The fireplace

  When I was about ten years old my dad decided to add a second story to our house. As a part of this addition a fireplace was to be included. Now we weren't wealthy people, and this would all be accomplished by dad.  I wasn't aware of that as a kid figuring everyone's' father did that. My uncle had a contracting company building private homes. This was in the 1960's when homes where mostly stick built by independent contractors. I suspect the majority of the building materials were obtained by dad through that connection. The bricks for the fireplace where a different story. I know about their acquisition because of the family story told to anyone that complimented or asked anything about that fireplace. You know the kind of running story told over and over again. 

  The story, as I remember it goes like this. A man had contracted with my uncle to build a home. There was an old farmhouse on that property that needed to be demolished. Also on the property was a well. This well was located in the area where the new home was to be built. This well was lined with red brick. The brick had not been mortared into place; it was just carefully placed around the periphery. In exchange for dad doing some of the demolition work the owner agreed to allow dad to take all the brick out of the well. 

 Every day after work dad would go to the property and descend into the well and bring up bricks. He had a ladder long enough to reach the bottom. Starting at the top he just kept removing those bricks one at a time. As he got deeper it naturally got darker. He had a bucket with him and when it became full, he just climbed back up.  On one occasion my mom was with him helping to stack the bricks in the back of his truck. When he came up out of the well there was a bat on his shoulder. He hadn't noticed it, but mom sure did. She ran to the truck screaming! She gets in the truck, rolls up the window and locks the door. Mom is still yelling as dad goes over to the truck to see what the problem is. He tries opening the door, but like I said, it's locked. At that point in the story mom is explaining that she was just frightened, and dad is making fun of her for locking the car door. A bat isn't going to open the door. And that's how it went every time the story was told. Dad laughing and Mom embarrassed and a little mad. 

  So that's where dad got the bricks to build the fireplace. I remember helping with that project by mixing the mortar. Three scoops of sand, one scoop of lime and a bag of mix. Add water until it is the right consistency, don't make it too juicy! Today I know that job is called the tender. My job was to provide the mortar and bricks to him as he needed them. As the chimney rose, I put the bricks in a bucket and hauled them up to him. Being about ten or eleven years old and not particularly muscular he didn't get a lot of bricks at a time. As a result, there was frequent hauling up of bricks! But the job got done. The fireplace when completed functioned perfectly. I recall dad bragging about that saying a regular mason told him it wouldn't draw correctly. But dad said he had read a book about building a fireplace and so knew what to do. The proof was before me.

  I remember that fireplace well and all the good times we had in front of it. We popped popcorn in it like pioneers! We dried our mittens on the hearth while we warmed ourselves after playing in the snow. Sometimes with a cup of hot cocoa. We looked for pieces of pine and other sap wood to burn that made different colors in the flames. I learned that burning pine wasn't something to do on a regular basis as the creosote would build up. I heard the tales of my parents having to bring in the firewood. And yes, at Christmas our stockings were hung by the chimney with care. Actually, they were leaning against the fireplace resting on the hearth. Our stockings always had an orange in the toe and mixed nuts among the other trinkets. Dads' stocking had a can of Schaefer beer and a cartoon of Pall Mall cigarettes! 

  I left that home in 1971 when I joined the Navy. I didn't know it then, but I was never to warm myself in front of the fire or to sleep and dream in that home again. My parents sold that home in 1973 before my enlistment expired. I think it was in 1996 when I had an opportunity to go back to that house. I knocked on the door and explained who I was. The lady living there remembered my mother and knew who I was. She graciously allowed me to roam through the house. The fireplace had been boarded up as the damper had broken and the fireplace could no longer be used. The house seemed so much smaller, dark, and a bit frayed, for lack of a better word. Parts remained exactly as I remembered, the wallpaper was the same, the knotty pine had darkened but remained. I thanked her and left feeling a bit sentimental. It was the last time I was to set foot in that house. I had said goodbye. I'm grateful for that.

  The years have passed and through fate or destiny I came into contact with someone that knew my family on Facebook. She told me her daughter now lived in that house! Then she told me how it was going to be torn down and a new home built in its place. I told her the story of the fireplace and a few other details. I told her about growing up in that home. She provided me with a few photographs I requested as I didn't have any of my own. An additional surprise arrived when her daughter mailed me a brick that came from the hearth of that fireplace! A piece of home.

  I've had that brick for a while and contemplated what to do with it. I wouldn't want it to be just thrown away after I'm not around. I'm certain it would be unless someone else knows the story. So, I decided to build a fireplace of my own. Using my memory and a few photographs I have attempted to reconstruct that fireplace dad built in miniature. I have built it on the brick I was given! It just seems fitting to do so. I intend to somehow attach this narrative to that brick in the hope it will survive. I have made it so I can burn a tea candle inside it and intend to do just that Christmas eve. Perhaps I can establish a new tradition for the Reichart family. It's a comforting thought.