The Farmhouse

It was the summer of 1966 and I was in third grade. Our family was moving to a run-down house in the middle of nowhere. I did not want to move, but of course; I had no choice and one weekend we were working on the 120-year-old farmhouse in Quakertown, Pennsylvania.

During the Great Depression, my father’s family was very poor. Dad and my grandfather, John, worked together to build the house they would live in. They built the shell with a roof first and moved in to the incomplete building. They lived amongst the open studded walls until they had enough money to continue the construction. As they accumulated funds, they made trips to the lumberyard in their Model A Ford. Over time, they gradually finished their home. This experience gave my father the know-how to perform the renovations on the farmhouse in Quakertown.

“The job today is to remove some of the items we’ll be replacing. We’re going to dismantle the kitchen and parts of the bedrooms upstairs.” Dad had an eager look in his eyes. “Let’s get started.”

“Boys, as I demolish things, I’ll be throwing them on the floor. Drag them outside and put them in piles.”

“Okay, Dad,” my brother and I said.

He gave his stern look. “Be careful of the nails though.”

Dad was wearing a t-shirt. The muscles of his arms glistened with sweat. Swinging a sledgehammer with ease, he demolished the kitchen. Pieces of wood flew everywhere. He placed a large chunk of debris on the floor.

“I got this one,” Randy said.

“Let me help. It’s too big for you.”

“Thanks, Brother.”

All morning, we worked together to demolish the kitchen. There was a pile accumulating outside.

Mom packed a lunch of bologna sandwiches and lemonade that we inhaled at lunch time. We then moved upstairs and worked on the bedrooms.

“Boys, we’ll start in your bedroom. Scott, open that window. I’m going to hand things to you and I want you to throw them out.”

I gave him a surprised look. “Out the window?”

Dad chuckled. “Yes.”

“Okay,” I said. I heard a loud noise when it hit the ground.

“Here, you try,” I said as I handed Randy a small piece of debris.

He tentatively walked over to the window and threw it out. He turned back to look at me, smiling. It was a blast helping Dad demolish the rooms. It was exciting to break things apart. Throwing them out of the second-story window only added to the fun. Later in the afternoon, we moved outside.

Dad looked at me, “Scott, hook the hose up to the house and bring the other end next to that pile. We’re going to burn all of this and we need it in case the fire spreads.”

I did as Dad asked and gripped the hose. Randy and I looked at each other. We did nothing like this back at our old house.

Dad sprinkled some kerosene on the debris. It smelled awful. “Stand back,” he said.

He lit a match and threw it on the pile. There was a loud whoosh, a billow of orange flame and black smoke rose into the air.

The fire was large but confined to the pile we made. After a bit, some of it began to burn away.

“Scott, quick, over there,” Dad said.

My arms shook as I aimed for the area he pointed to. I sprayed water on the fire, there was a sizzling sound and white smoke appeared as the fire was extinguished.

“Good job.”

Dad was seldom vocal in his support and it felt great when he approved of what I did. It took us about a month to rebuild the kitchen and add closets to the bedrooms. I gradually accepted the fact that we were moving and that new things were in store for me.

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Let me know what you think about my story.

This is an excerpt from my book, Motorcycle Stories - Finding forgiveness on the open road.

It’s the story of a young boy, Scott, growing up in a suburban neighborhood who is forced to move to a rural town with his father, younger brother and drug addicted mother who is both loving and abusive. He spots a motorcycle for sale and saves up his own money to purchase it, never dreaming it will be his ride to self-confidence, happiness, and, ultimately, forgiveness. Join him and his best friend, Ross, as they travel the northeastern U. S., sometimes facing danger, but always finding excitement and new friends around the next bend. Will Scott have the courage to face his fears and learn to forgive his mother before it’s too late?

You can read more about it on my Substack here.