The antique hand pump

The hand pump was a fixture on the large back porch of the big farmhouse built in 1869. It was the house where my mother was raised, and where I started going in 1965. My grandparents, John R. and Janice Day Watson, lived there for some 55 years. Before that my grandfather's parents, Garfield and Ellen Barker Watson, lived there.

The last time I was at the farm was yesterday, to pick up the hand pump that I won in the Watson Auction.

The Watsons are my kinfolk. My mother, Sandra Ellen, was a Watson before she married my father, Fred McDonald. Her brother, David, and his wife, Kathy, and their two children now own all of the Watson farm. My late aunt and uncle, David and Peggy Ruppel, and their children used to also live on the farm.

I paid $121 for the hand pump. Why? Because it means something to me. It's a part of my memories of the farm. I haven't been in the farmhouse since 2018, after my grandmother died, to collect a few things. After that the house was gutted and renovated. 

The back porch was removed. The hand pump was saved, I was informed when I asked about it.

Last week I saw it in the online Watson Auction. 

I never resided in the farmhouse but for 50 years - until the middle of 2015 when grandmother was sent to a nursing home -  I was a reoccurring visitor. 

After my mother died in 1968, my grandparents wanted me to live with them. But my father did what he thought was best for himself and me and he placed me with his parents, Fred and Ruth DeVol McDonald, in Caldwell while he lived and worked in Columbus. 

Dad made certain that I saw my mother's family. 

Dad remarried and started a new family but he made sure I had a relationship with my mother's family. And I did.

Over the years I came to love to go to the farm and I made memories there to last a lifetime. 

Some of the memories I have are in photographs taken by others and some I have taken myself. 

In July 2012 grandmother and I visited on the back porch and before I could snap a picture of her my rechargeable camera battery was exhausted. Earlier in the day I captured the empty rocking chair, hand pump, cat and the view. 

I had this photograph made into a canvas that hangs in my house. This image invokes a strong memory of the farm, porch, farmhouse, grandmother, cats and LOVE.

See grandmother, in her nightgown, feeding the cats a day after her 87th birthday in 2013. There's the hand pump.

The hand pump is on the porch, circa late 1940s, where grandmother and her sister-in-law Dorothy who married my grandfather's brother Harry, pose. They have picked strawberries and are in front of the porch of farmhouse where their in-law's Garfield and Ellen Watson reside. Grandmother and Grandfather later moved into the farmhouse.

I'm sure my love of cats started at the farm. They seem to be in a lot of photographs, especially when I was little. 

Today is National Cat Day!

As far as the hand pump, maybe it will be come a garden water feature at my home. Stay tuned.

"L" is for Lisa and First Love

My fifth grade son has a girlfriend. The last week of school, this past May, he announced he was going to kiss her, but that never materialized.

The two did not correspond or see each other over the summer. She lives on the other side of town.

Last week he mentioned her again. School resumed two weeks ago. Apparently they are still “together.” Two nights ago, as he kissed me good-nite, he said he was going to try to hug his girl the next day. Yesterday morning he ate his breakfast and ran upstairs to brush his teeth. That’s when I heard the shower running – 10 minutes before we had to leave for school.

He came downstairs smelling like Axe.

On the way to school he said that not only was he going to try to hug her, but also kiss her and hold her hand. After that I must have lost consciousness because my friend, who was dropping off her child at the school too, said she waved to me but I did not see her.

My son came home from school. He said he did not get a hug, a kiss or a hand-holding session. He said that he and the girl talked at recess. Asked what they talked about, he replied, “Business.”

I believe this girl may be my son’s First Love.

With all of these feelings surfacing from my dear boy, I started thinking about my First Love.

His name was Tim.

Tim and I were classmates. It was the third grade.

I don’t know whose mother made the arrangements but Tim ended up at my house, in my backyard, where we played on my swing set until nearly dark. Then he stayed for dinner. My first “date.” I don’t remember what we ate, all I remember was Tim was at my house and all was good. I don’t know if it was that day but at some point during that school year Tim gave me a present. I’m sure his mother picked it out – it was perfect. The initial “L” on a chain. My initial. Beautiful. I still have that gold necklace. Here it is.

Tim’s mother lives in my town now. Tim lives just down the highway between the town where we grew up and where his mother and I live. My First Love was not a physical relationship. I had feelings. I’ll bet he had feelings too. In third grade we did not act on those feelings.

In fact we never acted on feelings but we continued to be friends. I remember going to my first co-ed party at his house, for his birthday. He lived just on the outskirts of town where his house, located at the base of a cliff, was surrounded by a small wooded area. There were grapevines intertwined among the trees. We swung on those grapevines and I remember this like it was yesterday.

In high school I went to a couple of big parties at his house. We were getting older and the parties were getting more mature. There were no grapevines to swing on then but there were cold beverages consumed. My parents learned about that party and my behavior, and I was grounded for a month.

I see Tim's mother from time to time and we speak – catch up on Tim and his wife, and my husband and three sons. And though I only see him every five years at our class reunion, I remember the boy, my First Love, with fondness.