Arrival on the Island

When our family arrived on the island I believe I was with my father as I was young, four I think, and the house we were moving to was rough and needing some major work. The terms “house” and “needing work” should be clarified here. The house consisted of two rooms on the bottom, two on top, no insulation, no electricity, no plumbing and no screens in the windows. The only thing I am told it had was a "dead stinkin' fox" (according to Mom), lots of garbage (Mom says it wasn’t trash - it was the beer can mountain), a very leaky roof and vines growing over it. Great-Uncle Reese had died in the house in a fire in the kitchen. He was an electrician not-to-be-bothered to perform his magic and wire his own house. Pictures of the early days include me in a cute little sundress with a sweet pudgy smile, my mother in a sundress with a smile and soot on her face, a blackened kitchen with a Coleman stove in the background, and a older brother with a scowl. The scowl of a teenage boy ripped from the basketball courts of the city and tossed into the great abyss of the island, was one we all would grow to know very well. 

Dick (mom's boyfriend) didn’t last too long, as he did live up to his name. I think my mom wanted company, even as she tried to escape and live off the land.  He wasn’t much help and an added negative mark in his column was throwing my brother out of a moving car. Now in his defense, I guarantee he was provoked. Provocation was David’s specialty. But as we all know, throwing children out of cars (no matter how tempting) is never socially acceptable, even for island standards. Island standards were quite different than average civilization, a different way of living for sure. A step back in time shall we say. Not the end of the earth, but you could see it from there---that truly is not an exaggeration.

The first year (when Dick was there) we didn’t have insulation or proper windows, so it was a bit cold to say the least. Our sole heat source was a woodstove in the living room. All I remember from that winter is everyone huddled around the stove in sleeping bags. The house was four rooms, two on top and two on bottom with a staircase in between. I don’t think we spent much time anywhere but the living room. We were without electricity too. Our only lights were oil lamps. My memories are vague, as I was only 4 or 5, but oil lamps and woodstoves still evoke a deep sense of home and comfort to me.

Over the summer we fixed up the house: new siding, insulation, windows, a roof and electricity. Seems like these items would have been essential prior to moving in, but not to my mom. She had a “vision” clearly. Being the parent of a teenager, now I see why my brother was full of rage. At age 13 my brother was suddenly moved from living in the middle of the city to clearly what must have felt like the end of the earth. Eating dinner from the Coleman stove and camping around the woodstove was fun for a five year old, but not so much for a teenage boy. Plus, he was immediately put to work.

Firewood had to be harvested, cut, stacked and hauled. I was too young for this chore at first. As the years went on I remember going with Jack (Mom’s long time boyfriend and eventually husband) to get wood and standing outside with a dog while he split it. I would help stack. The pile was amazing to me. It seemed to go on forever. It was fascinating to a little girl. I thought I was a great help. Now I know I must have been in the way, but thankfully I didn’t feel that way. It was another adventure for me. For the teenagers and grown ups, it was just a ton of work.