I lived in north central Iowa for many years and
moved into a 9 year old ranch house outside of Grafton, Iowa, a town of 280.

On the property, within 15 feet of the newer house
was an older home that was built around the
time that the town was founded over 100 years prior.
The old house was a wreck, cold and damp with the kind of
upstairs that you wouldn't let your kids mess with today, a loft really with a certain death kind of drop-off with no railings.

The fuse box, put in many years after the house was built, was located up there.
The house had an old open porch that was rickety, so I tore that off
and added a room that I was going to use
as a ceramic shop. I had purchased the kiln and molds
and was all set to go.

After everything was framed in, I put in the rolls of insulation
and was busily cutting wall board, purchased from Winnebago Industries.
I had behind me, the old front door of the house
which had a window about 2 foot square in the top part.
I was working at night out there in that new addition, my blue healer, Ragsy, lay next to me.

It was about 9:30 p.m., I was kneeling there
cutting the wall board, and rags stood up,
looking past me at the door to the old part of the house,
at the window, her fur rose along her back, her
lips curled, foam appeared around her mouth and she
turned, this fearless dog, and ran to the front door of
the new addition I had built. She flung herself
at the door repeatedly.

I laid down the box cutter I was using on the wall board, and
as calmly as I could, the hair raising onthe back of my neck
a cold chill running through me,
my heart pounding, and without looking back at whatever
my dog was seeing, I walked slowly to the door,
opened it and pulled it quickly closed behind me.

I never found out who or what had been in that house, and, worked on it and at my ceramics no later than 9pm after that.

It wasn't long before I had everything set up in the shop
and that spring I began making my little ceramic
items destined to be christmas and other special day things.

As happens in a small town like that, news quickly spread that I had
a neat little hidden shop and folks started dropping by
and eventually I got my first paying customer.
In a small town, you get way more NON payers, but this was actually a paid job.
For those of you who are clueless about firing stuff in a kiln
a short lesson is needed here, you show the stuff you can make by
having what is known as "greenware" on the shelves and a buyer
looks stuff over and picks out an item and pays the price you have on it in pencil
they take that home, or sit at a table in your shop, and "clean" it,
which means, getting the marks of the mold, the seams, off
Then they either under-glaze it and have the
shop "fire" it, or they simply clean the item and have it
fired to "bisque" which is what ceramic is called with one firing.
This particular customer placed an order for a coffee server
an ornate and highly detailed coffee pot and wanted me to do
the cleaning, under-glazing and then fire it a second time
with the regular glaze coat (thats how dishes are done)
It would be a pricey job for a customer with taste
who would give me much business, so it was important.
The item chosen, the price discussed and paid, I got out
the mold and poured the pot special for her
making the item a bit thicker, a bit more detailed.
After the cleaning and the under glazing, the pot was
ready for its first firing.

Now, see, when you fire something you are bringing
the kiln slowly up to 2500 degrees Fahrenheit.
Then, after it hits that, you start bringing it back down.
The process takes 12 hours.

With out thinking, I had started the project at 11 a.m.,
which, if you are doing the math Kidzzz, ends the project at 11 p.m.,
well into the no go into the shop time
because of the oogey boogey man in the
old part of the house, which as we recall is securely
attached to the shop and therefore, an unavoidable fright.