"California Cottage,
In The Sun"
By, Cheryl Harwell Bailey

I passed a little white cottage, 
with baby pink roses wrapped around the picket fence, 
and I cried because I miss you!

Fred and Nancy Harwell 1950

My memories from yesterday, 

 today, and tomorrow, 

are about the people I love.

And a cottage!

My brother Steve and I loving Grandma's rocking chair in 1955.
She had no qualms about bringing furniture outdoors. 

I would be willing to sell any house, 

I have lived in. 
Except one.
Grandma's Cottage!

 The future Mrs. Kenneth Harwell.
Daddy's shadow in the foreground.
1951

The future Mrs. Harold Gene Harwell

My parents, Kenneth and Carolyn, were married in the cottage.
September 21, 1951

I would not sell it for any amount of money!
If possible, 

I would build another exactly like it.

But alas, it would only be a copy. 

The full expression of a family.

A proud American family.
Home to a Mother and Father,  
7 sons, and 1 daughter.
 12 grandchildren,
and great grandchildren too!
With a Matriarchal rock like none other.
 The Queen to this bunch of bronco bustin,'
mule skinner,' lean, but not mean, 
authentic cowboy's. 

Grandma Nancy Harwell
1912

Grandma's cottage was full of life.
God had set this perfect place in motion, 
to answer her prayers.
A home of stability in a restless world.  
It would be the ground where  
she would plant her feet for decades.
Four generations breathed it's rooms.
    
Filled with the people and objects she loved.

Heirlooms from her hearts past, 
of furniture, dishes, and textiles, 
all from different era's.
Each having it's own story to tell.
A storybook cottage where 
an American family had a place to come home to.
A family who had to leave behind,
the only home they had ever owned.
Their Oklahoma farm, 14 miles out of Muskogee, 
like many other families during 
the great depression.

And like other families, they ended up in 
Bakersfield, California.
Searching for, and finding   
Home.

Mr. and Mrs. Wallace Harwell

Mr. and Mrs. Verner Carlson
(The one and only girl)  

Mr. and Mrs. Kenneth Harwell
(My parents)

I'm going back, today.
 I'm staying a while.
"What's that? You want to come with me?"

Our Daddy Kenneth, 
Steve, Leasa, and Cheryl Harwell,
standing in front of the Mimosa tree.
1958

Leasa, Richard, Cheryl, and Steve Harwell,
Standing in front of the orange groves.
Easter 1959 at the cottage.





Today, 
June 17, 1957

Our little family, is headed up 
Hillcrest Drive.

 The scent of oranges fill the air.

Daddy turns right on Park Drive.

 Cottages sparsely dot this road in the 
California Sunkist foothills.

I see the familiar mailbox, on which is written, 

The Harwell's,

816 Park Drive

Bakersfield, California

  Grandma and grandpa are in the front yard, 

by the climbing rose picket fence.

(How did you know they where pink roses?)

Here sits a little white craftsman cottage,

with sashed windows trimmed out in forest green.

"The Oklahoma Girl"

She's lived in shacks and dug-outs.
But that's in days gone by.
Now there a healthy roomy cottage,
That lifts its gables to the sky.
All with-in is neat and tidy,
Ever cozy, even the squirrels.
At last upon the throne of her labors,
sits the Oklahoma girl.

The grass is cushy Dicondra.

 Mimosa, Birch, Maple and Aspen trees 
sparkle in the sunlight. 

Mimosa Tree

Since the car windows are down, 

I smell flowers, hay, 

and yummy fried chicken.

Looking past the backyard and gate, 
are the horses, chickens, and cows.

Uncle David Harwell, and one of his sons, Gary Harwell, 
with "Star" and her colt, out back at the "Harwell Corral!"
1967

We turn into the dirt driveway. 

 Wendy runs to the car, wagging her tail,

and nearly jumps inside. 

Grandma, Laverne
and "Wendy!"

I get out to hug her as tight 

as my small arms will allow.
Grandma's blue eyes light up when she see's us.

 She opens the gate quickly 

giving us hugs and kisses,

Her fragrance is of lavender, and Jergen's lotion.

Her skin is fair, and feels like silk.

She is shapely and cuddle soft.  

Her shiny hair is in a bun with the slight scent of  Alberto VO5.

She wears a dress made of gingham, 
a clean "starched and ironed" white cotton apron,
with a string of diaper pins on the pocket.  

Her delicate nylon stockings, 
and lace - up french heeled leather shoes,
complete her everyday attire.

We walk to the covered front porch, 
where the U.S. American Flag proudly waves.

The porch floor is red stone.

English Ivy aches about the porch entrance.

Here stands the mahogany front door.

THE DOOR

to

 my life!

My parents lives!

My grandparents lives!

This door has many stories to tell.

It was the first door some of us walked through.

It was the last door some us walked through.

Okay, now I'm tearing up!

Stop it Cheri!

Rough sketch of cottage floor plan.



The Living Room

As we enter the windowed 

sunshine filled living room,

I hear "The Cousin Herb Show,"

playing in the background on T.V. 

That good ole' country music fills the air.
"Turn it up!"

Albert E. Brumley Jr. is singing, 
"I'll Fly Away."

The walls are white.

The woodwork shines in white lacquered enamel.

The windows are opened on this 
breezy spring day. 

The sweet scent of comfort food tells me,

supper is cooking on the stove, 

 and biscuits are baking in the oven.
(No such thing as pre - packaged!)
Here in this cottage everything is
MFS ..... MADE FROM SCRATCH! 

But of course, 
the living room has her rocking chair.
I wonder how many of us have been rocked to sleep in her arms?

Her picture of Jesus hangs on the wall.

Mr. and Mrs. David Harwell
Uncle Dave and Aunt Betty

Two cozy Divans (sofa's) sit 
across from each other. 

Glasses of grandma's cold Lemonade sit on the Edwardian end tables, 
adorned with beautiful rose dollies 
Aunt Juanita crocheted.

The white window sheers bellow in the breeze. 

 There are books.

The Bible, which thankfully, she read to us.

Books by Charles Dickens, Zane Grey, 
Louis L'amour, Edgar Rice Burroughs, etc. 

And the beautiful family picture album, 
complete with treasured photos of us all.

WWI Purple Heart Hero
Grandpa Fred Harwell

WWII Hero
Uncle Wallace Harwell

WWII Hero
Aunt Juanita Harwell
General Wainwright's Nurse

WWII Hero
Uncle Cecil Harwell

Purple Heart Hero
Killed in Action

Korean War
Uncle Otis Harwell

Korean War Hero
Uncle Gene Harwell

Aunt Juanita

   

Uncle David Harwell
Cowboy Extraordinaire
Notice his shirt?
Grandma sewed this shirt, and the ones in the photos below.

Uncle Otis Harwell

Uncle Gene Harwell

Dad
1943
Kenneth Buchanan Harwell
Daddy lived in the cottage from the time he was small.
He and I went to same school, Pioneer Drive, and had the same teacher, Mrs. Green.

The Dining Room

The Harwell's
1954

Turning right we enter the dining room.

A window filled wall, is to the left,

where a modern 1950 chrome 
kitchen table and chairs sit.  

 The table is set with  
Franciscan "Dessert Rose."  

Her everyday dishes from England.

  

An antique Edwardian Buffet 

covers the right wall. 

It is filled with China. 

Complete place settings for twelve, 

and serving pieces.

And a box containing the finest Egyptian Cotton Brocade Tablecloth and Napkins from Ireland.  

  Cherished Anniversary gifts from their children.
 Used only for super special occasions.

 Built-in corner china cabinets,

one with wavy glass doors, sit in each corner.

Grandma has pictures of her family, 

 a few cups and saucers, 

and salt and pepper shakers inside.

The cottage is not cluttered.

It is clean, simple, and cozy.

    

A wood console

 radio/record player stands on the wall between the hallway and kitchen.

Filled with records from every era. 

We all love love love music!

But right now, Grandma and I are singing along with Albert E. Brumley Jr. 
on our way to the kitchen.

The Kitchen

Grandma's kitchen is every body's 
favorite room in the cottage. 
Words fail to describe this tiny kitchen, 
in the amazing hands of the master. 
 A conductor with a wooden spoon, 
her kitchen plays her symphony.
A full orchestra of... 
Sharpened knives CHOPPING fresh pesticide free herbs and vegetables, from her garden. 
Fruit from her trees and vines. 
Every meal has a fresh cold salad.
Hand SHAKEN jars full of various 
"made from scratch dressings."

Cast iron skillets SIZZLE, with country fried Bakersfield potatoes and onions.

Iron pots and pans BUBBLE with pinto beans, thick cut bacon, and peppers.
The coffee pot is PERKING,
and the tea kettle WHISTLES in harmony.

But it is her legendary 
buttermilk fried chicken 
that make tears of joy 
stream down our cheeks.
SNIFF!

She prepares huge meals, 
in her little bitty galley style kitchen.
All without a recipe!
It is in her DNA.

Her mother "Mary Jane Bell," was a cook in a fancy Hotel in the 1890's.
Grandma was taught to choose 
the ingredients carefully.
Family and friends bring her the best, 
knowing what she will create.
Like Uncle Doc, my great great uncle, 
bringing crates of plump Washington cherries every spring.
Each Christmas she had crates of oranges sent to loved ones across the country.

    

Her O'Keife and Merriot Stove has it's own story.
 Her baby brother Kenneth Hawks
(who my dad is named for) 
brought his new bride "Ilene" to the cottage 
soon after WWII to visit.
Great Uncle Kenneth was a decorated war hero, and grandma prepared her usual big family meals for Breakfast, Lunch, and Supper.
This beautiful Bride adored her new sister-in-law.

The next day a big delivery truck 
pulled into the dusty driveway at 816 Park Drive.
 The uniformed driver got out 
and knocked on the front door. 
Grandma was stunned when he asked her 
to sign for a delivery. 
It was from Ilene's parents in  Los Angeles.
She signed. They carried a brand new 
O'Keife and Merriot stove into the cottage,
and set it up in her kitchen.
God is so good!
All the time!

GOD IS GOOD!

 Her cooking was inspired before,
but now it was positively anointed!

The hallway leads to the rest of the cottage. 

      My parents standing in front of the kitchen door, cutting the wedding cake. 
My WWI Purple Heart Grandpa Harwell is standing in the door to the hallway.
Gary Harwell is standing by Grandpa.
 Kerry Donaldson (mama's brother) is sitting under the clock         

The Bedrooms

The first bedroom is grandma's.

I love to stay all night with her.

We all do!

And I always sleep with her.

(You do too?)

After Randall and I were married I still slept with her when we visited.

She was 94 the last time I had the honor of snuggling with grandma.

(By this time she lived in Montana with 

 Aunt Juanita.) 

Her cottage bedroom has

 clean white walls and lacquered white woodwork. The large windows are dressed in white lace panels, opened all the time in the Spring, Fall, and at bedtime year round.

(Bakersfield has a dry climate)

This feminine room is  

all decked out in a beautiful matching burled maple bedroom set.

The night stand has a little marble lamp with a frilly ruffled pink lampshade.

She uses it's light 

to read her Bible every night.

The chest of drawers, 

and dresser holds her neatly 

folded and rolled cloths.

Crisp white cotton sheets, 

(no such thing as a dryer in those day's.)

and a fluffy pale pink chenille bedspread cover her bed.

It is simple, spotless, and 

"practically perfect in every way," 

to quote Mary Poppins.

The other bedrooms are masculine.

Dark wood furniture with plaid bedspreads. Both have windows, 

and unbleached muslin curtains. 

All the bedrooms have closets.

They are comfortable and neat.

It amazes me that it stays so tidy.

With all the cooking, sewing, laundry,

and 8 children, how does she do it?

It can get super hot in the 

Bakersfield summer.

Grandma insisted it was 

time for moving the beds outside 

under the glow of the moon. 

No wonder daddy can name so many stars, 

and constellations! 

The Bathroom

The bathroom was perfection! 

To the left, a big claw foot tub, 

of white porcelain, aged iron faucet, 

and old stopper for the drain.

I adored being bathed in this tub. 

It is the first bathtub I remember. 

Grandma gave the best baths ever.

She would dry us off, wrap us up in a warm soft towel like a baby!

   

A huge bar of "Lifebuoy" 

bath soap sat in the soap dish. 

The hot water so hot, 

we had to open the window 

to allow the steam to escape. 

And the cold so cold, 

it felt like ice water from the fridge, 

A built - in craftsman, 

floor to ceiling  linen closet 

(in white lacquered paint)

held expensive Turkish sculptured 

bath towel sets.

Gifts from her children.

Line dried, whitest white cotton sheets,  

Epsom salts, bath soaps, 

and bubble bath filled it's shelves.

The sink was much like the tub. 

Beautifully shaped white porcelain sink,

old iron faucet, and stopper for the sink.

Can you imagine .....

only ONE bathroom for this big family?

And yes sometimes .... when we were babies we were blissfully bathed outside, under the trees in the backyard.

Better than any spa!

Written and Illustrated By

Cheryl Harwell Bailey

September 15, 2005 

The Service Porch

This was a big laundry room and pantry.

It was amazing. 

Lined with shelves full of grandma's homemade preserves in big mason jars.

Orange Marmalades, Jams, Jellies, 

Sugar Beets, Pickles, Green Beans, etc.

Have you ever had home canned 

"Gooseberry Jelly?"

Grandma had a huge garden, and fruit trees.

I have never tasted a watermelon like the giants from her garden.

Of course the whole family helped plant, irrigate, weed, harvest, clean, peel, pit,

and devour the fruit of her labor.

  

One wall had everything for homemaking, such as butter churns, and egg baskets.

On the other side sat a state of the art 

Wringer - Washer.

Shelves of bleach,washing power, bluing, 

irons, ironing board, starch, Ritz dye, notions, and her sewing machine.

She sat me at the sewing machine 

when I was 4 years old. 

I showed interest so grandma 

placed a cushion on the chair, 

and a wood block on the peddle.  

I have loved to sew since that day .

Out the back door was a beautiful back yard with a cloths - line to the side, out of sight. 

Wash days were one load at a time.

Most loads needed pretreating with bleach, 

or bluing, natural fabric softeners 

and stain removal. 

Once clean, in the washer, each garment had to be put "through the wringer." 

Once each piece was completed she carried each basket of clean laundry outside to hang them on the line with wooden cloths pins.

When dry she would take them inside to starch and iron, hang up, fold, roll up, 

then put them away.

I never heard her complain.

She loved her family and meeting our needs. She also taught us to do the same thing.      

Out Back

I hear the chopping block and giggles, 

Laughter explodes every chicken killin' day.

I know we shouldn't. Poor chickens.

Grandpa how can they run without a head?

Grandpa pays us no mind!

I walk into the coup and pick up a baby chick. I see eggs in the nests. Putting the downy chicks down I gather some fresh eggs in my pocket and rush to the kitchen.

Grandma is plucking, dipping and dressing

 a stinky chicken.

I wash the eggs, and carefully place them in the refrigerator. 

Shoo whee, I am going outside now.

  

 I see my cousins, and neighborhood kids,

gathering in a circle outback 

to hear Bishop Tom Harwell, 

Reverend Tom Harwell

(our cousin) preach his first sermon.

(He has been preaching ever since.) 

 It is a funeral. 

Tears roll down my cheeks as I join the circle on this beautiful spot out back.

Wendy is the dog we all adore.

We intricately line her grave with stones, 

and place a wooden cross on top.

 My uncles and daddy want to cheer us up.

  Daddy puts me in the saddle, 

but not on "Stormy," our wild Appaloosa.

Between the horses and headless chickens running all over the place, I feel much better.  

We all sit on the fence, our eyes glued on 

Uncle Dave and daddy trying to break "Stormy," 

(no one else would dare to) 

at the "snubbin' post." 

Daddy and Uncle Dave, are not 

"drug store cowboy's," 

but the real deal, here at the 

"Harwell Corral."

Running back and forth,

snorting and bucking,

 "Stormy" jumps the fence, and comes busting down the dusty driveway.

Baby Leasa is sitting in the driveway. 

Stormy stops just in time and sniffs her baby curls, slowly walks around her, then continues  galloping onto Park Drive, heading to the foothills at lightening speed.

Needless to say, 

there is never a dull moment

at Grandma's Cottage!

  

Mama, Daddy, 

and Grandma Nancy Harwell

1974

Grandma