Eclectic Tack

 I have told before of the treasures Stanbury bought for High Acres. Well, they were not all for Mama. Daddy would have him "on the look out" for certain items for him also. The advantage was, it was always a deal. The trick was just what he would bring back.

Since we had horses and usually folks to ride them, Daddy had Stanbury looking for saddles. Stanbury assured him this would not be a problem. My horse, Rusty, was hunter, I rode hunt seat, and had my own saddle so I was not in this game. Everyone else rode western, but I don't think Stanbury would have recognized an English saddle if he saw one.

The first saddle he brought Dad was a regular western saddle in good shape. Dad was thrilled. Saddles were expensive and he got this one for a steal. The following week, when Dad called him about something on the farm, Stanbury told him, "Bill, ar found yar a big saddle, a right fancy one." Knowing Stanbury, "fancy" could mean anything.

In this case, "fancy" meant real "fancy". Stanbury had managed to procure a Mexican parade saddle made of black leather covered with Mexican silver embellishments. And, it was huge, much larger than the size of a traditional large western saddle.  Since there were pieces of silver covering most of it, God only knows the amount of silver that was on it and how much it weighed.

I was surprised Dad did not politely tell Stanbury that a parade saddle would not do (much less one that looked like that one) or he would have just left it in the tack room as ornamentation. But, oh no, Dad, much to Mama's dismay, used that saddle with pride. When he led a group of us trail riding, there was no doubt who was in charge. The only thing he lacked was a standard to carry with him. And, I assume he did not have one of those simply because it never crossed his mind. Thank God for small favors.

When I thought that was over the top, I should have known better. Several weeks later, Stanbury showed up with a lady's side saddle. Now, that was a novelty. And, if there was one thing Daddy loved, it was a novelty. So when we got ready to take guests on a trail ride, Dad would start in the tack room and tell them they had choice of saddles, more than they expected. 

A side note here, I would occasionally ride with the side saddle. Much to my surprise, it was a very  comfortable way of riding. I mastered the side saddle and would occasionally pull it out when we were at a horse show. It gave "English Pleasure" a whole new definition.

A Question of Water or Not

 The Fourth of July always brings back warm memories of our family and friends up on High Acres. We all would invite friends to come join us. It was not usual to find, upon reflection, a week or so afterwards, that there were certain guests there none of us had issued an invitation. Apparently we were such grand hosts during their last visit they just assumed they had an open invitation any time they were in the neighborhood, or not.

But, it didn't matter, there was plenty of room. If one didn't merit a bedroom, there were a variety of sofas and half of the house upstairs was one huge open space with various and sundry extra old windows, doors, mantles, and pilasters left over from the construction of the house as well as miscellaneous pieces of furniture awaiting the completion of the room they were intended for. 

Space wasn't an issue. A reliable water source for the house was. Before we would arrive for every trip, Daddy would call Stanbury, the farm's overseer, to make sure that everything had been fixed with the pump and the well. He would remind him that we had guests coming. "Nar, Bill. I thank we got her fixed this time." Of course 'fixed' in Stanbury's lingo most likely involved some combination of bailing twine, used pipes, duct tape, and a method he 'learnt' from his pa. And, every time we were coming up it was "fixed".

And, as my friend, will tell you, that was true a good 25% of the time. 95% of the time we would start off with water. Everyone would have hot showers, water in the kitchen, and commodes that flushed. Then it was only a matter of how much time was going to pass before you would hear someone shouting expletives from the bathroom. There was no need to inquire - they were most likely half way through their shower, probably soaped up head to toe, and then the water cut off. 

Someone would rush in with gallon buckets of water we kept on hand for such emergencies. (Luckily at that time of the year, they would have been kept warm in the sun, so the victim at least got to rinse off with warm water.) 

Then one of us had to go find Daddy or Stanbury for an emergency intervention. If you looked out the window, down the hill, you could always see Stanbury standing there in his blue overalls, hat in one hand, scratching his head with the other. And, I can hear him. "What in the tarnation is it now? It was working just fine." He would get down on his hands and knees and an hour or so later with a lot of yelling, "Try this. Does that work?", once again we would have water. Daddy's first comment was always, "OK, she's fixed. Who's next for the shower?" And, some brave volunteer would step forward.

One friend I brought up saw the line of buckets of water by the back door and asked if we had those in case of fire. I, maybe too quickly, told her that, no, those were the backup water supply for showers. That evening when we had finished dinner, I asked her if she wanted to shower before bed or in the morning. She sheepishly looked at me and asked, "Is there an inside shower?" Before I could laugh, suddenly realizing what she thought, my brother quipped, "Well that depends. There is a shower. The question is: Is there water - in the shower?" 

The Lake at High Acres

 When Mama and Daddy first bought the farm, the family they bought it from showed them 4 or 5  springs on the place.  The construction or maybe I should say, "reconstruction" of Mama's house was the first priority. Then two projects topped the list - building a barn and a pond. The barn was not an issue. There was a local saw mill that could provide the heavy timbers needed and plenty of the rough cut siding, just like was on the house (much to my mother's surprise). 

So while the barn was being built, Dad and Stanbury, the farm overseer, went in search of the ideal location. The only choice was a low place below the "Calf Pasture" where a very active fresh water spring was located. A back hoe was brought in, a large hole area dug out, and a damn built. 

Very slowly the "pond" filled up. Dad was most excited about his pond. My brother and I envisioned a large lake where we could swim during the summer. Always being the planner, Dad had Stanbury and his crew build a floating dock in the pond for my brother and me to swim off of. Mama drew out the plans for the  a picnic shelter on the hill above the pond. 

Meanwhile the barn was going up nicely. Unlike most projects on the farm, the barn actually resembled what it was planned to be. (A novel idea I would learn for High Acres.) It looked like a real Dutch style barn. It had six large stalls  and a large center aisle, a nice size tack room, and best of all, a huge hay loft. Dad had them paint the siding white and had a large HA (the farm's cattle brand) painted over the door. 

The next time we went up to the farm, Dad was excited to check on his pond. What we saw was a bit disappointing. Instead of a "pond", it was more of a large muddy pool of water. When he asked Stanbury if there was a problem. Stanbury took his hat off, held it in his hand, scratched his head and said, "Don't know for sure. That thar spring runs like a clock. Ain't no holes in the damn, ar checked." 

And, the picnic shed was built to Mama's plans, however, once again in the running theme, Stanbury had sided it with unpainted rough cut boards. Upon closer look, instead of using regular posts in the construction, he had gone and just chopped down some small trees, removed their branches and  cut them to the correct size. All in all, instead of a nice looking picnic shed, we had something akin to a lean-to built by a frontiersman living on the land. Not the nice neat picnic shelter my Mama had in mind, not even close.

On the following visit to the farm the water level in the pond had reached the top of the damn. After further examination, Daddy realized that the pond was as large as it was going to get. Unfortunately, Stanbury had not built the damn as far away from the spring as Daddy had in mind. The floating dock, Dad had built to go in the pond for us to swim off of was pretty sad looking given it's large proportion to the small size of the pond - 40' x 75' at best.  

Every time anyone started talking about how hot it was, my mother was quick to suggest a swim in the pond, as if she would be caught dead in that cold muddy small body of water. I think my brother and I swam there maybe once or twice to humor Daddy. There were times the water was so low the "floating" dock was not floating. Given the pond was dug from red clay, just getting down to the water was messy at best. Needless to say Daddy's pond was not one of his best ideas.

Always, able to make anything humorous, Daddy eventually started referring to the pond as "the lake" when giving guests the initial tour of the farm which also included a stop to visit the picnic shelter which he gave my mother full credit for its architectural design and construction, much to her ire. 

Mama's House

 When my parents bought High Acres, the farm in the mountains of North Carolina, they immediately wanted to build a house on it. The location was not an issue. The house site offered a 360-degree view of hills and valleys that included three states. Although the sunsets  and sunrises were spectacular, the winds could also be quite stiff at times. But my parents had their heart set on putting their house on top of that hill. Stanbury, the farm overseer, just stood there, scratched his head, put his cap back on, and said, "Warll, we'll have to nail the shingles on real tight."

Now my mother, being very practical, found a grand old Victorian house in our home town they were razing to make room for a bank. She took it upon herself to purchase the home and have the company, that was tearing it down, number the pieces (that is the windows, the staircase, the doors, doorways, arches, mantles, and any other architectural pieces worth saving). Then she informed my father that it was up to him to get it transported to the farm. My father's response was, "Then what?" 

"We'll use the pieces to build the house," was my mother's reply. So the numbered pieces were loaded and transported up to the farm. 

The first time we saw the house dried in, my mother asked quietly "Where are my white columns?". My father pulled her aside for a conference, where he explained that due to the exact location she had chosen to build, unless they had done some very expensive excavation, which was not in the budget, the footprint of the house was relegated to its square shape. "But, it's so plain", she said. 

"It just looks that way now", my father assured her. "We just got started. Give it some time."

The first thing one saw when they entered the front door was the staircase, not the grand gently curved one that Mama had purchased from the Victorian home. Rather a very rustic straight set of stairs. There was no curve and the long treads had been cut to fit the narrower steps.  Even though the ornate balusters were used on the new stairway, the 'grand' design was definitely lost in the translation. There was the ornate archway leading into the great room where all the unused windows, as well as the weights and cases, were stacked on the floor. Perhaps, I thought, it was going to take some time to come together. I could tell by the look on my mother's face this was not what she had in mind.

"It just looks this way now", my father assured her. "We just got started. Give it some time."

A month or so later we went back up to check on the progress of Mama's house - and it had progressed. There was now siding: rough hewn siding, that Stanbury proudly told her came from Poplar trees on the farm. All the large windows with their casings were installed, as was the enormous formal front door with its fancy facing and side-beveled windows. A small portico had been built out over the door, and there in front were 4 of Mama's white columns. 

However, all of this was overshadowed by the barn red color Daddy had had the house painted. And this much red with bright white trim made a statement. Mama was less than thrilled.

It wasn't long before the house was finished enough for us to move in. We loved the house. It had large rooms and plenty of space for our many friends who came to visit. Mama busied herself decorating. Daddy had his back deck to serve cocktails while we enjoyed the sunsets. The furniture was fairly eclectic, from the full-size church pew that served one side of the long kitchen table to the mahogany chairs in the small den to the old iron beds in the bedrooms. But one thing was consistent - no one room of the house was ever completely finished. It was always a work in progress. 

We were always sanding and stripping the ornate moldings, adding insulation to the rooms (there was never enough), paneling rooms (it was not unusual to be in a room with bare insulation showing between the studs on at least one wall), or painting or staining some surface. And yes, Stanbury was right - we were constantly having to replace shingles. It never ended. When Mama sold the farm, the house still had unfinished rooms - and that was thirty years after we built it.