We were fairly used to the summer heat, since the only air conditioning in our house at Purdon was in my parents' bedroom, and it was only turned on at night. But the heat in the house at Corbet that we constructed and finished out that summer was oppressive at times. Some weak fans blew air toward us while we worked, but seemed to only stir the hot air a bit, occasionally blowing halfhearted puffs in our direction.
In the early years of my life, we owned a small cabin on Lake Whitney, and we used to go there and ride in the boat, swim, fish, and Mother rode the surfboard behind the boat. Lots of friends drove up to barbecue and play 42.
But they sold the cabin a year or so before, so we didn't go there anymore, and family vacations were not a part of our life, unless you count the summer we lived in Calexico as a vacation.
This summer meant daily work on the house, with almost no time to do things like swimming or just playing in the yard.
Our cousin Phil was either a saint or incredibly bored because he came down to visit my grandmother and worked on the house with us every single day. He didn't have any siblings, so he liked being with our loud family. He was actually my dad's first cousin, but we claimed him as ours because he was almost exactly my brother's age and because he made us laugh all the time.
He could drive, so at lunch, he, Susan, and I, sometimes Jan, made the one mile trip to the small grocery store run by Mr. Bittner's son Robert Earl. At least when we moved, something would still be familiar; the store where we bought groceries would have the same name.
We bought bread, mayonnaise, freshly sliced bologna and cheese which Robert Earl wrapped up in clean white butcher paper, and some kind of chips, usually barbecue potato chips, just to round out the meal. "Charge it, please" one of us would say as we pushed open the heavy screened doors on our way out.
We "taped and bedded" and painted our way through June, July and August, eating pretty much the same thing every day and washing it down with Coca Cola, Orange Nehi Soda, Grapette, or icewater. Dessert was Three Musketeers, Snickers, or Zeros, depending on your preference and how fast you grabbed one.
We were taping and bedding the den one day when Phil was helping us. None of us knew how to do it, but Daddy showed us, and while he worked on the harder parts, we filled in all the nail holes and moved a scraper across the "mud" to smooth it.
It was getting close to lunchtime; a hot breeze blew through the open windows swirling dust and small scraps of tape around, and I was sitting on the bottom rung of a small stepladder, looking back at the thousands of holes I had filled that morning.
"I'm hot!" I complained loudly. "And I'm tired of filling these holes. We're never gonna get through with this!"
Susan had filled fifteen or twenty holes, then quietly moved into another room where she continued reading The Catcher in the Rye. I tried to emulate her reading taste and hoped some of her intellect would rub off. I had peeked inside the book, but realized it was not something I could understand right now. I put it on my mental "to read" list.
She wasn't physically as strong as I was, so really the expectation for her to work hard wasn't there. Even I didn't expect her to do as much. Jan was doing a few holes on the bottom part of the wall, but she would skip off and examine bugs or stomp spiders that were always crawling in through the windows.
Stephen and Phil had worked hard on the ceiling. That was the hardest part because they had to keep their necks strained and heads back, looking up.
Mother was, of course, having to help Daddy place the bedding tape. He could never do anything by himself, and if she was available, she was his choice for assistant.
Mother called out, "We only lack a little more. Keep going. We'll be finished before you know it."
Daddy looked over at me, grinned, and promised to buy me a bag of peppermint I didn't have to share with anyone if I'd keep on till lunch. Reluctantly, I picked up my scraper and halfheartedly worked on a few holes.
The peppermint was so good, it did provide an incentive. It was shiny red and white, and melted slowly, the perfect candy, sold only at Bittner's grocery. No other peppermint could rival it, and it could only be found at our little country store.
Twenty slow holes later, Daddy called time. I ran to the pickup and jumped in so I could go to the store with Phil and get my peppermints. Daddy told Phil to buy two bags, one for me and one for everyone else.
"What are you in such a snit about?" Phil asked as we drove down the gravel road toward the store.
"I feel like an indentured servant, and I wonder how long peppermint candy will be enough bribe to keep me from rebelling," I huffed, the beginnings of a martyr complex playing in my head.
Phil shook his head and laughed quietly to himself. We got the food for lunch and took it back; everyone had stopped for a lunch break. After we ate, everyone else shared a bag of peppermints, and I placed mine strategically by the ladder where I sat to work. It kept me from going on strike all afternoon.
Neila had arrived after summer school classes, and she and Phil wired the light in the den, a feat she had learned through 4-H Club demonstrations, and which my dad declared "perfect", a compliment he rarely bestowed. The two of them kept the banter light till we demanded work stoppage about 5 p.m..
We were working in the oldest structure, the one that had been the caretaker's house, in what would become our den. The other house had been brought on site today with some minor hysteria over bringing it across the creek. I didn't go watch that event, figuring my dad would be jumping up and down and saying bad words while my mother tried to calm him and chastised him for cursing.
Eventually, we saw the truck moving slowly up the gravel road with a house atop its flatbed. I hoped they were careful. Our bedrooms were in there!
They set the house down carefully, blocked it up on hadite blocks and left. My dad and his men would nail boards to seal the base portion later. Now, they had to build the two connecting rooms between the houses.
"I've almost finished my bag of peppermint," I hinted when the house was completely unloaded. "Can I have one by myself again on Monday?"
"I imagine," they laughed, exchanging a look I couldn't decipher.
Sometimes I wished I were an only child, just for a day or two to see what it was like. Daddy hated being one, or so Mother said, but I bet he never had to share his peppermints.
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