Our Home
For a short time after I was born my whole world was just what was around me. There were just two kinds of people. There was a familiar, Mom, Dad and my sister, Phyllis and all the rest were strangers. But it wasn’t long before I recognized and responded to an ever increasing number of people. I virtually crew into my home. Over the years I have lived in many homes and I have liked them all. But none more than our lovely home in Brisco. It seems like a good idea to describe it at this point.
With axe and saw Dad and his brothers, John, Charlie and Lloyd cleared a patch of land at the edge of a thick forest of fir trees, jack pine poplars and bushes. When I grew older I began to appreciate that it was tough work. First the land had to be cleared of trees and bushes. Not only did this vegetation have to be cut down or lopped off but the stumps and roots had to be dug up and disposed of. Teams horses were used and often dynamite as well. But it was still backbreaking work and very slow.
Then this hard working crew proceeded to build our home using lumber from their own saw mill. My uncles and Dad did everything. They framed the house, sheeted it inside and out, insulating it between the studs and in the attic with sawdust. The sawdust came from the family sawmill. And then they shingled the roofwith hand cut shakes. Window sashes, door jambs and window frames were fashioned by hand. Windows were glazed and installed. Door jambs were nailed into place and doors hung. I think that they bought the doors. I know thatthey would have bought the hardware, probably in Golden. Finally everything was painted.
A “two‑holer” outhouse was build in the trees,just far enough from the house but not too far.
A rectangular hole was dug for a root cellar. It was, about ten by six feet and about six foot deep. The hole was covered with heavy timbers. Then a log wall, about 12 by 8 was built around that and filled with dirt. Slanted wooden doors opened to reveal stairs that led downto the interior of this underground chamber. This was our root cellar and would serve us well for many years. It was used to store root vegetables, cabbages and apples in bins. Along the walls were shells where preserved vegetables, fruit and various kinds pickles and relishes. It was always one of my favorite places to go to. The specially during the summer when it was particularly hot outside. It also had to do with my love for food.
Our comfortable house was a small single storied gabled house nestled in among large fir trees. It had two bedrooms, a living room, dining room and kitchen. Our house never seemed to be too hot in the summer or too cold in the winter. It was a very happy home to live in. We spent a lot of time in it during the cold winter days. Conversely we spent little time in it during the long summer days. Or at least that’s the way I remember them.
Something that was truly wonderful was our large screened in veranda (porch) out front. Mom would plant hops along the outside walls. In no time we’d have a living green curtain covering the screened areas of our veranda. It became our third bedroom. It was cool during the hot summer days and cool, but not too cool during the summer nights. More about six months from mid-spring, to the summer months until mid-fall Phil and I would sleep on the veranda. I still like to sleep outside or at least have the windows open.
Other out‑buildings were constructed. These included a barn, garage, chicken house and an ice house.
Our Dad was a very ingenious man. He managed to find a book on electricity and from it wired the house with a 12 volt electrical system. The electricity came from wet cell batteries that were stored in the garage. They were kept charged by a gas Delco generator in the garage. This marvelous generator would be started up on a regular basis. It was comforting to hear its familiar chugging engine sounds and knowing it was magically feeding electricity into those wonderful bubbling glass‑cased batteries.
Unfortunately it only supplied the kind electricity that could be used for light bulbs. As a result all our appliances were gasoline powered, battery powered or manually powered. I can’t remember anyone else around Brisco who had electric lights. They all used coal oil and kerosene lamps. The difference was the coal oil lamps used wicks and smelled and the kerosene lamps hissed. These smells and sounds are imbedded in my memory.
We were also one of the few homes with running water. Our resourceful Dad ran a water line from the nearby spring to our kitchen. It was extremely hard water. Dad used to say that if it was any harder you could walk on it. Our tea kettle was metal and the hard water would deposit a scale on the inside of the pot, especially the spout. The kettle would get heavier and heavier. The spout would get smaller and smaller. Eventually the kettle had to be thrown away and we’d have to buy a new one.
We always had rain barrels that supplied us with soft water for washing hair, the Saturday night baths and washing the dishes. These rain barrels were simply 40 gallon drums with one end cut off. They served us well. They caught the rain water as it came off the roof. As a child I was fascinated by them and checked the water level almost daily, especially after a rain storm. as I grew I took on the task of scooping leaves that had landed in the water.
The kitchen was at the back of the house on the North side of the house. It was also rejected by the large fir trees. It was not very large and was dominated by a rather large cast-iron would kitchen stove. It was probably my favorite room as there was always something happening. As a result of Mom’s skills in the kitchen there was a variety of wonderful things to eat. Even in the heat of the summer it was a great place to be.
The dining room was pretty simple with just enough room for a table and a few wooden kitchen chairs. Family dinners around the dining room table were often the highlights of the day. One thing that I remember about this room was that was where the telephone attached to the wall. It was a very rudimentary telephone system. There was no operator and certainly no buttons or dials. Each telephone had a combination of rings, either short or long. For example the person that you wanted to call might have one long and three shorts as their number. You’d pick up the receiver and crank one long and then three short cranks. The person would hear that on his telephone and answer the telephone. Of course everyone with a telephone would hear all those rings but would ignore it. This sounds pretty crude today but then it was. But we didn’t think so at the time the time. You’d think that the telephone would be ringing constantly. People didn’t telephone nearly as often as they do today. So it wasn’t that bad.
Our living room was dominated by a wind up gramophone, a radio powered by a very large dry cell battery. You had to crank the gramophone right up or it wouldn’t last through the record. Many times we would be frantically cranking in the middle of record trying to keep it going. We didn’t have many records, which we carefully stored away. They were expensive and very easily broken or cracked. Cracked ones often ended up as dishes, sort of. A record would be placed on top of a jar or tin in the oven. The heat from the oven would cause them to droop, forming a bowl of sorts. They were often used as receptacles or potted plants. If they got broken, so what? There was always more cracked records ready to be made into bowls.
The radio was only used for very specific programmes. For instance Dad would listen to hockey games but once the programme was over the radio was shut off. It was never just left on. The aerial for the radio ran outside and then to the top of a huge pole that Dad had erected near the house. It must have been at least 30 feet tall. Even then we only got a couple of long wave stations and a couple of short wave stations. Mostly it was from Calgary. And cowboy music!
One time there was a world’s heavy-weight championship fight. One of the fighters was Joe Louis who was heavy weight champion for many years. I can’t remember who his opponent was. Men came from miles away to listen to this fight on our radio. By the time the bout started we probably had a half dozen visitors sitting around our living room. Just as the fight started Dad stepped out for less than a minute
and by the time he got back the fight was over. Louis had thrown three or four punches, his opponent hit the canvas and was out for the count. Everyone just sat there in stunned disbelief. The fight was all over!
This was the largest room in our home. It had shiny varnished, which mom waxed and polished regularly by hand. An airtight heater kept us warm during the colder times of the year. We had chairs at no Chesterfield. Just to Winnipeg couch, which folded out into a single bed. It was noisy and not very comfortable to sleep on.
Seasons are very distinct in the Columbia Valley. Each season brings back very vivid memories. Here is what I remember.
My Story The Brisco Years 