When I was little, the house next door that my grandma and grandpa lived in was huge. Everything about it was cavernous and roomy to a small child. There was so much open space it was like a mansion to me. They even had stairs going up to the attic, and the attic was all finished and enclosed. Instead of the roof pitch going all the way down to the floor the sides of the room had short walls. Those attic walls consisted of a series of cabinet doors that ran the length of the room, and were used for storage. We kids LOVED to play in the attic. It was like it was built just for kids to have fun in. I know now that the house was nowhere near as big as I perceived it to be back then because it's still standing and I've been by it several times since childhood. It looks extremely tiny now. Sadly, it also looks pretty neglected--a far, far cry from the condition my grandparents kept it in. Back in the day it was neat as a pin. Grandma kept the inside spotless, and grandpa was responsible for the outside. He was very detail-oriented, and very resourceful as well. He built a flagpole for his front yard, and he even kept that nice and well-maintained. Every year he would laboriously lower it to the ground (with my dads help) and repaint the entire thing--even the copper-painted toilet float he had mounted on the very top. The way my dad explained it, they had some kind of rope and pulley system they used, and it actually extended through the garage wall near the top, allowing them to lower and raise the pole whenever the wanted to. He was just as fastidious when it came to keeping shrubs and trees trimmed. He had a big holly tree out front near the flagpole that he kept lovingly trimmed to a nice, uniform shape. When Christmas time rolled around, he festooned it with strings of lights. Between our houses was a big garden, and that was grandma's pride and joy. I believe it was half vegetables and half flowers. Dahlias were her favorite, and she grew some big ones. I always remember her talking about her dahlias. I don't recall any boasting about vegetables, but I'm sure there must have been vegetables grown in the garden too. As good as the dark, rich soil in Algona is, it would have almost been a crime to not have veggies growing. I just remember her always talking about her dahlias.
Both of our Algona homes had oil heat, and both were supplied by the same source: An above-ground storage tank. There was an attached room on the south of grandpa's garage that housed it. It was a huge tank. At least to kids it was anyway. The room was dismal at best--the shiny, hard-packed dirt floor lit by a single naked light bulb that hung down from the ceiling. The whole room smelled strongly of heating oil, some of which emanated into the garage area as well. The smell of oil that enveloped you when you walked into it gave you the impression that the dirt floor was totally impregnated with oil that had leaked from the tank or from its lines and fittings over the years. The room was not off limits to anyone--most likely because there was really nothing in there other than the oil storage tank--and therefore was not locked. I remember one time I dared a neighbor, David, to take all his clothes off in there (I think the dare game is something all kids do). I'm pretty sure there was no incentive or any particular reason for him to do it. I'm sure there was at least one other of my siblings involved--probably Don. Well, we all ducked into that dark, oil-smelling room and, sure enough, he took all his clothes off just like I dared him to do. He had just finished and was standing there completely naked when all of a sudden, the door swung open blinding us all. David stood frozen, facing the door and bathed directly by the beam of daylight.
"What are you kids... Oh!"
My grandma, with a shocked and surprised look on her face, backed up and closed the door. David hurriedly got dressed and we all scooted out of there. Grandma never brought it up to anyone. I guess she really didn't know what to do about such a thing. We never heard another peep about it.
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