Be It Ever So Humble

Limited to the second half-hour of my lunch, I’m not having any success finding out what the population of Erie, Colorado was in 1950, but I can assure you that it wasn’t very big. My memories of that home can easily be summarized in this paragraph. The parsonage was an old white frame house right next door to the church. A gas stove with a transparent front was installed after we moved in. The church had a stage with recessed lights. “Walker” (my adult friend) made me a cardboard Santa Claus that stood as tall as me. There were older kids, I think a brother and sister, but I don’t remember their names. I sliced open my elbow on an empty typewriter ribbon can and had to have stitches. Uncle Dale and his crew moved our furniture in one of his grain trucks when Dad was appointed to Platteville. That’s when I discovered that home moves even when houses don’t.