The "Olde Homestead" Story

It was an ordinary day. 929 N. Queen was the last house on Queen St. We lived in a semi-detached and Deb and Bob B. lived next to us. On our right was Science Press, a printing company. The Lancaster Train Station was at the end of the block. The porch at 929 was a gathering place. A painted white railing surrounded the porch, except at the stoop where you entered. We had a glider and two metal lounge chairs on the porch. The floor was painted gray and a rattan rug covered some of the porch except for a black ribbed rubber runner (say that a couple of times) that ran from the front door to the stoop. Three concrete steps led to the front sidewalk. Overhead we had two tan awnings in front and one on the side that gave us shade, even on the hottest of days. You could pull the awning up to prevent any damage from tree limbs falling on it if a storm was approaching. Really neat porch! My friends often came over and we would play on the porch. Cowboys, marbles, games or just sitting and talking about what we would do when we could think of something to do. The ridges in the rubber runner made for great car races or to race our marbles. The porch floor was slanted to help the water run off so it made for a natural raceway. Across the street was the US Postal Service garage where they worked on the disabled mail trucks. A few yards down from the garage was a large grass covered field where they would hold revival meetings. Most of the time they were held in a huge tent that had guards at the door to make sure you were supposed to be at the revival. Strange noises, music and sometimes snakes came out of the tent, but my parents would never let me venture over to see what was going on inside. As a matter of fact, they never ventured over either. Scary place, it was. We would ride our tricycles, wagons and pedal cars up and down the front sidewalk until we would get a cut or someone had to go home to eat. The biggest event would be when we had a gully-washer. You have to know what that is, don't you? If not, it is a torrential summer storm that causes tremendous flooding. Since Queen Street ended at the end of our block on the right and sloped from one end on our left to the other end on our right, all the water from any large storm would flow down hill to the right. The sewer at the end of Queen Street NEVER could handle all the water and the street would always flood, up to our porch. Today my aunt Lois (only 1 year older than me), younger brother Steve and I are sitting on the porch watching the rain and waiting for the flooding. Really coming down. Yep, it's going to flood. Into the house we head to get all the boats, buckets and water toys we own. Deep enough now that cars won't venture down the street. Doesn't matter how dirty the water gets, we play in the ""gully". Great fun on Queen Street. Doesn't get any better than this!! Oh, the memories....... It was another extraordinary day in the life of an ordinary guy.