Haystacks and War

I loved playing in haystacks. Of course, a haystack made of alfalfa is scratchy and makes me sneeze, but a nice soft one made of straw was all fun.

Right along side the corral, my dad would stack up a hug stake of straw bales. As a little kid I would usually lounge about the partially built stack waiting for the next truckload of bales to be brought in and then watch them build this prairie skyscraper.

Secretly, I was there to try to convince my brothers to build into the stack a bunch of secret rooms and tunnels. That way I could be saved all the trouble of reconstructing the stack to fit my needs. They were less than accommodating I must say.

Inevitably the bales closest to the corral would be thrown down soonest so there would be a gradual consumption of my little castle. But this uneven usage of the stack would also lend additional terrain for many great games. The high side of the stack was the parapets of my medieval castle. The low side a construction site for new forts, or a platform to prepare weapons of war to fend of the evil invaders from the north side of the tracks.

Ah the days of make believe wars.

One summer we found a bundle of broom handle sized poles. We quickly added 2x4 chunks to one end, a clothes line clip up top (I wonder if grandma ever knew where all her clothes pins went), a notch on one end and had ourselves an arsenal of elastic band guns. Aided by the discovery of a box of elastic bands, we began a regular series of war reenactments. Capturing a flag and defending a flag or secret stratagems would be employed.

An arms race began as well, when someone discovered how to load multiple rubber bands and still only shoot one at a time. This was a decided advantage from a "one" shooter.
Perhaps these were some of my fondest moments during those years before I was so worried about dances, sports teams and social order.

As I watch my kids create games on our playhouse equipment, in our small little suburban yard, I wonder if they are constructing the same parapets and armament munition piles I once did. Perhaps that little moment of playful aggression will bring them happy solace one day as well.

The Canal

There is something special about canals. There is the canals of Venice, the root canal, the canal of love but in my life there was only one true the canal.

This canal was always with me. I drove down the little muddy two track roads on it's bank with my dad in the farm trucks all my life. One quick swerve to the left and your truck would get a good washing.


This was not just a little old ditch. This was a 25 foot wide 12 foot deep man made river. A watery snake winding through the dusty prairie bring crops life during the parched summer.


As a little kid I recall watching my friends dad, at the end of a hot day, climb on the top of his trucks cab and dive into the canal. Every mile a bridge crosses that canal and with each bridge a new place to swim. Of course, swimming is not allowed.


Somewhere between being a little kid and becoming a teenager I began working in the fields all summer. Me and a throng of kids, with hoe in hand, would fight the good fight against those nasty weeds. We would pick the cabbage, corn, broccoli and tomatoes. All in those dusty fields that leaned right up against the canal.


Dusty and hot, quiting time and cool water combine to make some real refreshing memories. That first jump was tough though. Standing on the edge of the old wooden bridge I watched as the older kids jumped in. It wasn't a long fall; bridge to water surface could be as little as 5 feet.


But that water was moving along. By the time a youth would emerge from the cool waters they would be usually a foot or so under the bridge. This sort of concerned me. My first jump was on the down stream side. We all had tubes and mine got thrown in so I was either going to jump in or walk. I jumped.


Many jumps later I would hide on the bridge pylons. Fighting with the other kids as the jumped in. We would try to make everyone miss the pylons so they would float way down before the could get out.


So now as I contemplate my progress in life, I dream of making that cool plunge again. Just to enjoy the contrast of hot and dusty to cool and refreshed.

The Depths of the Tunnels

Deep within the bowels of Barnwell school lies a labyrinth of dark and mold tunnels. Among the mighty school population and Alumni they are generally known as, the Tunnels.

Oh how those tunnels called to us. In gym class, every time the floor hockey puck crossed those old cast iron grates on the side I would race over there and think...what is down there. Then I would get smacked from behind by someone. Sitting in our fancy purple uniforms during basketball games I would look down, while contemplating my bench position, and gaze deep into the depths of that darkness behind that grate and wonder how I could explore those tunnels.

Of course, sitting in the science room we all would speculate that under that trapped door in the middle of the room was another entrance that went through some crazy cave like structure. If we could just get the teacher out long enough to peer down there.

The obvious entrance was through the boiler room. For it was from this hot room in the basement of the old part of the school that the tunnels began and found their real purpose. You see the tunnels took hot water too the new wing of the school for heat. The boiler room was where we needed to enter.

After school, while enrolled in the mighty Junior High, I was fighting valiantly for our school pride against some nasty school from Taber or Grassy Lake. I was doing my very best from the bench when I heard, "psst, down here!"

There were my buddies Larry and Trent. They had found a way in to the boiler room. Soon most of the students knew that they had found their way in. The janitor had locked the boiler room though - they were stuck.

After the 'B' team was done I raced to the science room door. They had found they're way to through the science room trapped door - it was true, it did connect! But, alas, the science room door was locked on both sides and they were still trapped.

They frantically gave us all the details of the tunnels and the treasures they had found. We formulated strategies on how to escape undetected.

Somehow they escaped and we all basked in they're glorious adventure.

Aahhh, to be young and adventurous again.

Return from Vacation

I just got back from vacation. I spent a week up home and was flooded with all sorts of memories.

Hopefully I can write some of them down before my old head forgets them again.

Fish and Other Yummy Treats

During my freshman year at college I noticed that I my teeth were getting tender. My gums were bleeding and I was very nearly always tired. It was painful to eat an apple and my mom was worried.

I was not suffering from any rare disease; however, something had to change and it needed to start with my eating habits. Somehow ramen zapped in the microwave covered with ragu, turkey franks and 25 cent mac and cheese was not providing me with the balanced diet my delicate body needed.

Help soon arrived and it came from my brother. He was married and living nearby. Each night I went to his house and ate. Voila...I stopped having tender teeth and I could walk all the way across campus without tiring.

Eating with my brother was not without perils though. My brother is very creative and I was very gullible.

I sat down one night, ready to dig in, and I noticed that he had already poured me a glass of milk. I grabbed the glass and took a hearty swig...wait, was that milk? It turns out that Kaopectate looks an awful lot like milk. It does not, however, taste much like milk. A half a glass of later, I became an expert in the qualities of this medicinal substance. Needless to say, I did not have any intestinal issues that evening. My brother did have a stomach ache though, all that laughing can be tough on a guy.

One glass of Kapectate was not enough to spoil my appetite though. I had many great meals there. Especially if there was reason to celebrate.

I remember driving to his house one night and he told me that things were a little tight this week and he had to reduce the food budget a little. I put on my brave face and showed my solidarity with his economizing. Then we sat down to eat.

His wife placed a bowl of vegetables on the table and I sat down ready for our new and more thrifty diet. She brought out a platter and we prayed. Then Tracy uncovered the main dish - a little tiny rainbow trout.

"Hey that looks great!" My voice and facial expression didn't match though.

Tracy just burst out laughing. Shelly brought out another platter of steaks and we celebrated something - I don't remember what. I do remember how good the steak was and how happy I was that we didn't have to split the little fish four ways.

A Lucky Guy

I'm a pretty lucky guy. Somehow I convinced this pretty woman to marry me!

My Shiny Gun

One of the first friends I remember having come to visit my was Tyler. I really wanted to to impress him, so I decided to show him a broken window. I thought this was quite a find.

My mom didn't even know it was broken yet. It was a double paned window and only the inside pane was broken. I don't know who broke the window but I was glad to find it. The window was behind a big curtain and a big comfy chair was sitting in front of the curtain. I could revel in the spectacle while being secluded.

I lead my new buddy to my secret find and showed him the broken glass. So shiny and the shards had such unusual shapes. One shape in particular was very alluring. It was shaped like a gun. I liked guns!

Picking it up, I demonstrated my imaginary gun and pretended to shoot him. Wow, I was really impressing him.

Just then his mom came and he had to go home.

Then my hand started to hurt. It turns out glass shards are quite sharp.

"MOM!!!"

With a bandaged hand and a sad heart I showed her my secret find. No more glass shard guns for me. I was so disappointed.