Little Sod House On The Prairie

  Imagine if you can, living in an old sod house covered with plaster.  This house  holds some favorite childhood memories and bustled with activity many years ago.  Now it stands quietly crumbling and falling in on itself as the prairie it sprung from takes it back.  When we visit it now it really, truly is a shell of its former self.  The walls dividing the three rooms are cracked and disintegrating as testimony that the heart that once held it together stopped, eons ago.  Animals have burrowed about, leaving traces of their activities in the rooms my grandmother kept so homily and warm.   It’s been empty for almost half a century, so the fact any of it remains is a bit of a mystery.  I dread the day when we stop by and find only a pile of what was once a lively home, silenced by time, toppled by abandonment and surrendered to the wind.  It saddens me to think of it.

I wish I had paid more attention to my grandmother when she talked about her and grandpa meeting when the wagons their families were traveling in happened on one another.  They left the plains in one state, heading for the prairie in another.  I was a teenager when I asked her about how she and grandpa met and fell in love.  I think, because I was a teen, I probably listened just long enough to be polite and let my brainless self drift somewhere else as she was reminiscing, because I don’t recall much of what she said.

 I do remember they built the sod house (pictured above) and at some point, “remodeled” by covering it with plaster and adding roof and a small porch -like feature to protect them from the northern wind when going in or out of the back door.  The only door ever used.  I don’t think the front door was ever opened, even in the summer time.

The largest room was the kitchen, which made sense since it was the only place everyone gathered at one time.  It seemed roomy when I was a kid, but I’m sure it was probably rather small.  It was a sod house after all.  However, based on pictures I’ve seen of other soddies, it was a bit of a ‘mansion’ for this type of dwelling.   The kitchen was equipped with an old wood burning stove, which heated the whole house, a sink with,  my grandmothers pride and joy….a handpump mounted to one side. A tin cup sat near it  for everyone to drink from.   On one wall was a free-standing  cupboard/cabinet and the door to a large pantry….another one of her prized possessions.  Looking back,  I don’t believe I ever realized before how little it took to please her.  They were poor farmers, and I guess their expectations weren’t terribly high.  Heaven only knows what raptures she’d have danced in if she’d had a real bath tub instead of a laundry tub to bathe in. There wasn’t a refrigerator as there wasn’t any electricity.  So, how come none of us ever got deadly ill from food poisoning?  Grandma milked cows, so there was fresh milk every day as well as the other dairy products that sprang forth from the milking.  Cottage cheese, butter, buttermilk (a favorite of all the kids except me) and yogurt.  Kidding!  There was no yogurt. 

 

Of course grandma had a large garden and she canned almost everything they ate. What wasn’t kept in her pantry was in a root cellar not far from the house.  Even despite severe threats and probably a spanking or two,  all of us kids liked to enjoy the coolness of the cellar in the summertime and count the number of jars lining the shelves.  The cellar also was necessary  to take shelter in during tornado season.  I only remember being herded off to the cellar one time when  a tornado was spotted near by.  My mother was deadly afraid of snakes, and she refused to go into the cellar with the rest of us.  She preferred taking a chance with Mother Nature over a possible rattlesnake.  

Speaking of snakes, family lore includes one unfortunate rattler who happened  to be curled up on a shelve in grandma’s pantry.   Apparently seeing the snake when she walked into the pantry, she ran for grandpa’s shotgun and blew the snake to smitherins along with quite a lot of her canned goods and the back wall of the pantry.  Now, I simply can’t imagine my gutsy mother ever taking action like that.  Not when a reptile was involved.   She probably would’ve taken on a  bear with a butter knife before she’d have gotten in firing range of a snake.

Clustered in the opposite end of the kitchen was a leather couch that pulled out into a bed, a stand that held a kerosene lamp and a large radio. The featured item in the room was the  large, round table.  That was the infamous gathering place for everyone, regardless if there were two people or twenty-two.  I don’t recall the table getting larger, just more chairs appearing around it.   I would sell my soul to have any pictures of how that home looked inside, but I don’t believe I’ve seen any.

Off one end of the kitchen was a guest room, and this seemed very strange to me, even as a kid.  The grandparents had a bed and a wardrobe closet in the living room.  The living room (to my knowledge) was never used as such, even though there was a sofa, end stands and kerosene lamps in there.    The guest room was used only for company.   How very odd!

No matter what activity was taking place around the table, everything came to a screeching halt and silence was demanded  when radio favorites like “The Lone Ranger,”  “The Shadow Knows,”  and “Boston Blackie” came on.

Enough for now.  I believe this was the first blog on childhood memories where nobody was injured.  I’ll have to relate some adventures we had of falling off the windmill, jumping out of haylofts and forgetting about siblings we had tied up in outbuildings another time.  Lots of reasons for the old soddy to have held memories near and dear to us.