The Smokehouse

It's been a cool, cloudy day, and right now it's pouring rain. A bit of lightning and thunder is moving in, and from the looks of weather radar we might as well settle in for the afternoon. We're at the beginning edge of this weather front, and it stretches west into Kansas.

Rainy days on the farm, especially on weekends or during the summer, seemed so long. I was usually limited on how much TV I could watch – and there were a period of time in elementary school when we didn't have a TV. Normally I could amuse myself playing outside. But the rainy days really put a damper on that.

We had an old shed behind the house that was dubbed “the smokehouse”. I don't know if it ever was actually used as a smokehouse, but it was incredibly old and full of treasures. It was one of my favorite places to play. I had a kid-sized kitchen set (partly from Santa and partly build by Dad) that ended up in the smokehouse. Mom kept her empty canning jars out there. Dad's tools were in there. And then there was “stuff”. I know there was an attic in the shed and there were some things up there, but it was too rickety for me to attempt climbing up to see.

All the toys I had outgrown had long since been relegated to the smokehouse. And on those long rainy days, I would often spend hours out there. I could let my imagination run and come up with a make-believe scenario that would keep me busy. I would set up my kitchen set, then sweep the floor and arrange things and would be running an Old West saloon. Or I could be running a restaurant. On other days I would just go through the stash of toys and play with things I'd forgot about........one of the perks of being an only child is that your toys don't wear out or get broken. Once in awhile I'd run into something that had become musty and moldy and needed to be thrown out.

Over the years I would go through the treasures out there and make an attempt at straightening things up so we had more room – and I had more room to play. I think there were even a few times that I would make myself a peanut butter sandwich and stay out there through lunchtime. There was an old metal lunchbox that lived in the smokehouse that was rectangular, green, and had a pop-off lid that I would use. (I even occasionally used it to take my lunch to school.) I never got tired of hanging out in the smokehouse.

As I grew, Dad fastened a basketball hoop to the outside wall of the smokehouse. So there was still another reason to hang out there a lot. I spent a lot of time playing basketball by myself. It's hard to win that way. In early spring I would have to dodge the blooming daffodils and the winter onions that came up year after year. Otherwise, I had a pretty good basketball area.

When Mom moved off the farm to her apartment, she had all the belongings she couldn't bring with her auctioned off. It was amazing at the sale to see all the things they'd pulled out of that smokehouse – I can remember a few things that I saw and commented that I didn't remember seeing that before. Maybe they were brave enough to crawl up in that attic!

All the buildings on the farm have been gone for over 20 years now. But like all the rest, I can still clearly see that nondescript building with the huge rock at its door that served as a step. And I can still smell the dusty mustiness that was always inside the smokehouse, regardless of how many hours I spent out there sweeping.