The Laura Beth
I'm not sure why Dad decided to build a houseboat. Although he refurbished many barns and sheds over the years, I don't remember that Dad ever built any other structure. Perhaps he was influenced by our proximity to Gavins Point Dam, where many other home-built houseboats were moored. The dam on the Missouri River, just fifty miles north of Norfolk, provided deep water, good fishing, and the opportunity to get away from the constant business pressures associated with running the Oxnard Hotel.
My memories of the houseboat may stray a bit from the truth, since I was only six or seven while Dad was building it. I remember that he bought an old rowboat and trailer, probably at an auction. At first, he parked the boat in the vacant lot behind the hotel, where Dan and I enjoyed hours of playtime, imagining that we were fishermen or pirates embarking on a long voyage.
I don't know which came first, the rowboat, or the idea to build a houseboat. I remember that the rowboat and trailer were eventually rebuilt into a utility trailer that Dad continues to use often. The houseboat took shape in the backyard of the house that we had lived in before we moved to the hotel. I remember going with Dad on sunny Saturdays while he meticulously sawed and hammered the boat into shape. One day, Dan and I were sitting on the cabin floor, with the late morning sun streaming in, while Dad worked on the outside of the boat. I was using one of Dad's chisels to shape a piece of scrap lumber, when the chisel slipped and gashed the palm of my hand; my blood flowed freely onto the cabin floor. If that kind of accident were to happen now, we would head straight to the emergency room for stitches but, back then, emergency rooms were luxuries that were saved for life-and-death situations, so Dad wrapped my hand in his white handkerchief until we could get back home to apply merthiolate and a hefty band-aid. My left hand still bears the inch-long scar that will never let me forget what happened. Afterward, Dad teased me, saying that he would have to name the houseboat The Bloody Janet in my honor.
Dad worked on the houseboat for several months before it was completed. I don't remember how Dad got the houseboat from its "dry dock" in the Norfolk backyard to its new mooring near the base of Gavins Point Dam. (He may have made use of the old rowboat's trailer, but I don't know for sure.) I wasn't present for the boat's launching, but I do remember much about its construction and appearance.
The rectangular houseboat's small, square cabin had two doors, one opening onto each deck, fore and aft. The cabin was arranged in galley fashion, with two bunks on one side, and a closet and counter on the other side. As I recall, the top bunk was made of canvas, which rolled back to the wall when it was not in use, so the bottom bunk could double as a couch during the day. The dark closet was just big enough to hold a five gallon bucket topped with a toilet seat. The counter, with storage shelves underneath, had room for an old, green, propane camp stove and a metal dishpan. Mom tells about the time she decided to pop popcorn in a skillet on top of the camp stove. She covered the bottom of the skillet with popcorn kernels, forgetting that the deep-sided pot she used at home could easily contain more popped corn than the houseboat's short-sided skillet. Of course, the rapidly expanding popcorn quickly outgrew the confines of the shallow skillet, flying everywhere, and covering the cabin floor with fluffy white popcorn! (I'll bet the fish feasted on popcorn that night.)
The houseboat was painted white, with light blue trim. Dad used several old fifty gallon oil drums as the base of the boat, to provide flotation. Each of the decks was enclosed with a white fence and railing, with a gate that opened at each end. The railings were lined with metal fishing rod holders. The back deck sported a smelly outboard motor. I seem to remember a long pole that was used to push the boat in and out of its mooring. When the weather was nice, we sat in lawn chairs on one of the decks, waiting for the fish to bite.
Mom and Dad used to spend the night on the boat occasionally, sometimes inviting various relatives to come along. Dan and I never got to spend the night, and it was a rare treat for us to even spend a day on the boat, wearing cumbersome orange life jackets so we would be safe. It was a great adventure when Dad would rev up the motor and pilot the boat right up next to the base of the dam, where he would throw out the anchor and hand each of us a fishing pole. I don't remember that I ever caught any fish there, but I do remember seeing lots of huge fish at the surface of the water right next to the dam. I remember much discussion about the inedible needle-nosed gar, which were considered to be nuisance fish because they ate the more desirable northern pike. In fact, whenever anyone hooked a gar, it was summarily hit on the head and thrown back into the water to become dinner for its relatives. Mom and Dad caught plenty of pike at Gavins Point, though, so we all relished many meals of savory, freshly caught fish.
My sister, Laura, was just a baby when the houseboat was finished. Since she was too small to ever accompany the rest of us on the boat, she received the honor of having the houseboat named after her. Mom and Dad only owned The Laura Beth for a couple of years. We moved to Fairbury when Laura was two, but the houseboat stayed with its new owners at Gavins Point Dam.
My memories of the houseboat may stray a bit from the truth, since I was only six or seven while Dad was building it. I remember that he bought an old rowboat and trailer, probably at an auction. At first, he parked the boat in the vacant lot behind the hotel, where Dan and I enjoyed hours of playtime, imagining that we were fishermen or pirates embarking on a long voyage.
I don't know which came first, the rowboat, or the idea to build a houseboat. I remember that the rowboat and trailer were eventually rebuilt into a utility trailer that Dad continues to use often. The houseboat took shape in the backyard of the house that we had lived in before we moved to the hotel. I remember going with Dad on sunny Saturdays while he meticulously sawed and hammered the boat into shape. One day, Dan and I were sitting on the cabin floor, with the late morning sun streaming in, while Dad worked on the outside of the boat. I was using one of Dad's chisels to shape a piece of scrap lumber, when the chisel slipped and gashed the palm of my hand; my blood flowed freely onto the cabin floor. If that kind of accident were to happen now, we would head straight to the emergency room for stitches but, back then, emergency rooms were luxuries that were saved for life-and-death situations, so Dad wrapped my hand in his white handkerchief until we could get back home to apply merthiolate and a hefty band-aid. My left hand still bears the inch-long scar that will never let me forget what happened. Afterward, Dad teased me, saying that he would have to name the houseboat The Bloody Janet in my honor.
Dad worked on the houseboat for several months before it was completed. I don't remember how Dad got the houseboat from its "dry dock" in the Norfolk backyard to its new mooring near the base of Gavins Point Dam. (He may have made use of the old rowboat's trailer, but I don't know for sure.) I wasn't present for the boat's launching, but I do remember much about its construction and appearance.
The rectangular houseboat's small, square cabin had two doors, one opening onto each deck, fore and aft. The cabin was arranged in galley fashion, with two bunks on one side, and a closet and counter on the other side. As I recall, the top bunk was made of canvas, which rolled back to the wall when it was not in use, so the bottom bunk could double as a couch during the day. The dark closet was just big enough to hold a five gallon bucket topped with a toilet seat. The counter, with storage shelves underneath, had room for an old, green, propane camp stove and a metal dishpan. Mom tells about the time she decided to pop popcorn in a skillet on top of the camp stove. She covered the bottom of the skillet with popcorn kernels, forgetting that the deep-sided pot she used at home could easily contain more popped corn than the houseboat's short-sided skillet. Of course, the rapidly expanding popcorn quickly outgrew the confines of the shallow skillet, flying everywhere, and covering the cabin floor with fluffy white popcorn! (I'll bet the fish feasted on popcorn that night.)
The houseboat was painted white, with light blue trim. Dad used several old fifty gallon oil drums as the base of the boat, to provide flotation. Each of the decks was enclosed with a white fence and railing, with a gate that opened at each end. The railings were lined with metal fishing rod holders. The back deck sported a smelly outboard motor. I seem to remember a long pole that was used to push the boat in and out of its mooring. When the weather was nice, we sat in lawn chairs on one of the decks, waiting for the fish to bite.
Mom and Dad used to spend the night on the boat occasionally, sometimes inviting various relatives to come along. Dan and I never got to spend the night, and it was a rare treat for us to even spend a day on the boat, wearing cumbersome orange life jackets so we would be safe. It was a great adventure when Dad would rev up the motor and pilot the boat right up next to the base of the dam, where he would throw out the anchor and hand each of us a fishing pole. I don't remember that I ever caught any fish there, but I do remember seeing lots of huge fish at the surface of the water right next to the dam. I remember much discussion about the inedible needle-nosed gar, which were considered to be nuisance fish because they ate the more desirable northern pike. In fact, whenever anyone hooked a gar, it was summarily hit on the head and thrown back into the water to become dinner for its relatives. Mom and Dad caught plenty of pike at Gavins Point, though, so we all relished many meals of savory, freshly caught fish.
My sister, Laura, was just a baby when the houseboat was finished. Since she was too small to ever accompany the rest of us on the boat, she received the honor of having the houseboat named after her. Mom and Dad only owned The Laura Beth for a couple of years. We moved to Fairbury when Laura was two, but the houseboat stayed with its new owners at Gavins Point Dam.
I caught my first fish from the deck of the houseboat - a gar! 2 feet long and half teeth, I was one scared 4-year old.
ReplyDeleteI'll bet you were scared. Those fish were amazingly strange. But at least you caught something and lived to tell about it!
ReplyDelete