In the summer, since there were few insects on the mountain, we kept most of the large windows open during the daytime. The constant breeze kept the house nice and comfortable. I can never remember being warm during a summer up there.
Come to think of it, I can never remember being warm in that house - ever. In the winter, even with every door and window closed tightly, the house was still drafty. Although it was newly built, it took on the persona of the old things in it. It never held heat. The small den was the only comfortable room because of the Franklin stove which we kept going constantly while we were up there. It was not unusual for someone to "fall asleep" on the sofa and end up there all night. Unfortunately, there was only one sofa and it was just a matter of who could stay up longer to claim it.
The rest of the house was heated with a myriad of strategically placed electric heaters. I often went to bed at night weighing the dangers of freezing to death because the heater was safely off or dying in a ball of fire due to a faulty heater. More often than not, I took my chances with the heater.
Mama's cooking fiascoes were so prevalent that there was a blackened scorch mark behind the stove. And, then there was that period of time, thanks to a crate of sconces Stanbury brought her, Mama decided that candle light would add to the ambiance of the house. (We quickly put the ca-bosh on that, not wanting to push our luck.) With all of these possible calamity's coupled with the copious quantities of consumed adult beverages, it was a miracle that the house never burned to the ground.
As the saying goes says "God watches out for fools and children." Perhaps we can add High Acres to that list.
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