When I was twelve and my mom came home (Hammond, Indiana) one day and said that she had found the cutest little house for us to live in. She could have a garden and we would have a huge yard to play in. And, then she took us there and my heart just fell. But, I shall always remember it as my home on “Hookey Hill” where we had love, adventures, sorrow and joy. We were a family.
THE SHACK UPON THE HILL
I was a lonesome run-down shack
Sitting high upon a hill
Abandoned and neglected there
My rooms were much too still
My boards were loose and weathered gray
With specks of former hue
My tarpaper roof was wind-torn
And had a leak or two
My chimney crumbled from neglect
And had a ragged crest
Sparrows used it yearly
To house their springtime nest
My window glass held years of grime
Some frames had lost their panes
And sills showed signs of sad decay
From frequent snows and rains
My door had broken hinge and lock
So hung a bit awry
The sounds it made in passing breeze
A squeaky lullaby
My insides, too, were ailing then
With checked and peeling paint
But though in need of much repair
Could be described as quaint
For everywhere that one might look
Were glimpses of the past
And though it was in token form
Had somehow seemed to last . . .
Clean spots left upon my walls
From pictures hung with twine
That hugged and graced the covering
Of faded rose design
And on my rough hewn pantry shelves
There sat a broken clock
A mason jar, a dented pan
And damaged butter crock
Rusty one-pound coffee cans
With sparse and dried remains
Of pungent red geraniums
Sat on my window frames
A gaping hole was in my wall
Where stove-pipe once went through
Linoleum graced a cracked sink
And Granny cupboard, too
A room was added long ago
With roof of rusted tin
There was a deep dark cellar room
That served as harvest bin
And that is how I was perceived . . .
As a crumbling old shell
But life was not to see an end
For I have more to tell
A city family on a drive
Discovered me one day
And saw potential beauty here
Beneath my sad decay
And soon my wounds and bruises
Were no longer seen
I have new paint and paper
And brand new window screen
My chimney with its new red bricks
No longer winter sleeps
And with its new gray covering
My roof no longer weeps
There’s glass in all my window frames
That’s now kept sparkling clean
New hinges on my big front door
Prevents that awful lean
Pretty pictures once again
Decorate my walls
And the plaster on my ceilings
No longer cracks and falls
A big thick rug on once bare boards
Gives warmth to front room floor
While chintz and lacy curtains
Grace windows as before
There’s flowers on my window sills
A tiled kitchen floor
And a rug for wiping soiled shoes
Is by my busy door
The musty smell of aging wood
Is now replaced, instead
By the smell of country cooking
And loaves of homemade bread
Six noisy children, with their pets
Just love to laugh and shout
With youthful exuberance
As they run in and out
And the woods that surround us here
Have come alive once more
As children play their childish games
On its thick leafy floor
A cottonwood holds a crude tree house
A mighty oak, a swing
Another tree, the tallest one
Is crowned with kite and string
A cow is grazing in the woods
There’s chickens in a pen
Little hatchlings trail behind
An old brown setting-hen
A little boy plays in the sand
With tiny trucks and cars
And little girls pick wild-flowers
To put in old fruit jars
But that is not the best of it
For these are only things
My rooms are filled with happiness
And all the warmth that brings
My walls embrace this family
While sharing hopes and fears
And all the poignant feelings
Of their joys and their tears
And so I live, in joy again
A long awaited thrill
With time to make new memories
In this shack upon the hill
5/5/81 Phyllis DeWitt-VanVleck
This is the DeWitt Family of Griffith Indiana
back row: Edward, Sally and dad
front row: Patsy, Beverly, mom and myself – Phyllis
Brother Donald had died in the war.
Edward and Patsy are now deceased but Sally, Beverly and myself (Phyllis) will have a reunion, in October, in Tennessee.
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