Saturdays

Saturdays were the best days. Instead of wearing khaki trousers and plaid button up shirts, dad would come down the hall in faded jeans and t-shirt whistling a John Phillips Sousa tune. After completing our list of chores delegated by mom, we worked in the yard. Being a girl, I usually was assigned carport duty and avoided the more laborious chores of the older boys. The driveway ended with a large cement carport in front of a double garage. The cement was prime for rollerblading and shooting hoops into the fiberglass basketball hoop, but needed continuous sweeping from the heavy dust storms that rampaged the area. I was to use a large push broom to clear the carport, and then the regular kitchen broom to get the corners and sides of the house. The weight of the push broom made my feeble arms shake, and I needed frequent rests. It seemed to me this task would take hours, for by the time I cleared a perfect white path on the cement, a burst of wind would come blowing gravel and dirt across my completed work.

The older boys worked on projects. Like building cinder block retaining walls or underground sprinklers. This was harder work. I could tell by the way Drew’s face fell when the command came to turn off their video games and meet dad outside, and the way Dustin grumbled as he put on his worn white sneakers. Sometimes they would disagree about the usefulness of the projects, but dad said he was, “building boys into men, not blocks into walls”.

West Highway 24

There were five Killian kids when we moved to the house on Highway 24. Almost six. Davi was born that October, right after us older kids started school. I was only in the first grade, but I was no stranger to moving houses. But this house would be special. I knew it right away because there were two staircases. Only the best houses had two sets of staircases. I immediately though what an advantage this would be if ever a burglar broke in. We would always have a way to run and escape. One staircase was a traditional set of straight stairs with short tan carpet worn out in the middles, but the other was a wrought-iron spiral staircase that ran from the back of the hallway down to the linoleum covered basement. Not everyone had a grand, twirling set of stairs. We just had to stay in this house for more than a few months.

The outside yards were perfect for a six year old girl, especially one with two older brothers. Drew, who was three years her elder, would fill the pens with chickens and roosters. There was a small irrigation pond in the middle of the front yard with a gravel country drive wrapping around. Snake grass and tumbleweeds surrounded the unkempt pond, but having six kids had its advantages. Saturday mornings would be spend with a hoe and rake for some time.

The backyard was the true gem. The back garage door opened up to a field of green grass. A majestic walnut tree stood at the end of the yard, its expansive branches reaching heavenward. Clusters of raspberry and blackberry brambles rolled down the right side of the yard, followed by a small grove of cherry and apple trees. A steel swing set frame was the only thing to break the landscape, and would naturally be a companion for the trampoline.

The left side yard was designated as the garden plot, and the grass was overturned to expose the rich brown soil in a neat 10x15 foot rectangle. Garden vegetables grew well in the central Washington climate, and our garden was no exception. The plots of pumpkins, tomatoes, green peas, zucchini, and watermelon were the view from the wrap around porch.

 My childhood was spent on that porch balancing barefooted on the wooden railing, with the sweet warm breeze on my face and all my dreams within reach.