While the inside of the house was fascinating at first, the real joy of the next years came from the immense yard around the house. There were two acres of neglected landscaping, perfect for hiding, building forts, and camping out. Eventually there was a large lawn edged by a steep hill perfect for rolling down in the summer and sliding down in the winter. A huge 500 year old maple tree sat at the bottom of the yard and had branches my brother found excellent for climbing. I have never taken to tree climbing, so I mostly watched.

The yard was full of indigenous plants, particularly violas, johnny-jump-ups, ferns and blackberries. The estate had once employed a gardener, and as I grew older I enjoyed finding terraced garden areas, stone benches and hidden staircases. The yard got very little sun in the only flat area, so we were never able to recreate a vegetable garden as I had experienced as a young child.

The best part of the yard was a small brook that ran across the bottom of the property, draining a large pond of the neighbor’s before it went under the road and railroad tracks and emptied into the Willamette River. The neighbor, Ruby, was rumored to be a witch, and we never went on her property. She had a sign warning that trespassers would be prosecuted. For many years I thought that it meant we would be persecuted. The only persecution I was aware of in those days was of the Jews in Europe, and I was convinced, by combining the notion of her as a witch with her warning sign, that she intended to put us in ovens if we trespassed. This horrifying concern  never  totally left me even after I realized what the sign actually meant. I never even saw Ruby in all the years we lived next door. And I never wanted to!

I wonder now if all neighborhoods in those days had one reclusive resident that children were wary of .  And I wonder how many of those recluses were tagged witches.

You might wonder how my mother filled this huge house with the furnishings from our smaller one once the Salvation Army had hauled everything away. She didn’t. We had our beds, dressers, one sofa, dining room set and toys, but little else to start with. The living room, which was so large it could fit four 9’X12′ rugs, had a bare floor. We rode tricycles around in it. The kitchen still had a large wood burning stove, but we had our electric stove from the old house, and it went into the same huge room.

For my mother, eight months pregnant when we moved in, this was far from an adventure. For us kids, however, it was a lot of fun. The house had two staircases from the first to the second floor. The kitchen had a huge pantry next to it. There was a special room called a linen closet  holding hundreds of sheets from Miss Nelson.(The Salvation Army had missed them.) My brother and I still shared a room because Norman had the run of the third floor.(Remember Norman came with the house!) But we had our own bathroom!

The house needed a lot of work, and my parents took out a loan equal to the cost of the house to do the needed repairs. It took many years before the house was entirely full of furniture. In fact, it wasn’t until my senior year in high school that the living room was redone. But my good memories of that house were the games of hide and seek we played when we first moved into the very unfurnished enormous place. Our own private kingdom with much room to roam.

Now my mother was pregnant with baby #4 and we were still in a two bedroom, one bathroom house with my brother and me in the attic. Our next door neighbor, Don, came over with a promising proposition. His aunt Lela had just died and left her his house. His aunt was a recluse and a hoarder who had once used the house as  a home for mentally limited adults. Don had a poor relationship with his aunt and a phobia about setting foot in the house. If my parents would buy it directly from him without him ever having to go in the house, they could have it for a very reasonable price.

The house was enormous, three stories, five bathrooms, set on two acres of property. It was also in a very exclusive neighborhood with an excellent public school. My parents took a look at it, acknowledged the issues facing them with the purchase, and bought it. I only saw it once before we moved in. The house was full to bursting with newspapers, magazines and who knows what else. My mother made a deal with the Salvation Army. They could have every thing in the house if they took every thing in the house. Three whole moving trucks later, there was room to move our family in.

Oh. By the way. There was still one person living in the house–Norman. He came with the house. It turns out that was part of the deal.