I was born just a little while after our parents had moved to Washington from Montana. At the time Genevieve’s job in Billings, Montana had closed up shop and moved to Tacoma, Washington. So Ophelia, Rowen and Genevieve had traveled along with it. Genevieve likes to tell the story of when Rowen and she came to Washington to look for a home for their growing family. There were only two days that Rowen and Genevieve could spend looking for a place to live. They chose the city of Puyallup because it wasn’t in the city and it also wasn’t far enough away that it would be a hassle to get to work. Needless to say they had troubles on this trip. The area itself wasn’t too populated as it was only considered a town at the time, developments were sparse, and most of the surrounding area was nothing but coniferous trees, one major road that ran through town called Meridian, and a few back roads.

There was only one motel in town at the time and it was kind of a no-tell motel, but at least it was located next to a restaurant. So much to their dismay they stayed in the one motel in town. Keep in mind, that the Internet simply did not exist in the 80’s so they had to house search the old fashioned way. After a long day of looking for homes to rent they were disheartened by the high prices of suburban living so they went to the restaurant next to their motel to have dinner.

While at dinner Genevieve opened up the penny saver magazine and found an advertisement for a house to rent right up the road. They called the gentleman from their motel’s phone immediately and pestered him to schedule a tour of his home for the very next day. They returned to the motel across from the restaurant for a good nights rest after a long day only to find bloodstains on their bed sheets, which led them to sleep on the floor. Some experience this was turning out to be!

The next day they met with the man whose house was located conveniently next to an elementary school, junior high school and a park. The drive to Tacoma was not too far and the neighborhood had children for Ophelia to play with. The house was everything that Rowen and Genevieve could have asked for in such a short time frame. Come to find out my mother’s boss and his family was going to be moving in down the road as well so this was an added bonus. After expressing their overzealous nature about renting the house and moving in quickly the man became suspicious and irritated with how fast they wanted to seal the deal. Genevieve recalls to this day how frustrated she was and how huffy she got with him.

“My job is relocating us to this state and I live in Montana. This is the only time my husband and I could get off to come look for a place to live and I am not setting my three-year old daughter up in some seedy motel while we look for houses!” she had screamed.

The man quickly changed his mind and allowed Rowen and Genevieve to rent the house. This is the house that I was born in but not the house that I remember from my childhood.

The only house that I remember is the house that Rowen and Genevieve still own today. This house sits on the corner lot of the entrance to a cul-de-sac community and is one of the larger properties in the neighborhood. The yard has a Cherry tree, a few Western Red Cedars here and there, and there are rows of Thuja trees that line several sections of the front and backyard. The house itself is a yellowish-tan color with beige trim, aggregate steps and a black iron railing. When you walk in the door a large family and dining room greet you to your left and the upstairs bedrooms are up to the right. If you walk past the wooden floor entry way and into the kitchen to your right lays a den with a fireplace and the entrance to the garage.

If you walk through the kitchen and out the sliding glass doors you would be transported into a backyard of exceptional proportions. The property was sloped at one point so Rowen designed a terraced walkway, garden, and patio/dining area outside. The terraced patio was filled with bark and up on the hill Rowen had built Ophelia a playhouse. While we both used the playhouse it was at Ophelia’s behest that Rowen built this structure from scratch. As you will soon come to learn in the story that follows Rowen was and remains a real handyman.

The playhouse that Rowen had built was made out of oak. I say that because it was a lighter colored wood and it smelled freshly cut, but I’m sure that was just a result of the constant rainy weather. This playhouse was so well crafted that it had a pitched roof, one octagonal shaped window with a view of our real home, and a door with a latch on the inside to lock the playhouse door. Looking back on it I never understood why anyone would put a latch on a playhouse door. Think about it a) do you really want your children to be able to lock you out of a playhouse that you are too big to crawl into and b) do you honestly think that lock is going to keep a determined or desperate intruder out? I thought not.

One fine day I remember bothering Genevieve incessantly to the point of exhaustion. She was making dinner and to get some peace and quiet she sent me outside to play with Ophelia. Ophelia had slowly been carrying a strange assortment of kitchen items with her to the playhouse. Keep in mind that Ophelia is only six or seven years old so she has to bring each item separately. First, Ophelia leaves the house with a large plastic tub for storing things in but she fills it with warm water and then she comes into the kitchen to get a wooden spoon. Next came the carrots that we had just recently harvested from the garden unwashed and uncut. Lastly, Ophelia carries a pile of already skinned potatoes with her to the playhouse. I can’t remember if Genevieve had skinned them for dinner and Ophelia had stolen them or if Ophelia specifically requested that Genevieve peel them for her. Either way Ophelia went out to the playhouse with those potatoes.

After being ousted from the real kitchen I thought it might be interesting to see what was cooking in Ophelia’s playhouse kitchen. I ran to the playhouse and through open the door only to find Ophelia humming along as she dropped the potatoes and carrots into her now very cold tub of water, which was resting on a built in wooden countertop. When I asked her what she was doing Ophelia replied as if everything that was going on was perfectly normal,

“Making potato soup silly, and you’re going to eat it.” she said as she slowly latched the door to the playhouse closed.

“I don’t want to eat it.” I responded.

Not to be unkind but this soup looked awful and nothing in it was cooked thoroughly enough to be called soup.

“Well why not?” Ophelia replied with a tinge of defensiveness in her voice.

“Nothing in it is cooked.” I stated with sheer arrogance.

Then Ophelia did the smartest thing an older sister could do. She lied to me so that I would participate in her little charade.

“Yes it is! I cooked it earlier in the house. You just weren’t paying attention.”

I mean she did have me there. I was never really paying attention too much else but what was going on in my own life. So I gave in and Ophelia ladled me a giant uncooked potato. Her lie was instantly discovered and I spit the first potato out! However, Ophelia was not satisfied with this response and forced me to eat a whole raw potato. Needless to say don’t ever trust your older sister when she says that her uncooked potato soup tastes great, especially when she is too chicken to try it herself.