The house call

By Emily Williamson

Whittle, fiddle backs, quilted maple, spalted; these words are as foreign to our modernized world as such words as "hunting," and "made from scratch," yet they are still part of the everyday vernacular of Howard and Audie House.

Howard and Audie House have lived in Seattle for most of their lives. They have two daughters, five grandchildren, and seven great grandchildren. Howard, 86, was born in 1921. He grew up on a farm outside of Birch Tree, Mo. He was raised during the Great Depression, served in World War II ( "I saw Europe through the back of a GI truck," he said) and was awarded five battle stars for his efforts, worked as a machinist for Kenworth and Boeing, and retired from MacNab in 1983. He and Audie have been married 61 years.

I learned of the House's from a friend who waxed poetic about the couple, and especially about Howard's wood work.

"His pieces are amazing," he told me, "You have to see them to believe them."

So, I did.

Upon entering their home, Howard was seated at a table wearing magnified welders goggles and holding a toothpick. "What do you want?" he asked with a gravelly, slightly Southern drawl, "a cowboy or a cowgirl?" I didn't know how to answer. I looked over at his wife Audie for guidance. She smiled at me sweetly through her thick glasses and nodded.

"I don't know," I replied.

In true character form, Howard gave me a once over and stated "You looked like you need a cowboy." Within a flash of gestures, Howard passed me a tiny wooden cowboy, complete with a hat and boots. "That's whittling," he told me. "I make'em for the young ones at the fairs."

That began the tour of the House's world.

First was the ribbon wall. There were blue ribbons, rust ribbons, yellow ribbons, red ribbons, all tacked into a cork board display.

"What are those for?" I asked.

"Prize winnin' turkey callers" he boasted proudly. He lifted a wooden object from a display and handed it to me. The design was a web like matrix of inlaid wood in the long and narrow body with a hollowed outside and a loosely hinged lid. The shape was unknown yet somehow innately familiar to me, as if I were looking through the eyes of my homesteading ancestors.

"That one's a box call. I call mine House calls, see they are engraved with my symbol on the inside."

What is a turkey caller?

Exactly what is sound like, a wooden instrument used to call turkeys. By rubbing the wood together, one can make a "gobble" effect. Yes, turkeys have a language of their own, and if you don't call them just right, they won't come. To be honest, the fine tuning of the turkey calling, the screeching and scraping of the wood was as painful to my ears at first, but as I listened and observed the finely inlayed and chip carved instruments (worthy of the Whitney), I began to hear subtle variations.

I even tried it myself. There was the flutter, the mating call of the female turkey to the male, the put, which tells the rest of the flock one's location, and the purr, which is exactly what is sounds like. "See," Howard said as he showed me a guest bedroom full with boxes of turkey callers, "They all have to be made just right. If you have the measurements off, then the caller don't know what it's supposed to say." When I asked how many turkey callers he makes, he answered "Two or three a day. I go out to my shop, make a caller or two, and at the end of the day, I've made somim' pretty."

On the tour I could not help but notice the tiny wooden sculptures and figurines which decorated every wall of the house. In fact, I became slightly obsessed with them. There were birds, cowboys, miniature goblets, tiny rocking chairs, and hundreds more. When I asked about a display of hundreds of roosters, he replied, "One year I made over two thousand chickens. This is all I have left."

The wall of figurines was my favorite. Each tiny hand carved sculpture had a story. I could have looked at those for hours, but it was off to the work shop for more lessons of Howard's favorite subject, turkey callers. He showed me his scroll saw and wood working techniques. Then we sat by the gas stove and he played the callers some more. "You can see why I like it, can't you?" he smiled. "You should try - call one yourself, even if you don't shoot it. When one comes, you'll be so excited your hair'll blow off, and you can shoot it with yur camera."

I nodded. "Yes sir," I smiled, "I think I will."

Howard is collecting funds for the Wild Turkey Federation. For more information, please go to nwft.com, though I don't recommend the Web site for vegetarians.

For your very own turkey caller, email Howard at howardhousecalls@hotmail.com

Emily Williamson is a resident of West Seattle. She has not called a turkey yet, but she plans on it (Are there wild turkeys at Schmitz Park?) She can be reached at fuzzycaterpillar@comcast.net