Weebug Knits

The following piece was written by my beloved Papa. Every once and awhile I will find in my inbox a bit of a missive from him. The pieces are totally random bits about his life and adventures and I totally love the bits of history and perspective. I never get tired of them and they never seem to come with an acceptable frequency. I asked Papa yesterday if I could share this, in this season of giving thanks amongst the chaos of the holiday season.

It is that particular time of year once more and I am reminded to give thanks for a particular time of my life, a time of struggle. I am referring to the early years, a time of great struggle for all. When we moved to Washougal, we didn't have much in the way of extras. Each room had one electric light, with a pull chain hanging down from the center of the ceiling. The bathroom had a tub. There was a path out from the back door. There was a well with a hand pump and an overhead water tank which Pop had to tear down. Water was heated by coils in the wood stove in the kitchen. Come wash day, the water had to be carried in and heated on top of that stove in a copper wash boiler. Then it was carried out and dumped on the ground.

Times were tough. The country was battered by the Great Depression. The jobless rate hovered around 20/25% for years. Pop occasionally got a job of day labor. Frequently that would pay only $2.50 (eta..for the day). In addition they had a boy who according to the wisdom of the old women of that time would not live to be thirteen. But, I fooled them.

Then came WWII and its hardships. Enough said. What a wonderful, terrible crucible it all turned out to be.

Yesterday during the Thanksgiving festivities, Papa added that when he came home from the war it was 2 in the morning. He snuck upstairs, fumbled around for the string on the light only to find that someone had evidently removed the lone bulb. That was the only time he had ever come home that his mom didn't know about it until the next morning.