Arriving in Endwell, my second childhood home #AtoZChallenge

A is for Arriving: First of twenty-six posts in the April 2020 Blogging From A to Z Challenge on the theme “Endwell: My Elementary Years”— where my genealogy journey germinated. Wish me luck!

The last post of my A to Z Challenge 2017 series on my early childhood had me Zooming off to Endwell with my parents and younger brothers to my second childhood home.

This series picks up my story of Arriving in Endwell, N.Y. and moving into the tiny house where I would live with my family through the end of high school.

A Baby Boom bonanza

My first childhood home Whispering Chimneys was an 1850s farmhouse near Albany, N.Y., where I lived with my parents, maternal grandparents and younger brothers until I was seven.

My second childhood home. My second childhood  home on Malverne Rd. in Endwell, N.Y., was much smaller than my first. But on the dead-end street bustling with Baby Boom children, we kids were rarely inside. Photo: Norman J. Charboneau

I had friends at school, but the nearest neighbor children were Kathy and Carol Ann — who lived across Route 20, a highway I was forbidden to cross without an adult. So I was used to a certain amount of solitude.

Our new Malverne Road neighborhood, however, was the polar opposite. It was a dead end street with no through traffic, which meant we were free to cross or even play in the road. Even more amazing, there were dozens of children — a Baby Boom bonanza that took some getting used to!

My moving day injury

I made an early trip to Endwell with my dad so he could do some indoor painting to get our new home ready. We slept on Army cots in the empty, echoey house — and I met some of my future playmates when showed up in the front yard to look me over.
Red vintage bike. I learned to ride a bike like this on the farm where I spent my early childhood. But it was a bit trickier to manoeuver on the dirt-and-tar street where our second house was located. Photo: Jill Wellington/pixabay

After that came moving day, when the whole family — my grandparents included — drove along behind our moving van on the three-hour trip to our new house.

One of the first things the movers unloaded was my vintage bicycle from the farm — and I hopped on to give it a whirl on the dirt-and-tar covered street (pavement and curbs were still in the future).

I’m not sure if it was the excitement of moving or the stickiness of the tar, but next thing I knew I was head over heels on the ground with a gash on my right forearm — made by my bike’s gripless silver handlebars. Ouch!

Luckily, the movers never missed a beat. They set down the furniture, rummaged in their huge truck, brought out a first-aid kit — and before you know it, I was all patched up and back on my bike.

I was also left with a lasting memento of that fateful day. Even today all I have to do is look down at the small, faded scar on my forearm to fondly remember Arriving in Endwell as if it was yesterday!

Up next: B is for Brothers and BoondoglePlease stop back! 

© 2020 Molly Charboneau. All rights reserved.

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16 thoughts on “Arriving in Endwell, my second childhood home #AtoZChallenge”

  1. Love this post Molly! Yes–such fun riding our bicycles…and I can even remember my tricycle while living in Princeton NJ with my aunt and uncle.
    My flip-top accident happened years later when I was pretending to be riding a chariot after seeing the movie Ben Hur and went right over the handlebars! Not Ben Hur!

    1. Such a shame. Bikes were like cars for us kids — we could travel much further than on foot. What a sense of freedom!

  2. It’s fun to write and relive our youth! I’ll be back for more as we busily post our blog A to Z’s daily!

  3. Yeah all the firsts in life always have special memories…. And the scar must be like a reminder and you must be now glad you have it as something from the past 🙂

    Will look forward for more posts on the A2Z blogging challenge!!

  4. At least you will never forget your first day at your new house! I got a scar on my knee from coasting too fast downhill on my tricycle and flipping over at the end. I’ll never forget that day either!
    Blogging A to Z

    1. Trauma somehow anchors memory — I would likely have forgotten the fine details of moving day if I hadn’t crashed my bike.

    1. My bike was blue also! And yes, our street was totally fun — one big playground after school, on weekends and in the summer.

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