In the northeast corner of the house, just outside the pantry and living room walls, Mother planted pansies. They were in an area where the sun never reached.  Both Jean and I remember those pansies.  They were HUGE!  They looked very happy in their little shaded corner of the yard.  Grandpa had planted a poplar tree at the corner of the kitchen gate.  The poplar tree has a unique smell: it smells like summer to me.  The leaves rustle in the wind, sounding so important on a windy night.  This particular tree is still standing.  Jean and I visited our old home about three years ago (1998) and measured the distance around its trunk: 18 feet!  That part of our childhood still stands and is at least 100 years old! The washhouse was not far from the house.  It separated part of the back yard from the orchard.  There was a fence running behind it, with about two feet of space between the fence and the washhouse.  This little house was often being used as a storage place.  The separator was housed in the washhouse.  When we owned a cow, Mother would use the separator to separate the milk and the cream.  It had many small parts that had to be taken apart and washed each time it was used.  That was my mother’s “nightmare job.”  Jean remembers we would sometimes go in and turn a handle on the separator very fast and then let go and hear it hum, watching its parts speeding round.  I would go in alone sometimes and play house.  The washhouse was a small place and had a window looking toward the yard.  I would also leave the door open so it wouldn’t be so dark. Under the washhouse was the cellar.  Our cellar was cemented all around with shelves on two sides.  The floor was also cemented.  All Mother’s bottled fruit and vegetables would be stored there.  Mother would clean it out every year, washing the floor and shelves, in preparation for the new bottled food.  I loved the smell when the cement was clean and damp.  Sometimes we would find little toads down there, hopping around.  I was brave enough to pick them up, but I never held them for long.  One year, I carried my little blue table that Uncle Mark had made for me down into the cellar.  I was going to have a tea party.  Of course, the cellar door was wide open and the fresh smell of late summer filled my lungs.  I set up my nice little tea set on the table and ran across the street to pull some mint from the side of the ditch.  I washed the leaves and put them in my teapot with water and lots and lots of sugar.  I remember I was a little disappointed because the mint was very faint, but I always liked sugar.  It was a very happy experience.  I remember it well. A wider view of our house A more recent picture of the washhouse taken by Jean I have fond memories of playing down in the cellar. The cellar door was not very long, but Jean and I would get the wicker buggy out from the washhouse and take turns pushing each other down the closed cellar door.  I remember doing it, but I don’t think it was exciting enough to do it often. Sometimes on a cold and windy winter night, Jean and I would make a short stop behind the washhouse to answer nature’s call.  It was such a long way to get to the outhouse, way out in the middle of the orchard.  One night, Jean, while in a compromising position, stuck her tongue out onto the fence.  It stuck!  She had to pull it off.  Naturally, her tongue was sore for days.  She always had to learn the hard way! We had a hedge that ran part way down the north side of our yard and all the way across the front until you came to the orchard fence.  This gave us partial privacy in our yard. All the cement sidewalks in Salina ran north and south.  We had a sidewalk on the east side of our lot.  It was so old and crumbly, but it was a place for me to ride my roller skates.  Oh my, I always had scabs from sores I would get when I would fall down on that bumpy sidewalk. The road running along the north side of our yard was the “Designated Stock Trail.”  I didn’t know that until I saw the sign when I was older.  The livestock would come down from the mountains in the fall and back up in the spring.  There would be herds of cattle and sheep traveling that road.  When I was a little girl, I used to have nightmares of big bulls chasing me up the street to my house...and into my house...and up the stairs...leaving me only one choice…to jump out of Jean’s upstairs window!  That’s when I would wake up, shivering from fear.  I still remember.  Jean reminded me of an experience we had together, one of those “sister ones.”  Jean was playing hopscotch on our sidewalk by the garden.  I was watering the lawn nearby, when Jean foolishly said, “Don’t get my hop-scotch wet!”  If you were a pesky little sister and your bossy big sister said that to you, what would you do?  Of course I turned the water on her and the sidewalk, where she had drawn her hopscotch.  Figures.  I don’t remember laughing at the time.  I probably had to run for it, but we can talk about those days now and they seem funny to us.  I love my sister. This ends my tour of the quarter block my grandfather purchased before I was born.  I’m glad he experienced the miracle of receiving money so he could buy that plot.  It was my world until I was ten, a safe place to learn about life.  I had a mother and father who loved me and a sister who helped me learn about laughing, crying and being tough.