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You, in desperation, made adobes out in back. This would save the hauling of those sun-dried brick you'd stack. A large, round hole was cut where you had freshly weeded. With care you dug the topsoil and placed it to be seeded. There shone the clay, hard as rock, just daring you to knead. So with water, shovels and labor, you hasted to proceed. When the clay was smooth and soft as satin in your hand, The dough was right for molding, to dry upon the land. Your other pressing duties had fallen by the way, While you worked the daylight hours in stubborn pits of clay. Hot having a working plan, you had so much at stake. So you asked the " 'Dobe Man" if he would your " 'dobes" make. He lived across the street, if you could call it such. It was always deeply rutted, as a street it wasn't much. His yard soon filled, row on row, depending on the weather, Each block tipped up the second day or it would curl like leather. If the soil had too much clay, it made the dough too slick, A trip for sand to "Black Hill" would nicely do the trick. Thousands a dat, ten days to dry, those yellow twelve-by-fives. Olsen was the " 'Dobe Han who touched so many lives. Source: Information about making adobes was given by Mr. Paul Mortensen, Ephraim, Utah. He is in his eighties and came from Denmark as an emigrant. -33- |
