Elbow Grease and Family Support

In my first year as a teacher, I resided in a humble basement apartment beneath the residence of an elderly woman whose quiet presence subtly influenced my experience in unforeseen ways. The gentle creaks and muted footsteps from the floor above became a soothing backdrop throughout my days, a gentle reminder that I was never truly isolated during this fresh phase of my life. Mrs. Henderson, the gracious widow living upstairs, would often welcome me with heartfelt smiles and occasional homemade treats, creating a warm connection between our separate worlds. Though our exchanges were straightforward, they offered a valuable sense of community and encouragement amidst the demands of my teaching routine. That snug basement not only provided affordable living but also fostered a special intergenerational bond that enriched my first year as an educator, imparting lessons that extended well beyond the classroom.

At the end of that year, Mrs. Henderson informed me she intended to rent the apartment to her granddaughter, which meant I had to begin searching for a new place to live. Though initially surprised, I understood the importance of family ties and felt grateful for the time I had spent there. When I discovered there were no rental properties available in Corsica, I widened my search to neighboring towns and communities. Given that small towns in South Dakota generally have a limited rental market, securing a suitable home proved challenging. Still, I remained hopeful that extending my search to nearby places such as Harrison, New Holland, and Joubert would reveal more opportunities and viable options.

Following a lengthy search, I finally found a rental house in Harrison, but my excitement vanished when I saw its poor condition. Though the house, situated on a peaceful street, appeared encouraging from a distance, closer inspection exposed years of neglect. The exterior walls were marred by faded paint, and the front door hung precariously on its hinges. Stepping inside, the musty smell hit me immediately, a potent mix of mold and mildew that spoke volumes about the lack of care it had endured. The crumbling cellar, broken tiles, and threadbare carpets further emphasized the sense of decay, making it difficult to envision anyone living there comfortably without extensive renovations. Far from the ideal haven I had imagined, this solitary rental became my only option.

After securing the place, I phoned home, overwhelmed by the prospect of moving into a house that resembled the forgotten relic from Beetlejuice. The absence of a kitchen stove, the shredded carpet in the living room, and the general air of neglect left me wondering how I would ever transform it into a livable space. However, my anxiety diminished when my parents reassured me, they would assist in thoroughly cleaning and repairing it. Their offer brought a surge of reassurance and optimism; with their help, what initially seemed like a daunting ordeal transformed into an exciting project.

The first action my father took was to get in touch with the landlord of the rental property and negotiate an arrangement to reduce my financial burden. Noticing that the house required several urgent repairs, he proposed a practical solution: instead of paying rent for a period, we would buy the supplies needed and complete the repairs ourselves. The landlord agreed, as she was an elderly lady who was unable to carry out the maintenance herself. This agreement allowed me to channel what would have been rent expenses into directly upgrading the home’s condition, giving me the opportunity to choose color schemes and window coverings according to my taste.

Before moving in, my parents and I devoted many hours to converting the house into a cozy and welcoming living space. My father began by fixing the front door and attending to minor repairs around the property. Then, we thoroughly cleaned every nook and cranny, eliminating years of accumulated dirt and grime to create a fresh, clean environment. Since the kitchen’s linoleum was beyond saving and the living room carpet was full of holes, we removed them before my father installed a new carpet that added warmth and comfort. Although the kitchen already had a functioning refrigerator, we replaced the broken oven with a secondhand one I purchased from a colleague. These careful improvements not only boosted the home’s aesthetic but also made it fully operational, ensuring I could settle in with ease. The work was exhausting yet deeply satisfying, transforming the house from a dilapidated mess into a pleasant and inviting refuge.

The upstairs room, unheated and without air conditioning, became a cozy haven for Humphrey and Sammy, complete with an eclectic collection of pet toys scattered across the floor and a well-worn old chair perfect for their afternoon naps. Although the space lacked climate control, sunlight streamed through the double-hung window, casting light on soft cushions and vibrant chew toys that encouraged endless play. The old chair, a remnant of my first apartment, became a makeshift bed where Humphrey and Sammy curled up, its faded upholstery imprinted with the gentle impressions of countless snoozes.  I turned the humble room, once cold and empty, into a safe retreat for my beloved pets while I was working, preventing them from damaging my furniture or the new carpet when left unsupervised.

There was a sliding door at the bottom of the stairs to keep my pets safely confined in their upstairs room. I assumed this barrier would effectively keep them confined, but during the initial days, an intriguing puzzle emerged.  Despite the door being quite substantial, I repeatedly came home to find it wide open, allowing the troublesome duo the freedom to roam throughout the house. At first, I suspected I might have neglected to close it properly; yet, through careful observation, it became clear that my clever pets had been persistently nudging and pawing at it, gradually sliding it aside with remarkable persistence. Their resourcefulness was both impressive and a little mischievous, but I was determined to outwit them. After a quick trip to the hardware store, I installed a hook on the door, which immediately thwarted their evil schemes.

Another challenge I faced was managing a crumbling cellar that reeked of mold and mildew. The combination of moisture and poor ventilation created an ideal environment for mold spores to thrive, resulting in a persistent, unpleasant musty scent and significant health concerns. Unable to afford a dehumidifier, I resorted to placing charcoal-filled buckets around the cellar to absorb moisture. Additionally, I instituted a strict cleaning regimen, spraying the walls daily with a bleach solution to eradicate the mold and inhibit its return. Although the harsh bleach odor was unpleasant, it was a minor inconvenience compared to the gradual elimination of decay. After persistent effort, the air in the cellar became noticeably fresher, and the overpowering stench diminished, transforming the once-neglected space into a safer foundation for the home.

While living in Harrison, the lack of television reception forced me to return to reading as a source of entertainment. With no buzzing screens or flickering images distracting me, I found comfort and excitement diving into numerous books. The peaceful atmosphere of the small-town house perfectly complemented my love of reading, allowing my imagination to explore far-off places, intriguing characters, and gripping stories. This unforeseen absence of passive entertainment not only enhanced my appreciation for storytelling but also honed my concentration and creativity, making the absence of television an unexpected blessing that fostered personal growth and a boundless passion for literature.

Over time, the house that once felt like a heavy burden gradually transformed into a powerful emblem of resilience and fresh starts. Every fixed door, polished surface, and new appliance reflected a narrative of effort, familial support, and unwavering resolve. During the evenings, Humphrey and Sammy wandered freely, their lively playfulness filling me with joy and a sense of family. The basement, previously a dark and hazardous area, was now clean and dry. More importantly, the peaceful nights spent reading by the soft glow of a lamp nourished my soul in unexpected ways. Freed from the distractions of television, I uncovered a rich inner world through books – one that provided me with strength and optimism for what lay ahead. This renewal was about more than just repairing a deteriorating house; it represented the rebuilding of my life and the discovery of comfort in the small pleasures of turning a space into my own sanctuary.

Reflecting, I see that what began as a troubling predicament evolved into one of the most fulfilling phases of my journey. Often, the most profound personal growth occurs not under ideal conditions, but when you bravely dive into the chaos, embrace the challenge, and create something beautiful out of what first appeared to be broken. The rental home I once dismissed had become more than just a house – it had become home.