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Blessed With A Basement

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By BETTE J. LAFFERTY, Special to the Tribune

Published: February 19, 2008

VALRICO - My parents purchased their first home in 1942, when I was 6 years old, on the east side of Toledo, Ohio. It consisted of a small living room, a little kitchen, two very tiny bedrooms, a miniature bathroom and a basement.

The dimensions of our basement, sometimes called a cellar, were the same as the entire house, 24 feet by 28 feet. It had 8-foot ceilings. The steep basement stairs were located off the kitchen inside the house. Three small windows allowed only a limited amount of light into the gloomy little basement, so my dad wired a light in the center of the ceiling. It wasn't anything fancy, just a raw light bulb with a pull chain.

The builder of the house had divided the basement into two sections but finished only the first area. The finished area contained a large furnace and a dirty coal bin. Our coffee grinder was mounted on the door of the coal bin. My dad's workbench sat in the far corner next to a makeshift shower he had installed.

Then there was my mother's old ringer washing machine with a rinse tub and a set of shelves full of glass jars filled with delicious treats. There were plump, green string beans and sweet red tomatoes from our garden, sliced pickled cucumbers we'd gather and purchase from a nearby farmer's fields, red cherries from our neighbors' trees and much more, all lovingly canned by my mother.

The second section of the basement was hidden behind the block wall, so my dad smashed through the concrete and created a doorway. To our surprise, the room was half-filled with dirt. Bucket after bucket of heavy clay had to be carried up the stairs and out the back door before the area could be used.

Dad formed a shelf made of blocks around the entire room, laid the floor and hung another raw light bulb with a pull chain. After a good cleaning, it was ready for use.

My parents stored their yard tools, used boxes and stuff that could pass for junk in one half of the room. My mother's ironing board and laundry basket stood directly under the light. The rest of the room served as a play area for my three sisters and me.

My sisters and I shared the same small bedroom with just enough room for two sets of Army bunk beds. The basement gave us plenty of stretching room when the weather didn't permit us to go outside. Since it was below ground level, the basement was wonderfully cool on hot steamy summer days. During the cold winter months, the basement was kept toasty warm by the furnace.

There were no big-screen televisions, computers or high-tech video games to entertain us, and yet, our basement was a truly magical place to play. It was an incubator for developing our imaginations. We transformed our surroundings into anything we desired. A rickety card table covered with blankets became our castle. Old sheers from my mother's bedroom windows became elegant gowns fit for Cinderella. Castoff throw rugs became our magic carpets.

The basement was where we mothered our dolls, water-painted, cut out paper dolls, and played jacks and marbles. We read books and colored in coloring books - you name it. If it didn't cost much, we did it. We also teased each other, laughed a lot and had our share of fights.

As much as I love Florida, I'm glad I grew up in Ohio, where attics and basements are commonplace. The size and simplicity of our basement held far more than the home's builder could have ever dreamed. Throughout the years, I've learned that blessings come in all kinds of settings and situations, and in my case, even in little basements.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Bette J. Lafferty, 71, lives in Valrico and moved to Florida in 1963. She grew up in east Toledo, Ohio, worked for an insurance company and was a mystery shopper for a grocery chain. She enjoys volunteering for her church and writing short stories and poetry. She and her husband, Russell, have five children and four grandchildren.

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