What does smoke drifting from a house chimney mean to you?

What does smoke drifting from a house chimney mean to you?

Isn’t it funny how some little thing, a certain sound or a quick view of something usually unnoticed, can bring detailed memories back to you? That happened to me the other day. I was driving just outside of town not paying attention to anything but the road. Unexpectedly something caught my attention. I noticed a little house with tufts of white smoke wafting from its chimney.

Suddenly I was back in my childhood at the little house where I grew up. There were six of us, four kids, living in a house that was about 700 square feet. We lived in a tiny house before tiny houses were popular. The personal hygiene facility was outside. Linoleum, not carpet, was on the floors. And the heat source was a big ole coal burning stove sitting in the front room.

I remembered many cold winter mornings. One time I woke up and there was snow on my pillow. The window next to my bed wasn’t sealed well and a strong wind blew some snow in. The house was so cold the snow didn’t melt.

I also remember that every morning, Daddy got up about 5:30. He’d go to the coal shed, bring back a bucket of coal, stoke the fire and warm the house before us kids had to get up. Then he had breakfast and went to work.

We were poor but we didn’t know it then. We had good times in that little house. Mother always made Christmas special. We always got new pajamas, a coloring book and crayons and at least one toy or game. We spent Christmas day playing games and eating candy, nuts and tangerines that were bought on the tab at Boase’s grocery store. Christmas was about the only time we got those treats.

Our mother was a soft-spoken lady. But even amid all the clutter and commotion of four kids she very quietly taught us right from wrong. She taught us to do what was right, not for reward, but just because it was the right thing to do. And, by example, she taught us to be kind to other people even if they weren’t kind to you.

Our dad gave us a good work ethic. He had a hard, tedious job at a local brick factory. But he never missed a day of work and never took a vacation. He used that week of vacation money to pay the insurance and property taxes on our little house.

We were raised to never beg, borrow or steal. If you wanted something you worked for it. You paid your bills first. If you couldn’t afford to pay for something you did without it.

When we got in high school we walked the mile and a half distance every day because we lived outside of the school bus district.

Back then girls weren’t allowed to wear jeans to school. We had to wear dresses or skirts. In the winter sometimes my legs got so cold they’d go numb. I’d stop at Freddie’s Fruit Market and look around like I might buy something so I could get warm. Freddie knew I didn’t have any money and wasn’t going to buy anything but he was always kind and gracious.

On the way home from school I’d stop again to warm up then continue on my way home. As I turned off US 40, just a block away at the corner of Johnson and Jackson Street, I could see my little house with the smoke gently drifting from the chimney. To me that little house and its smoking chimney meant happiness, warmth and, most of all, love.

Keep Smiling.

Linda Messmer can be reached at 812-448-8725.