[Granville-Hough] 7 Feb 2009 - Storm Pits 2

[Trustees for Granville W. Hough]

Date: Sat, 07 Feb 2009 17:10:52 -0800
From: Granville W Hough <gwhough at oakapple.net>
Subject: StormPits2 - 7 Feb 2009


Storm Pits (by Harold Hopkins of Mize), Part 2. 

Storm pits were not 
pleasant to think about and in fair weather were more or less ignored. 
Thus when storms came up they were not always ready for comfortable 
occupancy. A forgotten open door or poor water runoff around the 
structure could result in a wet floor or even standing water if the 
floor was impervious clay, and mosquitoes could breed in the puddles. 
Despite efforts to seal the structure properly, it was practically 
impossible to keep a storm pit perfectly free of spiders, wasps, and 
other insects, occasional toads that had fallen into the entrance hole, 
and other small creatures that made going down into the pit a test for 
the squeamish. Storm pits always had a depressing odor of dank earth 
mixed with creosote and fumes from the kerosene lantern that hung from 
the cross timbers.

Pits varied in size and accommodations. Ours was only eight or nine feet 
square and four or five feet deep. I don't remember much about other 
storm pits, although I do remember visiting a boy named Ezra Rogers at 
Cohay Camp  as we called this logging community then - and when a storm 
came up we went into a very large storm pit that was much wider and 
deeper than I'd ever seen before and accommodated several families, 
perhaps 30 or so souls.

Social life in a storm pit was possible though the conversation was 
generally a bit forced. Wind and thunder could make it difficult to hear 
or make yourself heard, and lightning had a way of causing you to stop 
talking until you were satisfied that the bolt had struck elsewhere. You 
talked about the present storm or some past one, but always with an eye 
and ear on the progress of the one just outside. Most parents made 
efforts to keep children occupied to prevent fright, but children as 
well as grownups often fell silent to see if they could tell what was 
happening above the ground.

When the storm had blown itself out it was always gratifying to see that 
your house was standing just as it was before you left it. But if you 
were a child, you couldn't help feeling a little resentful that your 
trip to the storm pit had not really been necessary after all, and you 
hoped you'd grow up to be a better predictor than your parents were. 
With most of your lifetime experiences ahead of you instead of behind, 
you seized upon any evidence you could gather that the storm had been a 
memorable blow. Seeing tree branches broken or roofing curled back in 
places as you climbed out of the hole meant that you had been in a real 
humdinger, one you could brag about to your friends afterward, like I'm 
doing now.