Male Instinct
“ A Different Spin on a Man’ s Store”
Gifts
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• Hats, Gloves, Billfolds
• Ultimo Fragrance
• Fusion Sweaters
• Knives • Themed items
• Funny Stuff the maleinstinct. com
75 S. Van Buren St. • Nashville •( 812) 988-1964
Marg DeGlandon CSSS, CDPR Broker / Owner Cell: 812-360-4083 margd @ remax. net
The Marg and Brenda Team
10 Artist Drive, P. O. Box 1609 Nashville, IN 47448
812-988-4485
www. MargAndBrendaTeam. com Your Brown County Team
Accessories
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Wine Bar and Gift Shoppe Open Daily Wine Tastings
Brenda Longtin CSSS, CDPR Associate Broker Cell: 812-360-3889 shaht @ mibor. net
• Cheeses and Gourmet Foods
• Unique Wine Gifts • Comfortable Seating
Live Music Fri. and Sat. 7-10 pm Coachlight Square • S. Van Buren and Washington, Nashville, IN
812-988-8500 • www. ChateauThomas. com
Anything But Ordinary
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A variety of stones and colors
North Van Buren and Molly’ s Lane • Nashville
Doing business for over 25 years 812-988-0522
COAL FURNACE continued from 52 in the stark, grim deep-freeze of Indiana winter, the temperatures might be sub-freezing or even sub-zero.
I remember him throwing open the doors in the dead of winter when the stove could hold its own against a full-on Hoosier deep-freeze at least for a half hour or so.
Dad would always keep his bedroom door closed and the register closed, so when he went to bed, his sleeping area was deliciously cool, while in the boys’ room, temperatures simulated the surface of Venus.
Sometimes, the fire would get clogged up or the little chain would come off the damper door, or a“ clinker” would get caught in the grate and dad would have to go back downstairs and deal with the furnace AGAIN. He really hated that. There would be much commotion and cursing and general hollering and banging about.
There was a great iron handle on the side of the stove box proper and Dad would seize it and rock it violently back and forth to“ shake down” the fire to allow the ashes and clinkers to fall through the grate into an ash box below. Emptying that box was the boys’ job so there was always much uproar and outcry when it was discovered that this chore had not been done and the ash box was full and running over.
In one corner of the basement was a sort of room made from rough-hewn“ native” lumber, known as“ the coal bin.” In it was a small window at ceiling level, which was ground level outside the house, and through which coal would be loaded down into the basement. Sometime after the weather had started to turn cold, a big dump truck full of coal would arrive. A metal chute would be extended down into the window and a couple of tons of soft bituminous coal— the winter’ s supply— would be dumped into the little room.
This was a process full of fascination for small boys, and we usually came through this day of excitement looking like chimney sweeps or Welsh miners.
Eventually, the old stove was dismantled and replaced by electric heat. Many of the old sheet-metal ducts, pipes, and parts lay around the back forty for years, taking their part in my imaginary play as the scattered remains of some giant disassembled robot, or the parts of a rocket ship to Mars.
Hardly anyone heats with coal anymore, but every now and then I’ ll catch the smell of a coal fired stove on the winter wind and remember the beast in the basement that both tormented and kept us warm. •
54 Our Brown County Jan./ Feb. 2016