May 1978

I've written a complete description of the Arterial Veinous Malformation back in March of this year. Lifting the logs burst a blood vessell in my head. The veins had been swelling every time I lifted a log, and this was causing the symptoms. When I kept pushing myself, there wasn't time for the blood to drain from the cluster of extra veins and one finally burst.

When I lost consciousness, W didn't take me to our local hospital or even call for a squad. He put me in the car with TK and drove me the hours drive to my parents house. This I learned later. I still wasn't conscious when he got to my Mother. Mom told me he asked her what he was suppose to do with me. She kept TK with her and sent us to the hospital. So when I finally came to, I was in Marion. They admitted me and W went back home. (He told me eventually that he was worried someone would steal the tools he'd left out when he took me to Marion.) But, when he left, he didn't stop at Mons first or even phone to let her know they kept me. And, he didn't come back.

This was only about 3 months after she buried Joe. I can't even imagine what she was going through. TK was still a month shy of his 7th birthday and she was trying not to scare him. Dad was off on a sales call and his Company couldn't reach him. Because of the M.S., she had given up her drivers license. She must have been frantic. A phone call confirmed I'd been admitted, but they wouldn't tell her anything over the phone.

By the time I was aware of what was going on around me, they had already done a C.A.T. scan. They were able to tell me it was an aneurysm and that I'd been very lucky. The vein that burst had been tiny. It could only fill the available area and cause enough pressure to knock me out. After that it wasn't big enough to keep pumping. That saved my life. If the vein had been larger, I would have been dead, or a vegetable, before W got me to Marion. Of course this news didn't endure W to my parents. Though to be honest, going to the local hospital probably wouldn't have made any difference if the vein had been larger. And I was glad to be closer to my folks. They kept me in the hospital to see if they could determine how large the Arterial Veinous Malformation was. I had several more tests, one of which was very uncomfortable. I also described it back in March, but briefly, during that x-ray they inserted a tube in my throat and threaded it into my brain where they added a dye for the x-ray. (I had to be conscious to answer questions while they did it.) The pictures of that x-ray are the ones I still see in my mind. It showed a fist sized cluster of veins of all sizes that knotted and twisted aroung each other like yarn played with by cats. It was in the center of my head. Extra veins that I had been born with. When I lift anything heavy or push or strain, the blood can't get through the cluster fast enough because some of the veins are very tiny. So the pressure builds. Finally it all made sense. All those years of the symptoms not making any sense at all. All those years of headaches and having Doctors tell me there was nothing wrong with me. There was nothing to see till it bled and they finally ran a test that showed it.

My parents were both with me when the Doctor came in with that x-ray. He told us that now that I had weakened the veins and had one aneurysm, it was a "time bomb" in my head. He warned us that "it was very likely" I would be dead within a year. If I lived, I could expect the headaches to get worse. As we age our veins lose elasticity and another aneurysm was extremely certain at some time in my future. The location deep in the center of my head made any kind of correction impossible. They couldn't even see a beginning or an end of the A.V.I. to start from. Surgery would cause more damage then any help I could receive. I was 33 years old. (By the way. It's 2006 and I'm 61 years old. That Doctor scared us to death and I'd like to "talk" to him now. Wonder if he's alive?).........(He was right about the headaches getting worse though.)

Trying to Deal With It

In those following weeks, I was just trying to get past my anger at W. He still wouldn't let me talk about my brother. His life or his death. When I tried to make sense of what I'd learned from the Funeral Director at he private viewing, W would get angry at me and tell me it was over and I should drop it.

When I couldn't talk to my husband, I turned to some friends. They all seemed to believe I'd heard wrong. They insisted if the death certificate said suicide, there couldn't be any question. I hadn't heard wrong. Left temple and no autopsy. I still didn't want to talk to my family about it, and gradually I kept my haunting questions to myself. But they never went away and they never left me in peace.

TK was in school. JT was off living in Toledo with his Father. I thought it was time to go back to work. That would help keep my mind busy. But when I mentioned it to W, he was against it. He wanted me to stay free to start work on the log home again as soon as the weather allowed. That reminded me of the law suit and that I hadn't heard anything from the lawyer. So I started calling him again. And got another shock. He'd never done anything and now we'd passed some time allowance. There wasnt' going to be any way we could get the miscut logs replaced. No apology from the lawyer. And when I checked, no other lawyer wanted to help us sue the first. They considered it our own fault for not checking closer. A lesson in not trusting. I was learning the hard way.

It was the last straw for me. I knew we were going to lose the property. But as soon as the weather allowed, we were back out there trying to finish with what we had. W thought we could get the wall high enough to add dormers and still get it under rood. A Gambrel roof would allow us to use less logs. So in early spring I found myself lifting logs up again. Now we were lifting them twice as often and twice as high. First to the scaffolding and again to the wall. And immediately I was in trouble again. But, this time I was blaming it on everything I'd gone through that winter. This time I was trying to ignore what was happening. I knew the Bank wasn't going to wait much longer. This was our last chance to save it. If we could get it under roof, we could camp out right there while we finished. That would allow us to sell the first house and make the bank happy. There was no bank morgage on our first home, so we would be ok.

So I pushed myself and ignored the pain in my head. I ignored the dizzy spells and the feeling that I was going to faint. I ignored it all, till that day in May when I lost consciousness.

Joe's Funeral

My first memory early in the Funeral also caused me the most embarrassment. I have no explanation or excuse or any idea of what possessed me to do what I did. People were seated and the family was led to the front to take our seats. On the way, we passed some of the extended family who was waiting to be seated behind us. When I saw my paternal Grandfather and his sister, who had both been widowed and were standing together, I stopped and insisted they should sit up front with us. I wouldn't take no for an answer and they were forced to go with me to avoid a scene. Then I was forced to realize my mistake when my Brother S and his wife and daughter found themselves without two seats. The Directors had to scramble to make room. I will never know what made me do such a thing. Apparently Mom wasn't aware of my part in it. Later she commented to me that she didn't even know where her parents sat. I was too embarrassed to tell her it had been my fault.

Purhaps that's partly why I don't remember much of the service. The Minister was a personal friend of my Fathers. There had been no repeat of the problem when W's Mother committed suicide. W and TK both sat with me during the funeral. But, when it was time to take the Limo to the cemetary, W left me again. He took Grandma Chief and TK with him. I rode with my parents and Brother S and his family to the cemetary.

I have a very clear picture of the service at the cemetary. It seemed like everyone followed us out there. It was an enormous crowd. Remembering that newspaper article, the crowd and long line of cars made me feel better. Afterward, I have one of those pictures that is still just as sharp in my mind as it was in 1978. Dad stayed to greet and thank people and invite them back to the house. I had helped Mom return to the limo immediately because of her M.S. and the bitter cold day, and I was sitting by the window. Most of the crowd had drifted into small groups. But a group of Joe's friends had stayed at the grave site. These people were mostly dressed casually in jeans and jackets. (I haven't mentioned that we buried Joe dressed like that. Jeans and his cowboy shirt.) Despite the cold, they lingered. I'd heard some comments among the older crowd about how they were dressed disrespectfully for a funeral. (Back then you had to wear a suit to a funeral.) But there was nothing disrespectful about what I watched. These weren't all school friends. I didn't know most of these young people. I recognized the young woman Joe had recently been dating. And Ron was there. I had stayed close to my Mother, but then I wished I could have talked to his friends. One by one, before they left the casket, each one of them stopped at the head of the casket, kissed the tips of their fingers and layed those fingers on Joe's casket. That touched me more than anything else at the funeral. I pointed it out to Mom and we held hands and sobbed. Those young people didn't come to the house afterwards and I never did get to meet them.

W brought TK and Grandma Chief to the gathering at the house. Grandma Chief pitched right in and helped in the kitchen. Then she started washing dishes and stayed till she had everything cleaned and straightened up. I know how much Mom appreciated her help. W was forced to wait till she was ready before he could take her and TK back to Knox county. I didn't follow till much later that evening. After everyone had gone and Mom assured me she was ok, though I'm sure she wasn't till her own Mother left the next morning. My Father always said it was too bad Mom couldn't have spent more time alone with her own Father.

Calling Hours for Joe

Everyone has experienced the pain of losing a loved one. It's never easy, but most of the time during the calling hours is a blur. There are some sharp clear memories and some things I can't remember at all. But, the feeling of caring is still a vivid memory.

I remember how many people showed up. I remember a few who were missing. Some told me later they didn't see the paper in time. Others surprised me with their presence. I've been to calling hours in this county where a line forms and the family is forced to stand in one location. People move in and out and leave. I hate those. Our area never did that. You mingled. You could slip away briefly. You could drift from group to group or you could let them come to you. That way seems so much better to me. People can stay or leave quickly. Our extended family stayed with us the whole time.

Once again W was not with me. He told me that TK was too young to be expected to stay through the whole thing. I wanted TK to experience the rest of his family. I gave up though and didn't even try to argue. I just made the trip alone. It put me in the awkward position of explaining where my husband was to all those people who asked. That I remember clearly.

It went pretty well. There was the necessity of clearing the room once though. It was done quietly with no fuss. The Directors quietly told a few people to spread the word and people were ushering each other out of the room quietly. If there was any confusion, everyone was too polite to make a scene. I heard some quiet questions and quietly the word spread that Joe's mouth had dropped open. The important thing was that Mom was spared any real upset. She did pretty well. Everyone knew of her M.S. and I've always been proud of how my Fathers family sticks together. We've always been close and enjoy each others company. At times like that, it's a real comfort. It was the first time in days that I felt it was a normal situation. A celebration of a much loved man without a new shock every moment. Calling hours are a time to realize you aren't alone. It's a very important first stage toward healing. Just to see how many people really care.

But, the next morning, W let me down again. He told me he didn't want to be up there all day. He said to go ahead if I wanted to stay that long, and he'd follow with TK in time for the Funeral. When he arrived, just in time, he had Grandma Chief with him. I was glad to see her, but surprised W had brought my ex-hubby's Mother with him. Till I realized it gave him an excuse to drive to the Funeral Home, and not ride with us. He was going to avoid the tears and pain at any cost. My parents never said a word. Mom just clung to me. Or, was I clinging to her?

After His Death

Suddenly, after days of limbo, Joe's body was released to us. We had talked and when the Funeral Home told us it might be possible to have an open casket, we told them to try. During the time of waiting and wondering we had realized that his death would be impossible to accept if no one actually saw that it really was Joe. I still hoped there had been some mistake. It was arranged that we could have a private viewing after they were ready, to decide if we wanted the casket open or not. When the call came, my Brother S wasn't with us and we couldn't reach him. The paper had already come out with calling hours and we couldn't wait. Mom didn't feel there was any way she could see the body before we said he looked ok. So, Dad and I went alone for that private viewing.

They had done a good job. Joe wore his beautiful black hair long, as many young men did at that time. It covered any damage and Dad and I agreed to leave the casket open. To help his friends and extended family accept his death. But we received a warning too. Another horror. We were told to remember what happens to frozen meat. When it thaws, water continues to seep out. Joe was wrapped in plastic under his clothes. It rustled when you touched him. And he would have to be watched closely, with the possibility of the room being cleared so they could "touch him up" during calling hours. That gave us pause, but they didn't think it would be necessary. Dad still wanted the open casket and I felt the same.

One other thing has to be told about that private viewing. Though it didn't sink into my conscious thought or sort itself out till some time later. It did surprise me at the time.

While my Father was still talking to the Funeral Director, I went across the room to a chair where I had to sit down. The Directors partner followed me to make sure I was ok or needed some water or if he could answer any questions. I told him I was grateful they could do so much to make Joe look good. He told me that the long hair and the fact that the small bullet had gone in the left temple (on the back side of the casket) and not exited made it easier. I questioned what the autopsy had done. And he told me there had been no autopsy. I made him repeat that. After all, hadn't we been told we had been waiting on the body because it had to thaw for the autopsy. He told me again that there had been no autopsy on Joe's body. Then before I could question him more, Dad was ready to leave and we had to go home and warn Mom of the plastic over Joe's seeping body. Could it get any worse? I didn't mention to my family what I'd learned. If it upset me, how much more confusing would it have been for Mom? I never even asked Dad if he knew. Even much later. All those trips to the sheriff's office, did he know? Were Dad and I blindly protecting each other? If they were able to accept the suicide, why put them through all the questions that kept haunting me? Bullet in the left temple......no autopsy. Something wasn't right. If you are committing suicide why would a right handed person shoot themselves in the left temple while sitting in the drivers seat of a vehicle?

Before His Death

Joe had worked the same job since graduation. (Brother S worked there too.) Except for Joe's tour of duty in the Marines. Most of which he spent in Hawaii as a jet mechanic. He was an extremely handsome man (not just my opinion) and made friends easily. He didn't marry till his late 20's. The marriage ended when his wife brought home a boyfriend.

For a year before his death he had been on a medical leave from work. He wouldn't even tell Mom the details, but it was something in his throat. His voice was raspy and sometimes he couldn't talk at all. My parents believed he had throat cancer. Because of how long he was off work and his avoidance of telling them anything. They accepted his death as being suicide.

Dad was raised when men didn't show emotion. He was a rock, but he kept running from the Sheriffs office to home. Trying to discover all he could and hurrying home to check on Mom. By then we knew she had Multiple Sclerosis. Stress is not good for M.S. sufferers and what can be more stressful than a son being shot in the head. Then having the body held and having no idea of when we could plan a funeral. It left us not knowing who to call and what to say.

I'll tell you what was worse for me. Having the newspaper in Wyandot County print the picture of the truck on it's front page with a story about a "Loner" who had no friends or family who cared enough to report him missing. They printed that without talking to anyone for the real story. We hadn't reported Joe missing because he'd seen us and told us he was going on a trip out west to Yellowstone. He'd been studying a course to be a Forest Ranger while he was off work on the medical leave. And he wanted to see what else he had to do to work with the National Park System. He thought his Marine training would also be a plus. He'd been cheerful when he shared his plans and talked of his future. It was shortly after New Years and it was the last time I saw him.

It didn't seem strange to us that he didn't call anyone for that couple of weeks. We all believed he was out west. The newspaper article made me sick. But, my folks didn't want to do anything about it. They felt it would be even more upsetting to argue with the paper. Mom reasoned that anyone who knew Joe would know it wasn't true. She had no fight left and I couldn't go against her. I still get upset when I remember what was printed and knowing some people would read that and believe it of my brother. But, I guess that is just one more horror of that week that I can't get out of my memory. I still cringe when I see the media printing without concern for those family and loved ones who are already suffering. And, I don't believe a word I read!

February 1978

1978 was, and still is, the worst year of my life. It was Valentines day, a Tuesday, when I got the phone call from Dad. There was still a lot of snow from the blizzard. Some areas were still unaccessible due to drifts. The phone call was to tell me someone had found Joe's body in his GMC Jimmy buried in the snow in one of those areas. Then Dad had more to say, but he was hesitating. I coulnd't imagine what could be worse or what else he needed to tell me. He said he didn't want to tell me anything when I was alone. It was around 10 P.M. and W wouldn't get off his shift till midnight. I had to promise Dad I would call him home as soon as I hung up the phone. Then Dad told me it looked like Joe's death was a suicide. They wouldn't be releasing the body soon, but we could come home and stay with Mom in the morning.

I phoned W at work to tell him my brother was dead. This was 5 years after his Mother's suicide. I will never forget my shock when my husband told me it was only an hour and a half till his shift ended. He'd come home then. By the time he got there, I didn't care anymore if he came home.

The next morning W stayed home so he could go back to work on time. I got TK ready for the bus, then I drove to my parents alone. The last thing W told me was to be sure I was home again to meet the bus.

Thus was set the pattern of the rest of that week. W never did go with me and I always had to be back for TK after school. Finally on Friday, I thought to ask Beth to watch TK so I could be with Mom longer. I drove to Marion every morning. I guess it was only three days or so, it seemed longer. Dad would leave when I got there to try to find out what had happened.

I am going to stick to my own memories of this time. The grief of my family is not for me to describe. My Brother S, is still alive and I won't try to explain what I don't know of his experience during any of this. Dad said they had all been questioned by the sheriff. I don't know any more of that. Dad never told me what the questions were. I know the family had been trying to find Joe's friend Ron. Ron had inherited a house from his GrandMother, and he lived downstairs and rented the upstairs apartment to Joe after Joe's divorce. When Dad (or Steve) was finally able to reach Ron, we discovered the sheriff had kept Ron for questioning most of the day. That is all I remember of that first day. Except sitting with Mom in shock and disbelief and not knowing what was happening.

Maybe the first day, maybe later, I learned that a boy had been walking in the Killdeer Plains Area of Wyandot County on Valentines Day and come across Joe and his truck. My Brother had been shot in the head with a 22 pistol, and bled to death. This had to have happened before the blizzard and the truck was burried in snow. His body was frozen and we were told an autopsy would be preformed after it thawed.

When something like this happens, you have to know what happened. But, each detail is just one more horrid shock. It seemed to go on and on each day as I drove alone, 50 miles each way to be with my family for as long as I could. W would be asleep when I left in the morning and at work when I got home. When I did see him, (when he came home from work because I couldn't sleep) he wouldn't let me talk about it. He didn't want to hear. I tried to tell myself it was the reminder of his Mother's suicide that was effecting him. But, I couldn't help resenting his actions. Her suicide had returned to hurt me too. I just wanted his support, and he couldn't give it. I can't even remember what I told my family about any of that. I'm not sure they even asked, and I'm pretty sure they didn't care by then if he was with us.

January 1978

The Flood of 1959 hit on Jan. 21. The Blizzard of 1978 hit us on Jan. 26, 1978.

This is still considered the worst storm to ever hit Ohio. Winds gusted to over 100 miles per hour, with sustained winds at 45-60 miles an hour. The temperature dropped to below 10 degrees with wind chills in the minus 60's. 35 People died in Ohio. The storm continued on to the east coast and caused damage in the billions and many more deaths.

As soon as the wind kicked up and rocked Beth's trailor, she and Eagle left and came to us. She was divorced and alone then. The power went off almost immediately, but we were ok with our heatalater fireplace. During the height of the storm, it was dangerous to even go out to the log pile. Beth and I tied a rope around W before we would let him go out the door. He was glad of it when he couldn't even see the house 15 feet away. You lost your bearings as soon as the wind hit you. Beth was lucky her fear brought her to us as early as it did. The drifting was so bad, no one ever got a real measure of how much snow fell. The drifts between us and the wood pile reached over 4 foot, but the driveway was even deeper. This snow didn't pack, it was cold.

I had an old cast iron dutch oven and a heavy roaster that we sat right in the fireplace to heat food. The bedrooms became chilled, but we were warm enough at the other end of the house. The dogs ventured to the basement for their business, but otherwise stayed close. We passed the time with card games and talk and games with TK. I had started to tell a few ghost stories from my childhood, but Beth didn't like them. We pretty much stuck to funny tattle tale type stories. And we had the battery powered radio. Beth and W were both smokers and they smoked a lot. But, it went up the chimney and I don't remember it as a problem. (I've still never had a cigarette in my mouth, but I've been around second hand smoke all my life.) W carried in snow to keep the toilet full so it could be flushed and things fell into a lazy routine. It just went on longer than anyone could have expected.

We were fine through the blizzard and those first days afterward. The road was still snowed in and the power was still off and the temperatures were still very low, but the sky had cleared. Then we ran out of firewood.

W went across the road to check on Mr. And Mrs. G. They had a woodburning stove in their basement where they had spent the blizzard. They told him to bring us over if our house got too cold. It did and we had to go over. Beth and Eagle, TK and our dog and two guinea pigs, along with W and I. I had rotated the dutch oven and roaster and kept them full of beef from our freezer. There was always one ready and one cooking, and with my potatos and the carrots Mrs. G was able to add it was the best meal the G's had had since the power went off. Their little rat terrier was mesmerized with our guinea pigs and spent his time in the box with them. I think it was the only time he ever saw anything else close to his size. Beth and W had to go outside to smoke at their house and the big dogs were made to stay in the garage. We spent a half day and full night with the G's before the road was cleared past our houses and the power soon followed. W had already spent the days working in short bursts, due to the cold, on our driveway and the G's drive and Beth's. We had been marooned 8 days but the party was over and it felt good to go back home. I thought things could now return to normal. But, life would never be normal again. By brother J was dead. We just didn't know it yet.

Fall of 1977

Everything was going wrong. I'd been phoning the Lawyer about the law suit over the logs. He must have been giving me a story each time. Winter was coming again and we weren't finished with our log home. The bank was calling regularly wanting to know what the holdup was. When I explained about the logs, they didn't care. I didn't even try to tell them that as the wall got higher and I had to lift the logs higher, I was having more trouble just staying conscious. I didn't know what to make of it. I'd always had headaches but the pain in my head was worse and never eased up anymore. When I lifted the logs, I would get dizzy, feel faint and my skin would get cold and clammy. My vision would blur and my ears would roar. But, sitting still, for longer periods each time, that would go away again. Was I just lazy and looking for a way out of work? Was I crazy? No illness makes you sick and then goes away when you rest. None I knew of. I tried to push through it, ignore it. But it didn't go away. W was getting depressed and must have wished we'd never started. It was getting hard to motivate him.

With those headaches and the stress with JT that fall, I was starting to realize that I would probably never get to live in my log home on the 38 acres. I didn't know what else could possibly go wrong. Then JT went to live with Grandma and Grandpa Chief. Then Thanksgiving came, and he was gone. Those holidays are a blur to me. At Thanksgiving we didn't know JT wouldn't be back. When my family gathered for Christmas, it hit me that TK was now my only child at home. I'd had to send JT's gifts with Grandma and Grandpa Chief to Toledo. I was angry at W because he couldn't even hide his feelings about that. He was relieved and happy that there were just 3 of us now. Which also caused bad feelings toward W with my family. We'd been married 9 years and my family had never let on that they didn't like him. Now they didn't hide it from me, and Mom admitted she'd never warmed up to him. I didn't want another failed marriage, and it put me in the middle. W did love his son and he had been a wonderfull Father to TK. At least when they boy was young. As TK grew, his Father was expecting him to act as a man. Before he was even a teen. But, in 1977, that was still ahead of me. There was a lot still ahead of me. And the worst of it was coming a lot sooner then I could have guessed. And losing the log home was not going to be the worst of it.

Panther, Puma, Cougar?

Before I forget, I want to tell you about Ken W's. panther. He was right about the quicksand and he was right about the big cats living wild in our county. Whatever you call it, they're not a feral house cat. If you ever catch a glimpse of one of them, or see a paw print, you'll be shocked at the size of it.

It was the scream that first convinced us. Late in the evening, if we found ourselves still working in the summer dusk, we were chilled to the bone by a scream that just can't be described. Even coming from a distance, it was enough to start us packing for home. I thought more then once, I'd be glad to have those thick log walls finished and be sealed inside. We questioned neighbors, and other local hunters. Many had heard it and several had seen tracks. At first the only sightings were from cars who'd had one run across in front of them at night. Even the hunters we talked to hadn't actually seen one. But we didn't talk to anyone living in that area of the Knox County country who didn't believe they were out there. I'd lived in this county then for several years, about 15 miles from there and never heard of a big cat before. So they must be staying in the area of the Kokosing Dam and Fredericktown. Not too many people would talk to strangers about it for fear of being ridiculed. We had to admit to hearing it before they would grin and open up.

The Kokosing Dam is a favorite area for me to "hide in nature" when things pile up on me. I go off alone with my camera and don't come back till I feel calm. I have a snapshot of a paw print at the edge of the lake. I came across them very early one morning. The paw is bigger than my splayed hand and the one I took the picture of is clear enough to see it's shape clearly. Believe me, it gave me a start when I first saw it. It was fresh, and I spun around to be sure I was alone.

Just a few years ago, on his way to work early in the morning, my current husband got a wake up call when a huge light brown cat jumped across the county road in front of his pickup. With an enormous stride it bounded once. He said he couldn't believe his eyes. I wish I'd seen it.

Then last year, TV 4 started getting reports of a big cat near the Columbus area. At first there were a lot of jokes about it. Till the reports expanded to sightings by our Highway Patrol and other "reliable" people. Believe what you will, I'm sure wildlife is adjusting to life in the 21st Century. They may be small in number, but they are out there.

TK and a Guardian Angel

We were working on the front wall that August of 1977 and it was W's birthday. TK was playing inside the cabin with a new puppy. W was straddling the wall and I had just lifted one end of a log up to him. I turned back just in time to see TK falling through the hole where the fireplace would be.

The only way I could get to him was through that opening to the hill and around to the garage opening. When I crossed that hole I caught a glimpse of our six year old spread eagle and falling face down. Our blocks had been laid with extra rows and it was over 10 Ft. to the floor. Because of all the cement we'd filled the blocks with, there was cement debris laying everywhere. He wasnt' going to land on the sand.

When I'd cried out and took off, W had jumped to the outside of the wall and was ahead of me. I'd barely gotten to the hill when I heard the terrible sound of my son hitting the ground. It froze me. For an instant in time, I couldn't move.

Much later TK told me he had floated above me. He said he was above me and he saw me standing still on the hill. Then he saw me run. Next he remembered pain and trying to get upon his knees. How could my son have known I was frozen there if he hadn't seen me? An out of body experience by a small boy? His description gave me chills, but what else could it have been?

When W disappeared around the corner of the house, I was suddenly able to move again. I remember that run. A cross between needing to hurry and total fear of what I would find when I got there. I don't believe I've ever been so scared, before or since.

When I got to the garage opening, I saw TK on his bands and knees with his head hanging. W was on the ground beside TK telling him not to move. W looked up at me and his expression must have been a reflection of my own. W had his hand on TK's shoulder, but didn't know what to do. I shouted to W to go start the car and I'd bring TK. I didn't know what to do either, but hoped that since TK had already tried to get up, our only option was to get him to the Hospital immediately. I gathered our son in my arms and ran to the car.

I don't remember much of that ride. TK was so quiet. A few moans, but no crying. His eyes would watch me, then drift shut, only to open and watch me again. I have no idea what I said to him. I do remember W pulling up at the emergency room door and I didn't wait. He was right behind me when I went shouting for help into the Hospital. They took TK right away, and then I crashed.

Our son had definite help from a Guardian Angel. (W told me that Guardian Angel was all the birthday present he needed that year.) They kept our boy overnight with worry about a ruptered spleen, but he was fine. Scrapes, scratches and bruises. That was all.

That evening, in his Hospital room, I asked the boy why he had spread himself out flat like that. He told me, with all the reasoning of a six year old, "I thought it would slow me down."

A Little Concern

It was JT, during one of his times with us that summer, that discovered a possible new problem. We hadn't actually even been in the basement/garage area very much after we got busy working on the walls. JT called us from down there and he was excited. We went below to find him bouncing in the far north corner. The ground around him was wet and trembling and immediately reminded me of how the ice floating on the swamp had looked. We both shouted for him to get away. As we got closer, we could see a sheen of water over the sand. Poking at it only proved it was pretty solid. It was an area about 2 1/2 foot to 3 foot across. W stepped on the edge of it and it only moved if he forced his foot into it. Even then it stayed solid. It was wet, but it wasn't "quick". You could make the small area "tremble", but you didn't sink, no matter how you dug in. We did some more checking and everyone agreed that once the cement floor was poured, it would float even if that spot turned quick. In fact we were told if the house was all on quicksand it would be safer in an earthquake then a house on rock. Interesting theory, but I hoped to never find out. That wet spot stayed all summer and continued to tremble, but must not have been in a active spring. The boys were fascinated by it and I kept catching them over there bouncing on the sand. It could look dry for days, but if you moved you feet over the sand, pretty soon the sheen of water would be back and the sand would tremble in a solid wet block. We kept doing inspections of the rest of the basement/garage and the area outside between the hill and the cement blocks and never found anymore wet spots. It was just a fascinating corner the boys liked to show everyone who came, and we lost our fear of it. Quicksand is a very fascinating phenomenom and I've never lost my interest in it.

TK Earns Pennies

JT had been spending a lot of time that summer with his Father. This was the summer before I lost him. So TK was alone at the work site quite a bit. There was one memorable day when our six year old was bored and wanted something to do. It wasn't safe playing around the log pile, but it was very tempting for him. I needed to keep him occupied away from it. I suggested he pick up paper and trash. He wanted to know how much I would pay him. There were a lot of wrappers from his Father's Swisher Sweet Cigars and those horrid plastic tips laying around. Plus the usual construction clutter. Empty boxes from spikes, weather strips, etc. were laying around. I told TK we'd give him a penny for each piece of trash he picked up. So TK took a bucket and I could hear him counting out loud. Occasionally the child would yell out, "What comes after ...." The numbers were getting quite big. I couldn't always see him, but he made sure we heard every number. Curious, I found a window opening where I could see him. There was TK picking up paper and tearing it into as many pieces as he could and counting each piece as it fell into his bucket. I made his Father pay for every one. At 6 years old, if he was smart enough to figure out how to earn more, he deserved it.

Building a Log Home

We were ready when the logs were delivered. We had our subfloor up and were excited to start on the logs. But, friends quickly learned this was hard work. W and I found ourselves alone more and more. The logs could be from 8 foot long to 15 foot long. Some weighed upwards of 300 pounds. All were suppose to be exactly 6 inches thick and could be between 8 inches wide to over 12 inches wide, with a few even wider. Whenever possible, we put a narrow log on top of a wide log. I could see little shelves scattered on my walls. Little roads for TK to run matchbox cars on. Higher up, little surprises sitting on a small scattered shelf. Even great places to hide Easter Eggs! At first it was easy to move my end of the logs in place. I was able to set the strips of water proof material that went between logs, one on each edge. We kept track of when a hole had to be drilled for electrical wiring. Those logs more or less had to be placed twice. Once to place it and cut the connecting V to the adjoining log, then it was lifted on one end so I could put blue chalk dust on the hole. Then W dropped the new log over the dust, then had to take it down to drill the hole. If we missed one hole, there would be no outlet at that location. This would prove especially important upstairs. Then when the log was positioned, W drove the 9 inch spikes that held the wall. Our plan called for only the outside walls to go up first. Inside walls would be added after the roof was on. Doors and windows were roughed in and cut later with a chainsaw. We also had one large opening in the east wall that would be the fireplace. The area over that living room would be open two stories high. This also became the only way we could bring the logs in as the wall got higher. They had to be carried from the drive on the west side, up the hill and through that hole. Across the opening we had a bridge of 2" by 12" boards to cross the hole that dropped to the basement.

The higher the walls got, the more trouble I was having. And the slower our work progressed. We also discovered our logs had not all been milled to the 6 inch thickness promised. We would haul a log up and get it set only to find it didn't match the thickness of the log we put it beside. Those gaps were not acceptable. You can't lay a log on top of two logs of different thicknesses. So we would have to take the log off and find another that was right. We had to start measuring each log before moving it. It was frustrating and we were worried that at that rate we wouldn't have enough logs.

After talking to the log company, we were forced to go to a lawyer and start a lawsuit to have the bad logs replaced. All of these delays meant that when winter arrived that fall of 1977, we weren't near as far along as we'd expected. We were barley to the second floor level. And the bank was pressuring us to show faster progress. Just business, they didn't care what the problem was. When the weather turned bad, I had an idea. But, no one seemed to think it was a good one and I couldn't get any support. I'd seen something on T.V. about a bug exterminating business that encased houses in a huge inflateable baloon to fumigate them. Why couldn't one of those baloon things be inflated over a work site, so work could continue all winter? No rain, no snow to wet things and if the air that inflated it was warmed, wouldn't it be possible to work no matter what the temp outside got to. W thought it would cost more than being idle all winter....and that was that. It probably wouldn't work for a single dwelling, but a construction company might find it a good idea. Probably not, it's been almost 30 years, and to my knowledge, no one else has thought of it.

Let the Problems Commence

Once we were working at the cabin site again, W wanted electricity as soon as possible. We were there when the power company came to set the pole at the end of the driveway. They got it started and down aways, and then everyone watched in amazement as the pole just started sinking. It just got shorter and shorter till the top was only a few feet above the ground. Ken W. had come over to see what was going on. Not much got past our new neighbor. Now he was delighted. I remember him bouncing around telling us, "I told you there was quicksand over here." I had never heard of underground quicksand and neither had the power company men. But, Ken convinced them that since the pole had stopped sinking, a narrow patch of quicksand was down there. He believed another pole set directly on top of that one could be set solidly. They crew went back to the company to consider with their bosses and some experts. In the end they did just what Ken suggested and put another pole directly on top of the first one. It's still there.

This caught the attention (word travels) of the road department. There was a nearby hole about 6-8 inches across near the edge of the road that they had been trying to fill for several years. Now they believed they knew why it kept coming back. We all learned a lot about quicksand when W and I started our log home on that property. The whole area on our side of the road was sandy where the CCC boys had planted trees.

Quicksand isn't "quick" unless water is flowing through it. Wet sand doesn't mean it's quicksand, unless the water is moving. All those natural spings feeding our creek were causing scattered spots of underground quicksand. It doesn't have to be a big patch, it can be just a few inches deep and wide, as long as there is a real good flow of water. If soil is present, the sand can't float in the water and there is no quicksand. Only by disturbing the area would we find the patches of quicksand. We'd already set the driveway and it was all solid. We dug out the basement/garage area and the equipment didn't sink anywhere, so we figured we were ok there too. The sand in our hill was pretty solid till it was disturbed. We didn't find any springs in the wall of sand we exposed in the garage/basement. We considered ourselves finally lucky and continued with our plans. I did check out the areas where springs came to the surface and I poked around. They all proved to be solid. There was enough topsoil to make it safe. We gradually lost our fear as we studied more about quicksand. It seemed to be only the swamp area where the quicksand came to the surface. And that was a long way from our log home. I named our new home Sand Hill Cabin, and even put that on the application for our address filed at the Post Office.

W was concerned about the sand in the hill pushing on our block wall. We didn't know if it would be as solid as soil or would tend to push against our foundation. So we used 12 inch block instead of 8 inch block. Then we spent a whole day with some friends filling the holes in the blocks with rods and concrete. The cement truck backed in as close as it could, then we had to carry buckets of cement to W who dumped and packed it down every block from the top. I was the only woman that day and carrying those heavy buckets was playing havoc with my head. It was my first indication that I may have taken on more then I was able to handle. The men didn't expect me to carry as much as they did and I did stop every time I had "the feeling" I'd learned would lead to fainting if I pushed it. By the end of the day, "the feeling" was constant, and I was getting scared.

The Swamp

Swamp, Wetlands, call it whatever you like....it was wild. It covered between 2 and 3 acres of the very far north west corner of our property. Ken W. had told us it was there, but he must have been diverted to some other subject, I didn't know anymore than that.

Shortly before our trip to New England, after being cooped up awhile, I tried to get W or the boys to go out to the site to get some exercise with me. They weren't interested in leaving the warmth of home. So I bundled up and took off with Nony as my only companion. I pulled into our new driveway and decided I would follow the fence that was suppose to follow our property line. It was the first time any of us had walked it.

The ground was frozen and there were patches of snow where it had drifted against the fence. But I had no trouble following the property line. Nony took the usual doggy detours, but never got out of my site. Though a small cock-a-poo and not the big dogs I was use to, he sure didn't lack courage. He took it upon himself to be my guardian and was always close to wherever I was. Ken W had warned us of the wildness of the area. It was rural woods and farmland for miles between county roads that were far apart, and they had problems with feral dogs. Ken knew of a pack led by a wild St. Bernard like dog that had killed neighborhood sheep. So I was alert. I was sure Nony would let me know if we got near anything wild. It was probably foolhardy on my part though. I hadn't even brought a pistol. I just reasoned our 38 acres didn't go back that deeply into the wildness.

Ken had also warned us of something I didn't even take seriously. He told us a big cat had been seen deep in the back area. And many had heard it scream at dusk and dawn. Ken called it a Panther. I didn't believe there could be any such thing in our county in the late 70's. I was wrong about that. But, that's another story for another time. The danger I was in that day had nothing to do with any animal.

When I got to the swampy area, it was obvious even in winter. Suddenly there were no trees. Just scattered brush and bushes sitting in a big patch of ice. The property fence followed the outside border of the ice. If it had been summer, I'd have avoided the area. But stepping on the ice, I decided I could follow the property line and would be able to say I'd circled our whole 38 acres. After crossing some of the area, I noticed that when I moved on the ice, the bushes all across that swamp were being moved by me. The whole sheet of ice seemed to be floating. When I jumped up and down, everything over the 2-3 acre area moved. What fun. I bounced all the way across the swamp.

That was the end of the story till spring. We were working again when Ken W. came for a visit. Somehow the conversation got around to my walk and my experience on the swamp ice. Ken turned white and almost choked. That was when he told us his GrandFather had lost a team of horses trying to drain the swamp into the creek. There was guicksand back there. Ken believed if I'd broken through the ice, they never would have found any trace of me. Ken was serious, and I'd really given him a scare. He called me every kind of stupid. He made us promise to stay away from the whole area.

By the way. That's how I got the C.B. handle of Quicksand. Though I always said that was the long version. I used the short version. "Nobody walks on Quicksand. (Except Stupid me.)"

38 Acres

During those same years of struggling with JT's anger, maybe because of my unhappiness over the situation, I was also increasingly unhappy with our growing neighborhood. We built the house in 1968-69 and by 1976 another house was built further back in the woods behind us. Now that area wasn't as available for the boys to play in or run the Tri Rod on. I hadn't been happy with houses across from me or beside me, but having one behind me was too much. This country girl was feeling smothered. And, W felt the same way.

We had talked about someday building a log home. Now the talk was progressing to exploring the options. Then we found 38 acres that was perfect for us. This time we reasoned, no one could build too close. There were 14 acres of tillable land and the rest was all woods with a wild little creek that was fed by lots of natural springs. There was even a 2-3 acre wetlands in the back corner of the property.

We chose a site near the creek in a pine woods that had been planted by the CCC (Civilian Conservation Corp. or Roosevelts Tree Army) over 30 years earlier. The house would set on the side of a small hill overlooking the creek, allowing the garage to again be under the house. (Houses here are taxed partly by outside dimension. A garage underneath means more house and less taxes.) The tillable land was above the hill and beyond the pine woods, extending to the east border and wrapping around behine the cabins woods. Behind the tillable field was a woods of hardwood trees, with the wetlands in the far northwest corner. The property was deeper than it was wide and we owned on both sides of the creek, which also ran through woods.

We started to clear enough land for a log home in the fall of 1976. We picked our spot because it would require removing the least trees and give us a gently rising driveway. Our closest neighbor lived across the road and on the other side of the creek about a half mile away. It was the old couple who had owned the land for 3 generations. Though our piece of land had been sold years before, we didn't learn right away why. Ken W was also the local historian. He knew everything about the whole area and we never got much done when he stopped to talk. He was fascinating to listen to, even talking of Indian camp sites and arrowheads he'd found as a boy, and I learned a lot from him. He must have been in his 70's when we met him.

We hadn't taken time to explore our 38 acres because we had so much we wanted done before winter set in. When a friend of W's asked permission to hunt squirrel, W told him to go ahead. Just not to be shooting when we were there with the boys or dog. (That would be Nony who has his own story posted on Feb. 6, 06) After just one hunting session, this man told us our property was too wild to hunt on. His words are still fresh in my mind. "Daniel Boone couldn't get through the tangle of brush in that woods." He also told us he'd tried to wade up the "wild little stream" and there were stretches he couldn't even do that. No one had been on that property (except the 14 acres) since Ken W's Grandfather and father gave up trying to clear it. We learned later that there were so many natural springs feeding the stream, they were never able to clear more than the 14 acres that were tillable. That was why this parcel was seperated from Ken's farm and let go. All of this was perfect news for W and I. We owned 38 acres that would always be wild country. Set apart from the farmland around us.

Then winter set in and we used the time to contact log home companies. A company in Vermont was offering to let me draw up my own plans and we set up a meeting to visit them. It was our first vacation together. W and I left the boys with Grandparents and we went to New England to visit the Vermont company and one in New Hampshire. Both companies took us on tours, showing us their process, some of the finished homes, and they answered W's questions on how building a log home differed from the house we'd already built. I loved every minute of that trip. We chose a company that cut the tops and bottoms of the logs to leave 6 inch high logs with front and back peeled. They accepted my plans and the logs were ordered.