This is partly Throwback Thursday and partly an entry in Norm Frampton’s Thursday Doors linkup.
Long, long ago — maybe 40 or so years — a friend of Charlie’s built a crooked house for his daughter. Charlie decided it would be fun for his three little girls (this was before I met them) to have a playhouse, too. He had his friend trace the rafters for him, then he built this. It looked a lot better when it was new, but it’s been through a lot.
The “big goo-uhs,” as the girl Charlie and I had together called them when she was wee, made a lot of mud pies in the crooked house. It was well-loved.
We met and married and moved over here to the country, and the crooked house came with us. #4 Daughter loved to play in it as much as her big sisters had. She had a cardboard kitchen set in there, which she called “stove an’ oven,” and she could play there for hours. She would begin by forcing anyone she could browbeat into “playing” with her, which generally meant watching her play. Eventually, she would become so absorbed that one could slip away.
This is the playhouse where John Allen ended his days. Not John Allen the author, but John Allen the inflatable T-Rex that was as tall as #4 Daughter was. The one she said was her brother. When she accidentally popped his seam, she simply tacked him to the wall and went on being his sister.
After #4 Daughter stopped playing in the crooked house, we cleaned it out and used it as a chicken coop.
Ah, the jolly times I’ve had slip-sliding down the hill in freezing weather, taking food and hot water to the hens! Ah, the unholy pleasure of picking tomato horn worms off in the summer and tossing them over the chicken run fence to their DOOM!
Eventually, the chickens died of old age, and now the crooked house is a shed. It’s still sturdy, though. Its days are not yet done. Who knows what it may be next?
A WRITING PROMPT FOR YOU: Where did your main character love to play as a child?