Uncle Dave’s Basement

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Uncle Dave’s Basement

My great uncle, Dave Peebler, and his wife, Rachel, built their house at 124 High Street in 1923. It was a nice place with three bedrooms and a bath upstairs, and a full basement downstairs that had 2 bedrooms and a bath as well as a bunch of free space. In the basement, was a gas range for cooking in one area, and a Maytag washer in another. The furnace, a part of the central heating system, was there as well. Part of the free space contained a workshop area and part of one wall was covered by floor to ceiling shelves for storage.

 

Over the years, I had many connections to the basement as well as the rest of the house. This story probably should start with my Mom. Mom’s mother died when Mom was only eight years old. Mom’s dad couldn’t care for her, so she was passed around to different family members until she was taken in by her Grandmother Minnie. Later, when she was in high school, she was taken in by Uncle Dave and Aunt Rachel. I think that after her high school graduation, she stayed with them for a couple more years. After Mom married Dad, they lived in an apartment above a store downtown. This was during the depression, and Dad was doing what he could to find work and keep some money coming in. He wasn’t able to bring in enough to keep us going, so when I was about three years old, Mom, Dad, my sister, Sylvia, and I moved into Uncle Dave’s basement.

 

I only remember two things from this time period. The first was that I had violated two rules of the house and ended up getting hurt. The first rule was, “Don’t run with a pencil in your hand,” and the second was “Don’t try to hurry down the stairs.” I had gone upstairs to get a pencil and then ran through the house to the stairway. I fell down the stairs and jabbed myself in the middle of the forehead with the pencil. The worst part was that for the next few years when Mom or Aunt Rachel needed an example, they would point to my scar and say, “Here’s what happens when you don’t follow the rules.” The other thing I remember from the time we lived in the basement was that one day I realized that my Dad wasn’t around. I asked Mom and she said he couldn’t find work and so he had gone to Western Kansas. He was working in a store out there. Fifty years later, when I became interested in genealogy and family history, I found one of Dad’s uncles had a general store in Atwood in Rawlins County, Kansas.

 

Things got better in the summer of 1941 when Dad was hired by the local refinery. We moved out of the basement and into the house at 19 Cliff Drive. In a short time, two brothers, Ray and Russ Larsen, moved into the basement. In a few months, the war started, and the brothers were drafted. The last time I saw Ray while he was in a Class A uniform, he was wearing the stripes of a master sergeant. While the guys were in the Army, their clothes and their personal items were stored in one of the bedrooms. After the war, Ray lived in the basement for a year or two. I don’t know where Russ was, but a few years later he came back to town. He and his wife, Sarah, opened Larsen’s shoe store on the west side of State Street, across from the bank. In their store, they had one of those magic x-ray machines that you stick your foot in and see the bones of your toes and the outline of your shoe.

 

During World War II, almost everyone had a Victory Garden. The war had caused quite a shortage of food. The able-bodied men who would normally be raising crops on the farms had been drafted. Then, what crops were produced had to be processed and sent overseas to feed the thousands of men were sending over there.

 

Aunt Rachel and Uncle Dave had an acre or so out on Custer Lane, at the edge of town. They put in a large victory garden there and let my folks have a garden there also. When the green beans came in, Mom and Aunt Rachel decided to work together and can a lot of them. They set up the basement as their efficient green bean canning factory. I don’t know how the process works, but I know Mason jars, pressure cookers, and a stove are used. We heard Mom and Aunt Rachel talking about pressure cooker explosions being reported, and that they must be careful. Well, sure as heck, one of the jars exploded and green beans and glass went flying across the room. Sylvia had some bad luck as a piece of glass hit her in the forehead, and she was cut badly enough that she probably still has the scar. The rest of us and the basement were pretty well covered with green beans.

 

Another time, Mom and Aunt Rachel decided to make soap which was in short supply during the war. They acquired lye from someplace, and used it to make their own. After that, we had plenty of soap on hand.

 

After a fantastic cucumber harvest, they decided to make pickles. They had crocks all over the basement. They made dill pickles, sweet pickles, bread and butter pickles, and relish. It was stored for the family. We were in pickle heaven.

 

We didn’t have a washing machine or a car after we moved to the house on Cliff Drive. On laundry day, Aunt Rachel would haul us up to her house. Sylvia and I were young, so we had to tag along. One day, I was so bored I asked Mom if I could help with the washing. She was wringing out a load and said I could help. After receiving instructions and warnings to be careful, I started feeding clothes into the wringer of the old Maytag machine, and it wasn’t long before the thing grabbed my fingers and pulled my hand clear into the wringer. I let out a yell, and Mom stopped the machine. She opened up the top and got my hand out. No broken bones- just another case of humiliation.

 

My next memory of the basement involved Uncle Dave’s guns. In one room, two guns were hanging. One was a double-barreled 10 gauge, and the other was an over-and-under with a .410 on top and a .22 on the bottom. I don’t know where Uncle Dave got them. He wasn’t a hunter.

 

I had traded for a .22 when I was 12 years old so I could start rabbit hunting. I also wanted to hunt ducks, so Uncle Dave let me borrow the 10 gauge whenever I wanted. I shot at some tin cans with the 10 gauge, and I’m telling you, the recoil was pretty nasty. I don’t think I ever shot a duck with it. That was probably a good thing for I hate the taste of duck meat.

 

Pat and I got married in 1957, soon after I joined the Navy. One of the perks of graduating in the top five of my class at Aviation Electronics school was that I got to pick my next duty station. So, California, here we come! We got to San Diego in 1958, and that has been home ever since. We soon had Russ, Doug, and Terri, and as they grew up in the 1960’s and 1970’s, we tried to go back to Kansas every year or two.

 

Uncle Dave had always enjoyed estate sales and farm auctions. When he retired, he went to a lot more of them. If he found a good buy, it usually ended up in the basement. So, the basement was full of all kinds of odds and ends, and ready for the kids. Uncle Dave had always encouraged them to go downstairs and explore.

 

One of the main attractions was the black walnuts. There was a black walnut tree in the back yard, so Uncle Dave always had a keg or a bucket full of them. There was a work bench in the basement with a vise mounted on it. Using a nearby hammer, you could crack the nuts against the vise. There were always a couple of nut picks handy so you could dig out the meat.

 

Another favorite was the hand drill. We used to call it a “hurdy-gurdy.” There was an old wind-up Victrola phonograph with a stack of records that ranged from Perry Como to Turkey in the Straw. There were several whet stones. Uncle Dave prided himself on being able to put a keen edge on any kind of blade. Russ tested the blade of an axe, and cut his finger when barely touching it. There were several items that Uncle Dave built himself. There was a table saw that doubled as a work bench, a battery charger for his truck battery, a bit for a horse, and a hunting knife. There were old monkey wrenches and a 36 inch Stilson pipe wrench. There were drill bits for wood and metal, and taps for cutting threads. There was a stack of National Geographics in one corner. Who can throw away those beautiful pictures? There was a pair of World War I puttees. Who knows why? The basement was full of new things to learn and new nomenclature to use. For instance, in addition to the table saw, there was a bucksaw, a crosscut saw, a rip saw, a keyhole saw, and a coping saw. The kids learned a lot from Uncle Dave and his tools and junk. He often let the kids pick something from the basement to keep. Terri really liked an old saxophone she found, so she took it home and still has it. Doug remembers Uncle Dave calling them to come up from the basement for lunch which included what Uncle Dave called “Smearcase,” a name for cottage cheese derived from an old German term. The kids thought that was pretty funny.

 

Uncle Dave passed away first. A few years later, Aunt Rachel passed. Their daughter, Maxine (Peebler) Fisher came down from Denver and settled the estate. She sold the house and all of it’s contents to our friend, Keith Scholfield, a realtor in Augusta. Keith said it took several days and a lot of truckloads to clear out that basement.

Sam, The Desert Tortoise (Repost!)

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Back in the mid-1960’s, I had a man named John Grant working for me as an Assistant Foreman. One Monday morning John came in and handed me his letter of resignation and said he was moving to Colorado to work for his father-in-law. We talked about it for a few minutes and I wished him well. Then, he told me that one problem he hadn’t resolved yet was what to do with the desert tortoise named Sam that he had kept as a pet for several years. John was afraid that the extremely cold winters of Colorado might be too much for Sam. He suggested that I might like to adopt Sam and care for him. It sounded good to me so a few evenings later John brought him over to the house.

The desert tortoise inhabits the southwestern United States and northern Mexico. There are two species, one living east of the Colorado River in Arizona and Mexico and the other living west of the Colorado, basically in the Mojave Desert. They are considered to be endangered and if you run across one in the wild, it’s against the law to touch, bother, or harm them. There is a means for adopting those who have been rescued from unsafe conditions.

The desert tortoises live from 60 to 80 years. Mature male tortoises can be from 12 to 18 inches in length with females being somewhat smaller.

In these little stories I’ve been trying to shed some light on the thought processes of animals but in Sam’s case I’ve got to ‘fess up and tell you that I’m up against the wall. He ate, slept, pooped, and hibernated, and I can’t make any funny stories out of that. We turned him loose in the back yard where like a cow, he grazed and slept. We fed him lettuce every day and he really enjoyed that. For goodies or snacks, he seemed to enjoy things that were red. For instance, in our back yard we had 3 hibiscus bushes that were about 8 feet tall and were always full of blossoms. Two of the bushes were red and the other was white. If you picked a bunch of blossoms and put them in front of him, Sam would eat them all but he ate the red ones first.

Sam’s favorite snack was watermelon. He would eat every bit you gave him and when he was done, he would have red juice all over his jaw and face and he would sit there blinking his eyes with a satisfied look on his face. What a feast!

A desert tortoise hibernates through the winter. As the fall season moves in, temperatures drop and the days become shorter. This tells the desert tortoise it’s time to start looking for a place to hole up for the winter. They get sluggish and don’t move around as much though they may start crawling under things or digging holes. Taking John Grant’s advice, at this time we would pick Sam up and carry him into the house and put him in a dresser drawer. He would sleep there until spring when the days got warmer and longer. Then, we would either arbitrarily take him to the back yard to wake up or wait until we heard him moving around before taking him out. As I recall, Sam spent a couple of years in dresser drawers and a couple of years in a closet.

One day, Sam wasn’t in the yard. I checked every square inch and there were no burrows or holes that would have allowed him to escape. Sam had been turtle-napped! It was a shame. We had all enjoyed seeing him out there in the yard. He was docile and seemed to be content with life as he grazed his way through each day.

Desert Tortoise

Dave Thomas
September 23, 2014

 

Animal Magnets, Perhaps?

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Critter Magnets, Perhaps

We like animals. Last week, I told you about our son, Doug, his wife, Penny, and feeding the deer. Also, I told you about the four animals that showed up at the same time. It was the cat, the fox, the raccoon, and the skunk. The cat now makes himself at home and hangs out with Doug most of the time. He still likes to go out at night, so Doug lets him out. To get him back in at bedtime, Doug steps out onto the patio and yells, “Meow!” From a distance, he hears an answering “Meow,” and, in a couple of minutes, the cat shows up.

Our son, Russ, and his wife, Cindy, were on vacation last week. One evening, they checked their Ring camera to see if things were okay at home. They became worried when they saw 10 deer milling around their yard. When they got home a day later, they saw that they had lost some flowers, but the vegetable garden was still intact. They were happy to see that some of the tomatoes were ready to be picked.

Our daughter, Terri, and her husband, Steve, have been watching two crows that seem to take great pleasure in landing in their backyard and strutting around just to antagonize their cat. The cat, meanwhile, is pawing at the sliding door furiously as it wants to go out and attack the crows. It’s a terribly frustrated cat.

Pat and I have a crow and his mate who stop by every morning for breakfast. A couple of times, they brought their friends with them, and we ended up surrounded by 30 or 40 crows who wanted something to eat. A few peanuts took care of them.

Some folks might say that attracting so many creatures could only mean that we are Critter Magnets. Others would say that we are just too easy.

Dave Thomas

6/18/2026

Equal Opportunity Feeding Center

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Equal Opportunity Feeding Center

We all have stories about animals we have cared for. Our son, Doug, has a new story that will be hard to beat. I’ll give you a little background before telling the new story.

Doug lives in Texas on a three-acre property that has oak trees in the back. The oak trees drop acorns that attract deer. Not long after moving in, Doug noticed on his Ring cameras that three or four deer were showing up every night and looking for food. To help out, he went to the feed store and bought a bag of specially mixed deer food and began putting it out every night.

Next, a couple of feral cats began showing up on the patio every night in search of food. Doug began feeding them. One of the cats liked the idea of having a home, so he moved in with Doug and Penny. The food on the patio has attracted other animals. Soon, a fox showed up and then, after a while, there were two foxes. Next, a big raccoon showed up. These other animals were showing up at different times, so there was no conflict.

Here’s the new story:

Doug’s cat was eating on the patio, and a fox showed up. A little later, a big, male raccoon came. Doug didn’t know if the raccoon intended to eat the cat or the fox. It made no aggressive moves, though, and began eating. Now, we’ve got the cat, the fox, and the raccoon. Next, they are joined by a skunk who lifted his tail but didn’t emit and offensive discharge. Doug grabs his phone and starts taking pictures. It’s dark out, but he gets a couple of shots. They are hard to identify, but they are all there. The foursome- cat, fox, raccoon, and skunk enjoying a meal at the Equal Opportunity Feeding Center.

Dave Thomas

6/11/2026

More Crow Stuff

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No Mooching Here!

The crows know our daughter Terri and recognize her car.  The other day, she ran some errands for us and was returning  to the house.  As she parked in the driveway, she notice some crows in the tree and on the neighbor’s roof tops as they are when waiting for a meal. Terri concluded her business with us and headed for her home, which is about a mile away. She got home and getting our of the car she saw that two of the crows had followed her.  The crows were flying circles above her and squeaking at her in what sounded like a real rude manner.  Not liking their attitudes Terri yelled back at them “Don’t yell at me! If you want something to eat, go back to Grandma’s!”

No Kidding

Pat has really made friends with the crows.  They talk to her and follow her car to the store. When she gets out of the car, they circle her and talk to her.  This next story is hard to imagine, but I believe it.  Last Saturday, Pat went to Von’s grocery store.  When leaving she fell in the parking lot and broke her pelvis in two places.  She was able to get in the car and drive herself home.  She couldn’t walk so 911 was called and an ambulance came to take her to the hospital.  She was strapped to a gurney and when they loaded her into the ambulance, she saw that several crows were watching. On the way to the hospital Pat looked out the window and saw that a couple of the crows were flying low as they do when they wanted to be seen and were keeping pace with them.  After she was finally placed in a room Pat looked out the window, which was open, and saw a crow perched in the to of a tree that was close to the building. This crow was not squawking but was making the sounds the crows make when they were talking to her. It always sounds strange like someone talking in a foreign language.  Pat felt the crow was commiserating with her for her bad luck.

Rehab Update: For the Rehab Crow

It’s been more than four weeks now and the injured crow is still with us.  He and his mate show up early every morning and have breakfast. The crow seems to be well and looks strong when he flies.  When eating he stands on his good leg with the other curled up under him.  Sometimes he stands on one leg on the rim of the water bowl. He may have decided to live here in our neighborhood, it’s quiet and safe.  Whatever makes him happy is okay with us.

Dave Thomas

June 5, 2026

Maybe Next Time

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Maybe Next Time

Gene and Bonnie invited us to lunch and came over and picked us up. Gene was driving with Bonnie in the passenger seat, and Pat and I were in the back. We were cutting across town on a major four-lane street and regularly saw the posted signs declaring that the speed limit was 35 miles per hour. Gene is a careful driver, and he didn’t want a speeding ticket, so he was driving in the slow lane at the posted speed. We all watched as cars whizzed past us in the fast lane. Pointing to one of the speed signs, in his usual droll way, Gene said, “If I’d known that was just a suggestion, I might have driven a little faster.

Dave Thomas

5/21/2026

Pat’s Rehab Center for Crows

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We have become more involved in the local crow culture. The crows know Pat to be an empathetic person and trust her to do right by them. A crow was injured a couple of weeks ago and came to Pat for help. I guess I will now have to refer to our home as “Pat’s Crow Rehab Center.”

Pat glanced out the front window and saw something black beside the crows’ water bowl. She went outside to check it out and as she got closer, she could see that there was a crow lying there. She could see it was distressed and tried to get close enough to pet it. As she got within a few feet of it, she apparently had entered the crow’s threat zone, and it heaved itself onto its feet and then flew to the neighbor’s rooftop. When Pat backed off, it returned to the water bowl. Pat observed the crow as it flew and when it landed and noted that one leg or foot was injured, and the feathers on one part of the body were in disarray. The crow tried to stand on one leg but was too weak and fell over.

The next few days were tough. The crow spent the days laying by the water bowl or laying in our yard or our neighbor’s yard as he healed and regained his strength. Pat fed him where he was and kept the water bowl filled clear to the top so he could just stick his beak in and drink while lying down.

After six days, he was able to stand on one leg and curled the injured leg up under himself. Once in a while, he would touch the injured leg to the ground just to help maintain his balance.

After ten days, he was flying back and forth across the street to the neighbor’s rooftop. It was like an exercise regimen that he was performing to build his strength. About this time, another crow appeared. It is smaller than the injured guy, so we figure it is his mate. It hangs around all day and keeps him company.

Pat talked to the crow a lot. During those first few days when the crow was in his worst condition, Pat gave him a lot of attention. She would go out and say things like, “How are you this morning? How do you feel today? You look better!”  The crow watched her and from the tone and inflection of her voice, he knew she was being solicitous. He always paid attention.   

We didn’t know where the crow had been spending his nights. He couldn’t fly well, so he didn’t go far. He also sometimes disappeared during the day. We knew he was within hearing range because Pat could call him in. If she wanted to give him a snack, she would go to the door and yell, “Crow crow!” and, in a few seconds, he would stop by.

An alternate place to hang out would be the big tree across the street. It had leafed out and within its branches would be a great place for a crow to hide while recuperating. The crow spent a few hours each day there and couldn’t be seen. However, when Pat called at snack time, he came roaring out.

He’s been in rehab a few weeks now. The crow looks good, flies well, and can stand on one leg without falling over. I don’t know how much longer he will want to enjoy the food and care of Pat’s Rehab Center. We have enjoyed his company. Pat didn’t go looking for a bunch of crows, but they found her. She seems to have a special aura for attracting creatures.  It has been good for all of us.

Dave Thomas

5/14/26

Problem Solving

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When Pat feeds the crows, they may be joined by a pair of sparrows or a pair of finches. If it is meat time, she will chop up a hot dog or come up with some other substantial meal. If it is snack time, she will throw out some peanuts. The peanuts are too large for the sparrows or finches, so, if she has time, she cuts the nuts in half. If busy, she just steps on a few of them on the driveway and reduces them to edible sizes.

The other morning, thinking that some of the crows might come by for a snack, she threw some peanuts out on the driveway. She went back into the house to watch the news. After a few minutes, she saw movement out of the corner of her eye. She turned to look and saw the little red-headed finch had landed on the wrought iron rail that borders our front stoop. When they made eye contact, the finch let out a huge chirp. Pat went to the door and said, “I know what you want!” The finch hopped off the rail and flew down to join his mate at the peanuts. Pat walked over and stepped on a few of the nuts to smash them to size. The little birds ate their fill and flew away.

I never spent much time thinking about finches other than noting they were cute little birds. They are about as big as a ping pong ball with wings and probably have a brain the size of a pea. After Pat told me this story, I was amazed to think that a finch could put things together and solve problems. When the male bird saw the peanuts, he knew he couldn’t eat them. He remembered that Pat always fixed the nuts so he could eat them. He also knew that she came from the house. Next, he remembered that he had flown past the window and could see inside the house. He flew to the rail and looked in the window and saw Pat. He knew he had to get her attention, so he let out a large chirp. When Pat came to the door, he knew he had been successful, so he returned to the driveway. The sequence of events tells me that this guy is a thinker. I have chastised myself for not being observant in the past. I’ve learned that the least of us have something to offer, so we had better keep our minds open.

Dave Thomas

4/30/2026

The Horse Feeder (repost)

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I went to the doctor down in Fort Worth yesterday and when I got in the waiting room I sat down beside another senior citizen. We talked for a few minutes about the big storm that was due to hit during the night. After talking that over for a few minutes we were sitting quietly with our own thoughts. I was mainly thinking of the chores I should get done before the bad weather hit. Then, all of a sudden, he says, “We’re from up in Denton and we’ve got some horses on our place up there or, to be correct, I should say that my wife has some horses on our place up there. The problem is she’s afraid of storms and especially scared to death of being hit by lightning. So, when the big storms like this one come, I have to get out there and feed the horses. Among our family and friends I’m known as the “Sacrificial Horse Feeder.”

Dave Thomas
April 23, 2008

Reposted 3/23/23