Wood Floors

We’re having new flooring put in our place in Nashville. The existing stuff is a mish-mash of laminate, vinyl, and parquet. The combination was horrible looking, and each was a different type of floor covering. Problems like this never surfaced in our house when I was a kid. Mother and Daddy made choices that lasted.

The family home was covered with oak flooring. The boards were thick and hard as rocks, a fact that became obvious years later when holes were cut to insert vents for an HVAC unit. The contractor burned up a circular saw in the process, cursed the floors, and said he’d never seen any wood that solid.

Jim and I knew all about that floor. When we were kids, all that heated the house was a Warm Morning Coal Stove. The floors were ice cold, a fact that caused us to skitter across them as we reached the stove located in the living where we dressed for the morning. These days, my family makes fun of my refusal to go barefooted. One of a number of reasons I’m not a “shoeless Joe” is that I developed a habit of wearing shoes because of those cold oak boards.

The flooring was a source of pride for my parents. Mother spent hours on her hands and knees as she cleaned and waxed them. When she finished, they glowed as sun passed through the windows and reflected off them. One old story had Mother in the middle of cleaning the floors when Jim and I came in the house. Allegedly, our shoes were covered with mud, and the muck from our steps spread across the floors she’d just worked on. Supposedly, she sat back on her bottom and cried over the hard work that had been ruined in seconds by two grimy little boys. I’d more tend to believe that she sprang to her feet and rained down swats to two little bottoms. That sounds more like the mother I remember.

The hallway was a launch pad for us. It ran from a tile foyer to the basement door. We had some fun getting a head start and then sliding the length of the hall. I sometimes worried about picking up a splinter, but not enough to stop the sliding. One hazard of the game was not being able to stop soon enough and then slamming into the basement door. Another was veering off course and crashing into one of the walls. They were plaster with swirls and ridges and as solid as concrete. A run-in with them led to bumps, bruises, and abrasions.

The discovery of termite infestation sent up alarms. Daddy had exterminators spray and survey the damage, which was minimal, and the problem was fixed. One place was noticeable and always bothered Mother. It wasn’t evident to most people, but she knew exactly where it was and what its shape was. One of the few objects that she held pride was marred, and it ate at her.

In later years, Mother covered the oak floors with carpet to keep the house and her cold feet a bit warmer. After she passed, Rick and June bought the house, and they had the floors resurfaced. They came back to life after lying dormant for so long and again brought light and life to that old house.

Wood flooring is the rage again, but many folks of earlier generations already knew how sturdy and beautiful they were. Of course, today’s world needs to be careful over choices that they make so that trees aren’t harvested and lead to irreparable harm to the environment. Engineered flooring can replace wood floors, and they are beautiful. Still, I’m not sure they have the same character or staying power as wood does. My wish is that anyone who installs them makes as many memories on them as we did as kids.