GROWING UP AMERICAN: A Collection of Childhood Tales Read online

  We were all well fed, tired, but very satisfied at what a family together can accomplish by the time we went home that night. The next day the roof was shingled (I stayed on the ground), the windows were put in and my uncles tuned up their instruments to finish off the day. Mark, who when we were younger seemed like our arch nemesis, is an amazing crafts man and over the years he and his wife Kitty have turned there little house into a beautiful home.

  Changing Horses Mid-Stream

  Horses played a huge role in my growing up: from my uncle’s small herd to my first pony and the adventure of training my own young horse. At least half of the adventures my two best friends and I had involved horses.

  It started early and as usual no one can accuse children of having any common sense at all. I remember when Missy first got her pony Jo-Jo. It was so exciting. There were actually three ponies purchased for the H. kids: Dolly a gold and white pinto mare with a sneaky streak, Beauty, the soft creamy gold mare with the wide white blaze and one blind eye, and Jo-Jo, the bold flashy buckskin gelding who ran the show. Just catching them was an adventure if we wanted to ride. Jo would keep the mares just a head of us at all times allowing to get right up to them before driving them away from us again. He would usually give up his game after about two rounds of the pasture and would finally allow everyone to be caught at the point in the field that was the furthers from the barn. We would then get halters on the three ponies and have to walk them all the way up hill to the barn. Often Missy and I would just take turns riding Jo-Jo bareback in the field right behind her house. We would mount up hold on tight and then yell "yah!" which was Jo's cue to leap at great speed forward usually leaving us on the ground as he trotted out to nibble some green grass. It took a lot of practice but eventually we learned to stay on his back during these sudden starts and soon we were actually learning to ride.

  As a whole when we were together it was a miss mash of horse swapping. We could trade mounts at any point in the ride but we each had our favorites. Ronda and I even got to where we would literally swap horses mid stream, or anywhere else for that matter. We would simply pull the horses up side by side as close as they could get and stretch our near leg over the other horses back and slide. She would go from Buck to Doc and I would shift from Doc to Buck and then we would continue our ride. At one point Ronda and I had taken out her Bucky and her sister-in-laws horse Pride and were ridding down the middle of a stream. I was a little on the right and as we turned a bend, Bucky who was slightly behind me suddenly disappeared, swallowed whole by a sink hole in the stream. Now Bucky was a big horse. The biggest of all the horses we rode and he just went all the way under. A few seconds later he emerged again, swimming and struggling to the edge where he heaved himself, dripping onto solid stream bed, with a pale and dazed Ronda still clinging to her saddle horn. Bucky rolled his eyes, shook himself violently and stretched out his nose to nip off the grass on the side of the stream. Needless to say we never did that again.

  There were many other adventures. I still chuckle every time I remember Danny's face as he froze in shock in the middle of a trail ride. I had ridden my svelte little mare the five miles to Missy's house and persuaded Missy and Dan to saddle up their ponies and go for a ride. Missy and I never bothered with saddles at that time but soon enough we were all off riding and ancient grassy logging road through Eden. The sun was out but the canopy of the trees shaded us from its bright rays. Missy rode Jo-Jo who at that time still always had to be in the lead and had just swung around a huge log that blocked the road at a height of about four feet. Danny was a few paces behind me and just turning Dolly toward the right of the log to dodge around it when, without even thinking, I laid spurs to my mare that without effort sailed straight over the obstacle in the path. Missy turned back at the sound of the gentle thud of hooves landing and smiled then pointed at Dan. We both looked and there he and Dolly stood eyes wide, mouth agape, reins still pulled to his chin where they had ended when he suddenly stopped shocked at what I had just done. For a minute neither Missy, who was used to me doing things like that, couldn't comprehend the shock on Danny's face. Then he spluttered back to life, 'you... you....’ he stuttered, 'you just ... up and over... you." At that point Missy and I nearly fell off our horses laughing. I was so accustomed to riding on my own and so in tune with my tawny little mare that I never even though about how it might appear to others. Many years later it still shocked me when I asked a horse trainer if I rode well. He looked me in the eye and said "you don't ride well, your ride like an Indian, as if you were part of the horse itself." Maybe that was true. I didn't think I just moved with the horse.

  Horses can do some amazing things. My uncle had a spotted horse named Autumn, who we all called the 'over, under, or through horse'. When Autumn wanted to go somewhere she just did. She could unhook locks, step on loose wire fencing and pivot her way out of the electrified fence, climb stairs, and judge just how high to step to go over something with out it snagging her. We even watched in awe at one point where she judged the distance over the wire gate and apparently decided it was too high so she got down on her knees, laid out on her side and crawled doggie style under it, then shifted her body so that she could see that she had cleared the electrifiedfence wire, stood, shook herself off and promptly trotted off to the apple orchard for a treat.

  Horses also make very good diving boards. Ronda and I found this out one hot summer’s day at her house. We decided we wanted to swim in the small pond by her house but the bank was gooey with mud and we found that unpleasant. Always sure you could do anything on a horse he brought Bucky out, and rode him into the pond where he promptly dunked his whole head, moose style and scooped up huge mouthfuls of cat-o-nine tails while we stood up and dove straight off of his back. It was utterly delightful. Bucky happily stuffing himself on the tender underwater shoots, while Roni and I climbed repeated onto his slick back to plunge back into the murky water. We finally tired of the game and mounting up double again rode Bucky out of the pond and back to the barn. Bucky was always a patient and accommodating fellow. Perhaps a little reluctant to get started but once we began he would just go along with what ever we got up to.

  Another good example of Buckey's affability was when we decided to ride him into the Strippins (that's the accepted turn for old strip mines in our area) and collect a Christmas tree. We had all seen it done that season on the Marlboro commercials and were absolutely sure that we would have not trouble getting a beautiful green bowered tree down the snow covered slopes and home again. Carefully we saddled up Bucky and his stable mate Beau, gather up rope and saw and headed for the hills. It was a crisp, beautiful winters day. The virgin snow lay bright before us and the horses were feeling good, dancing and hopping in the frosty air. We rode out, taking familiar trees and keeping an eye out for just the right tree. We eventually found one. We got down, cut the perfectly sized and shaped tree down and proceeded to tie a stout rope around its base and then to Beau's saddle horn. We lined the tree out so that the branches would bend up ward in the same direction as they grew and would not break, then mounted up and head for home. The only problem was that Beau was having none of it. He side-stepped and pranced and snorted his displeasure at the green monstrosity that kept following him. So at that point we changed up and tried it with Bucky, even calm, dependable Bucky did not like the thing that was chasing him, and the tree kept getting tossed about and battered all over the path and against the trees on the trail. Finally we had to hoist the tree up onto Bucky’s back and lead the horses home, only to find when we finally got the tree home that most of its needles were gone and the side that it had been dragged on was nearly bare. Apparently having a horse drag something home over the soft fluffy snow is not so idyllic as we were led to believe.

  A final adventure on horseback would be the time that Ronda and I decided to camp out on horseback. It must have been August because the blueberries were ripe and the weather was fine. I had Tanner then and I had ridden first to Ron and Sue’s
and then on to the Lingle Wood Lodge so that we could camp out somewhere near the Caledonia pike. I was about half way to the lodge when (Lippies’ owner) saw me and offered us a ride in his single cab horse van. He was bringing his horse Lippy to the Lodge to ride with Ben, and seeing me on my way decided to take us the last 5 or so miles to our destination. This was Tanner’s first ride in a horse van since he'd been shipped to Reed Stables as an unwanted excess colt.

  Ronda and I had planned the camping out very carefully. I would ride Tanner, and she would ride Bucky, and Beau, the most pedigreed and most expensive horse in the stable would pack the gear. Of course Roni's faithful dog Misty would also come along as look out. I should note here that Beau was a tragic soul. He had been a parade horse and when we seen and ridden him at a nearby stable he performed beautifully. He seemed totally 'bomb proof' as he didn't spook at heavy equipment, he moved well, and he wasn't bad looking even if he did run to the leaner version of the Quarter Horse breed, where as I prefer the chucky type. It turned out that Beau, was just a pretty face though. He seemed to be dispossessed of even a fragment of everyday 'horse sense' and often found himself in some unbelievably bizarre predicaments.

  Like the time he got stuck in the barn door and Steve had to dismantle the whole frame to get him out. Or the time he sliced his lip on something that no one else could find anywhere. On top of all of that he was a decidedly inexperienced trail horse and it took us years to get him to where he would do half of the things the other horse took as everyday fare. So carefully packed and terribly excited we started off down the trail. Beau, uncertain about the gear he was packing, rolled his eyes, and repeatedly tried to duck his head to grab mouthfuls of grass as we pulled him reluctantly along behind us by his lead rope. Eventually, tired of his constant bulking I released his lead rope from his halter and turned him loose. All the moves and books said that horses would stick together so I just turned him loose. This of course was frowned upon by the far more sensible Ronda, especially as Beau fell further and further behind grazing instead of following his stable mate. But then, suddenly he notices we were leaving him and he sprang forward dashing to catch up, while jiggling and clinking our gear.

  The rest of the ride went this way: we would amble along the trail; Beau would stop to eat, then dash after us squealing and clinking. It was not the ideal situation for those who had never packed a horse before but we eventually came to our camp location. A small sheltered open space along a wide winding trail, and next to a bubbling little stream. Here, we unpacked our tent, unsaddled the horses, and began setting up camp for the night. There was plenty of grass so we each tied the horses a lounge lines length from each other and allowed them to graze while we set up the tent. We pitched the tent with its back to the woods and the entrance facing the grazing land. This is when Ronda discovered she had forgotten her allergy pills, which she desperately needed because she bas allergic to both horse hair and dog.

  Still we figured we'd be all right for one night. We cooked dinner of some sort and as the stars came out got ready for bed. Ronda went to check Bucky and lead him to the stream for a drink; I did the same for Beau and then retied him to the large dead fall in the middle of the grass so that he was safely secured for the night. Then I took Tanner, an old hand at being staked out to grass, for water and moved him up near the tent for the night, knowing (from vast prior experience) that he would alert me if anything came around. Then Ronda, Misty and Climbed into the tent. By now Ronda was feeling rather uncomfortable and very itchy. Her skin was red and blotchy and her eyes and nose were running. Still what could we do, we had to make it through the night since there was no way to find our way home in the darkness. I actually fell a sleep for a while. It seems to me the wind picked up and I know Misty was hunkered down close to Ronda, whose breathing was now becoming more and more ragged with every cough, or sneeze. She was truly miserable by now. I must have drifted off again but was soon awakened by a familiar stomping and snorting. Tanner was sounding the alarm. "Something's wrong!" I shouted, wide awake and diving into my boots. Ronda, bleary eye and sniffling got up and we both grabbed flashlights. Stepping out of the tent I first swung my light toward Tanner on my right. He stood at the end of his line, head up, ears, pricked forward, and snorted again, turned his head to me, then looked intensely back into the night once more. I turned my light slowly toward where my faithful mount was indicating until it came to rest on Beau, almost on his knees and tangled beyond belief around the log that secured him. He looked dreadful!

  Quickly Ronda and I raced to him, unbuckled his lounge line, untangled and calmed him. We then moved him over to where Bucky was and just left him untied, counting on him sticking with his stable mate. With very little sleep anyway, we rose early the next morning and after washing herself thoroughly in the stream, Ronda felt slightly better so we cooked breakfast. We had packed bacon and now sat to picking wild blueberries to make pancakes. Between, me, Misty and Ronda, we ate a pound of bacon and I have to say the wild blueberry pancakes were wonderful. We of course made too much so decided to feed it to the horses. The only one who would eat it was Beau, who lapped it up off of his log like a hound. We then packed up and set out at a good clip for home. I actually really enjoyed the whole camp scene but I don't think Ronda was ever so happy for a hot shower and a handful of antihistamines.

  Boots on the Ground

  I remember, as if it were only yesterday, the first time I met Brian. I was at Mahaffey and had just finished my morning routine of washing my hair in freezing water, then drying it while I ate breakfast and finally getting ready for the first service of the day at the Youth Tab (the place where all the services for the young took place). It was still early, and I decided to walk around the quiet grounds, down to the bridge that led across the gully and over to the trail that came out at the youth tab. I had just minced my way across the grassy camper lot and over the gravel road past the Main Tabernacle and headed for one of our favorite hangouts the bell tower. I was thinking about the strange dream I had had the night before tucked up in my top bunk in the trailer. It had been strange and as much as I tried to remember it all I could picture in my mind’s eye was a pair of cowboy boots. They were strange boots unlike anything I’d ever seen before. The upper part was black or dark blue with gold stitching, and the bottom was odd, bumpy grained leather.

  As I walked along the path, past the water fountain, and post office and came abreast of the bell tower I glanced up to see who might be there only to be confronted by the exact boots I had seen in my dream. I paused only a second then turned and walked over to the young man sitting on the three sided bench, blue and gray boots crossed over each other, and introduced myself. Brian and I quickly became good friends and it was not uncommon for many years to come for him to drive over the mountain from Saint Mary’s to come and hang out with my family and I in Clearfield. He drove a late model white Chevy pickup and every time I hear the song “My old Yellow Car” I still imagine that truck bumping over the back roads of the Caledonia pike, or slushing through the muck on the mountain just for the fun of it. I guess some friendships are just meant to be.

  The Deep Hole

  The deep hole was just that, a deep hole in the middle of Little Trout Run, just after the big bend where the water slowed from shallow, splashing whiteness to slow, rolling green depths. The deep hole in reality was not that deep maybe 8 feet right in the middle, but it was still the perfect place for a summer’s swim. I'm told that at the age of three Jonathan nearly drowned there, in that deep little bend, when he fell off of an inner tube as he floated along beside the steep rock cliffs on the far side. He was saved not by a quick-thinking parent but by the neighbor’s daughter, Nancy, who, oddly enough, couldn't actually swim! I almost remember my oldest sister holding me by my swimsuit straps and telling me to kick and paddle. After Jonathan's near death experience and as soon as we were old enough Mom packed us both off to the YMCA for swimming lessons and then summers were spent begging to go swimming, swi
mming, or begging for just a few more minutes in the depths of the frigid waters.

  To get to the Deep Hole, you had to drive to the bottom of Shawsville hill, turn right at the post office and travel a half my up the dusty lane to the turn off between the two well stocked Lingle fish ponds. We parked between the two murky, tepid pools, and then dashed up the cool forest path that twisted and turned its way tothe small rock and sand beach of our refreshing goal. There were two ways to get into the water. 1. You oohed and aahed your way inch by painful inch into the cold mountain stream or 2. You raced to the small two inch high dam of large rocks that just managed to slow the stream enough to keep the bowl full, crept your way across and climbed the steep slippery rocks up six feet and then with a great breath plunged in. The water was truly frigid but "once you’re in, the water's fine".