Maybe we should call it 'Cebollita'

. . . Which would mean "Little Onion," but I'm getting ahead of my story.

It was wet Tuesday -- not rain; that was up the Keys; Lower Matecumbe Key got 8 inches.

We got some drizzle before dawn, so all the water here was vaporized. Our neighbor Dennis, who looked as if he'd been hosed off early and repeatedly, asked "Humid enough for ya?" as I trudged to the house, and found Mike and Mr. B working on siding and decking.

I did sundry sultry errands and then went to the polls -- though my T-shirt was too wet for the "I voted" sticker to stick.

So I retreated to the cool, dry archive room at the library, where Tom Hambright, the county historian, is as helpful, bright and nice as he is tall, which is very.

I was curious about one Mr. S.S. Field, who's listed in architectural and tax records as having built our house in 1908.

Tom consulted old city directories -- nothing. Then hand-written city tax ledgers. I made lists of possible names, based on plat, tract and lot, and checked directories again -- and there was our house in 19
. . . 06! Joanna Niles, widow of Nathan, lived there, and so did her sons George and Cleveland, both cigarmakers.

(A light bulb went on for Tom, and he loped over to a city news index he and his wife, Lynda, had put together -- and sure enough: Cleveland was Monroe County sheriff, 1926-33, and is probably our only sitting sheriff to have been arrested for beating his wife, in 1929.)

But Tom was curious. Was that as far back as could be found? On a whim, he looked on the official Sanborn fire-insurance maps from 1899, which are regarded as gospel. There was our house, plus a few tiny sheds (probably bedrooms) on the lot. Ditto 1892. Ditto 1889. What the heck?

So he checked the giant 1884 Bird's Eye View of Key West, and it sure looks as if our house, set back demurely from the street, is there. Earlier than that, you can't peel this onion.

By the way, in 1906 our house was appraised at $100, the lot at $400.