Cold Springs
I was an army-brat town boy
of ten when we moved to the country.
I recall arriving in a village
called Cold Springs.
My dad purchased
a century-old house
with five and a half acres of farmland.
But it had no running water,
no bathroom, and no furnace.
An outhouse was
attached to a barn
some distance from the house.
And a rusty outside pump
was our only means of water.
For heat, it had a pot-bellied iron stove;
that we had to feed all day and all night.
It felt spooky and haunted.
At first, I hated it!
At night, I'd hear groans and squeaks
that invaded my dreams.
But Dad dug a well, painted the outsides,
had copper plumbing installed, put in a septic tank,
built a bathroom, and added a furnace,
turning that house into a home, I've learned to love.
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