Back Room School

No photos of that day exist or at least, none that I've ever seen. Her dress remains a mystery although I can imagine it must have contained lots of lace, some satin, maybe a bit of beading. Once, too many years in the past, she took a box from the bottom of her armoire and gently lifted its lid. Nestled inside were pale ivory peau de soie shoes, barely worn. With French heels, discreet straps that fastened onto pearl buttons, and a rounded toe, they looked quite comfortable. Definitely stylish. For someone with the same size foot, these shoes could transcend decades or even a century plus. How I wish I had said I wanted the special footwear. Would she have parted with them immediately or said a daughter deserved their legacy, not someone from the next generation? I never saw the box or its contents again. When we lost her, inheriting her possessions became the purview of seven siblings.



Marrying on Valentine's Day reflects romance. Was the 14th chosen with emotion in mind or did it simply fall on a convenient day of the week in 1898? Already in their late twenties, the bride and groom might have been considered 'old' for their era.

They moved into a farmhouse perched on a slight knoll. Behind the site lay approximately 165 acres. Land marked by deep kudzu filled bayous, pastures bordered by thick forests, small hills sloping down to muddy ponds. Twenty additional acres across the narrow dirt road contained a sharp abyss covered in tangled foliage.

The land linked him to family four generations in the past, having been part of a Spanish grant in the 1780's. He bought it from a distant cousin and brought his bride there to begin a life together.

Rural and rustic with basic rooms, high ceilings, abundant windows and the blessed shade provided by ancient pecan trees, the house mirrored not the expansive home situated on the adjoining property but a much more functional style. Modest in its construction, nearly devoid of detail except for simple carvings around the front porch posts, the dwelling perfectly suited its setting.

Four large rooms were bifurcated by an ample hallway which ran the length of the center of the house. Its width measured approximately ten feet and easily accommodated many pieces of furniture and other accoutrements. An eat-in kitchen and adjacent pantry completed the space. At some time in the future, one room morphed into a bathroom. With intermittent running water, its usage was often precarious and unpredictable.

As the twosome expanded to include seven children, the necessity of more living space became paramount. In addition to gardens, livestock, fowl, horses and mules, the farm yielded revenue with its dairy. More income was desperately needed and fortunately in the early years of the twentieth century, the situation was eased when he became the local schoolmaster. Conveniently, the school district built a structure on the property across from the house.

When the teaching days ended, the building became surplus property and was offered to the family. Moving it must have been quite an undertaking. I can imagine that horses and many men were involved in that process. The rectangular shaped room was attached to the existing house. Its connection was not exactly precise and the whole room listed a bit to the west. I felt that the imperfection gave the room character.

I never met my Papa, the schoolmaster, as he died seven years before I was born. I failed to ask Granny about the room and its unusual origins. I always knew that it had been a schoolhouse even though my family referred to it as the 'junk' room or the 'back' room.

Two doors provided access. One opened from the screened-in back porch. The other provided entry into the pantry. Three sides of the room contained two large windows each. It was possible to stand at the end of the room and gaze beyond the first pond into the surrounding pasture. A scene of gentle tranquility. Looking toward the west, a huge chicken house anchored the grassy plot. Just beyond, a once red, but now weathered to rust, barn reached two stories with its hayloft overlooking a silent silo.



As I reached my teen years, Daddy decided I needed my own space for entertaining my friends. I must have strongly encouraged him towards this decision. The room was cleared of its accumulated debris and modernized into early '60's chic. Along one wall, a storage bench was built. It could serve as a seating area or place to house games and other party necessities. The walls received the requisite pine paneling, the floor's original oak planks were soon hidden behind what was, in retrospect, truly hideous brown speckled tile.

Near the pantry door there was room for a Hi-fi. My record collection included Elvis, Johnny Mathis, Nat King Cole, Buddy Holly, The Big Bopper, The Kingston Trio, Duane Eddy and so many more. A set of bookshelves was built into the corner. Between the west windows, a faux fireplace with gas log promised warmth on winter nights. Cut into another wall, a room air conditioner helped erase humidity and seasonal heat.



Only Early American furniture would adorn this room. A brown muddled fabric, soft to the touch, covered the couch. The comfortable side chair featured a dark green version of this pattern. Tables were topped with matching lamps which today might cause endless smiles for seekers of '60's styles.

I loved every single inch of the room. I filled it with friends and even spent some evenings there with a boyfriend or two. I don't know that my younger brother ever enjoyed the room as much as I did. Once I moved away, it reverted to the previous status of 'junk' room. My parents moved the furniture to the hall, replacing older pieces as necessary.

The house is no longer ours but the room remains mine, safely ensconsed in memory. Occasionally I visualize my Papa standing behind his desk, educating children in multiple grades simultaneously. I've been told that he was stern, perhaps overly so. That characteristic may account for the brevity of his assignment. I focus not on those factors but on the room's story. Though silent, it speaks loudly to me of family and tradition.