then on the gravel road in front. It's hard to believe in this day and age of not letting a child out of your sight, but I used to ride as much as a mile or a mile and a half away from the house with my best buddy Wade Wiley, who's sister, Stephanie, I had a heavy crush on.
At one point, Mom and Dad added on to the back of the house. I don't remember much about the construction but I remember what it looked like when it was done. There was a Berber carpet upstairs, olive green and brown I believe. The kitchen counter was orange, bright orange. There was also a cool spiral stair to the basement. I remember the huge pile of dirt from excavating the basement too. Before it was graded, it was our mountain and our jungle. We would climb it like Everest and play hide and seek in the weeds that grew on it. The original house stairs had a landing halfway and we used to stand on the landing, reach down as far as possible and swing/launch ourselves to the floor below.
There was a blue metal fan that I figured out how to use making sheet igloos. By weighting the edges of a bed sheet with some of Mom's two million Readers Digest condensed books, and blowing air underneath with the box fan, there was an instant club house. We would crawl under the sheet and talk through the fan as it cut our voices into robot sounds.
We would sometimes sing along as Dad played the guitar. Our favorite song was Country Roads. It was our first request every time he pulled out the instrument. Mom and Dad loved to sing together and we were lucky to have that music.
I had the upper bunk bed and remember liking the taste of the wood railing. I scraped the finish off several inches running my teeth up and down it. I was a sleep walker as a kid. Apparently Mom heard a noise from my room one night and found me standing on my upper bunk, still asleep but believing I was in the restroom. I, apparently, got pretty good distance.
I first drove a riding lawn mower in Westport, not often or for long, but I did it. Today, I can't even let my ten year old on the lawn mower because he isn't heavy enough to keep the safety gadget, under the seat, from turning off the engine.
One time Barb and I raced around the house and as we reached the porch, I slammed into the wall. Barb hit half wall and half door. Her hand went right through the glass and cut her wrist pretty badly. I can still see the blood pumping out of her arm. That was intense for a five year old. I think it would be intense today.
I remember getting in trouble because a neighbor gave us a jar of dandelion jelly and when she visited again, I told her we still had it. I just didn't understand that not having eaten it would be a bad thing. We felt like we were in trouble when a big rain would make the basement wet. Dad would have us down there with huge sponges and buckets, sopping up the mess. It is my least favorite memory from that old house.
When I was six or seven, we moved to Bartholomew Co. near a town called Hartsville. We stayed at this house until I was halfway through college and the majority of my childhood memories are there but I still treasure the glimpses of life I remember from Millhousen and Westport.
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