I’m always looking for a good story for Heart of Ohio
Magazine, and this one promised to be just that. Waiting in the lobby of the convent for
Sister to arrive I was struck by the beauty of the place, and as I investigated
my surroundings a small lady with short, steel grey hair and spectacles came
into the room. Even leaning on a cane
she moved quickly, and there was no doubt this was Sister Jane Frances.
In a small room off the lobby I began to ask questions of
the Sister. At first she seemed
distracted, probably because she had just come from a funeral and she had
completely forgotten I was coming.
Several minutes into the conversation her concentration locked on, and
she began to tell me a little about her life.
This was not an easy life she had chosen, and she talked about her
mission in the West Virginia coal country, where she built a straw house to be
used as a chapel. In my mind there is nothing more interesting
than the combination of faith and determination, and Sister Jane Frances has
both.
Eventually we got around to her project of the straw bale house, and
the Sister said, “Oh, it’s so much easier to show you on my laptop. And we can visit the house; it’s just in the
corn field out back.”
As hard as it was to keep up with her, I managed to follow
her across a courtyard, upstairs, and into her tiny office. Stacked and piled and spilling over, she
explained her office was also the place where a lot of the things they sold in
their gift shop were kept. Calling up
the website (www.projectstraw.com) she showed me the
plans and work on the straw bale house.
“Now, would you like to see it? No one is working there today; the holidays
have slowed things down. But we’ll be
back in full swing soon. It’s been
pretty cold, so the ground should be frozen,” she said.
We bustled into my convertible and drove around the campus,
finally coming to the end of the asphalt drive.
“Head right out there,” she pointed to a glistening trail of
slime that my mind refused to recognize as
a road! “Just gun it and don’t
slow down for anything,” Sister said.
Taking her advice literally I stepped down on the gas and we shot out
into the corn field.
Her estimate of the firmness of the field was a little off
to say the least…it was the consistency of cake batter. My poor little convertible seemed to be
trying to learn to swim, and my spinning wheels threw mud everywhere. We arrived at the straw house where I finally
came to a stop, parking on what seemed to be the only solid piece of ground in
sight.
Opening my car door, I slipped and slid to the back door of
the house. Sister followed along, her
three legged cane sinking into the muck, but not slowing her down in the
least. The only thing that slug more mud
than my Sebring was the Sister herself.
The straw bale house is a sun filled structure with walls
twenty inches thick. Even on this
January day it was pleasant, and the tour was wonderful.
Sister showed me an area around a window
where she had applied the clay over a grapevine. Its twists and turns around the beautifully
rounded shape of the window added dimension and interest to the surrounding
wall. I loved the smooth clay walls, the
natural colors and the openness of the whole structure. I can see how one would become attracted to
the beauty of a structure like this one. The organic feel of the house seems to be that
of something sprung directly from the earth.
It was obvious from the tour that Sister Jane Francis knows
her stuff. She is undaunted by
contracting details and technologies that would probably make my head explode,
and she is interesting as she explains them.
Soon our tour of the straw bale bungalow was over and it was time to
head back to the convent.
As we exited the back door I looked up at the huge windmill
constructed behind the house to provide electricity. The thought, “I’ll huff, and I’ll puff and
I’ll bloooowwww your house down” crossed my mind, but I’m not nearly secure
enough to joke with a nun, so I held my tongue.
Sister surveyed the field looking, I suppose, for a better
way to go back. “I guess the best we can
do is back up over there and gun it again.
This happened to me last week, too,” she said.
“You know, Sister. A
little prayer might be in order here,” I said.
She dipped her head for a brief moment and chirped, “Done. Let’s go.”
We fishtailed through the field, throwing mud and laughing
as we went. To be honest I thought we
were a candidate for a tow truck, but somehow we made it. The good Sister chuckled and said, “See?”
Pavement hadn’t felt this good to me in a very long time,
and I breathed a sigh of relief. “Drive
over that way and pull in front of the garage,” Sister instructed. I did as I was told, and the moment the
wheels stopped turning she hopped from the car and pushed open a side door in
the building, “I’ll wash your car off,” she called.
The convertible was covered with mud, from rag top to
rims. To my chagrin Sister Jane Francis
worked her way around the car with a green garden hose in one hand, her cane in
the other.
I stood there in the watery January sunshine, watching this
amazing little nun wash my car. At
first I was horrified, then I felt guilty, and finally I just had to laugh at
the ridiculousness of it all. Soon the
big mud ball was once again a car and I was taking the good Sister back around
to the front of the campus and the convent.
I pulled away with the Sister waving in my rear view mirror,
heading back to Mansfield with the thought of just how lucky I am. Writing for Heart of Ohio I meet such
interesting people! I thoroughly enjoyed
my time with Sister Jane Francis, and I am impressed with the straw bale house
and all the promise it holds. She
obviously knows her stuff about a lot of things….and she does a pretty decent
job on a car wash. Life is Good.
Read “Spinning Straw Into Gold” in the March/April issue of Heart of
Ohio Magazine for the story about the straw bale house.
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