.
I’ve always had a tendency for
rambling, for lone wandering, and this is evident going clear back to some of
my very earliest memories.
Ramblin’ Boy, in the Fields
Big cows along the
fence-line.
I was just a toddler, and it was
a summer evening, not yet too dark, after the cows had been milked and after
supper. My Dad was in the pasture down
by the creek fixing fence or something.
I could see him and the truck from the barn. I reckoned that I could get to him by simply
following the straight fence-line that separated the pasture from the hayfield. So I set out along the edge of the pasture
toward the creek.
The cows were grazing everywhere,
and I was never really afraid of them.
But now one turned and walked over to me, curious. I remember looking up at that huge animal
lumbering over to me with the enormous snout and those big eyes. She sniffed me and snorted loud, then took a
step closer. I was between her and the
barbed wire fence, looking up at her.
She then put her nose down, nudged me and knocked me over.
I was starting to get scared, realizing
how huge and strong this animal was. She
started rolling me over and over with her nose, until she rolled me under the
lower wire of the fence and thus out of the pasture. I was now safe but disoriented. By then my Dad arrived to save the day and
take me back to the house.
My big Great Dane babysitter
Later, as I rambled further
afield, our big Great Dane, Czarina, was my friend and babysitter around the
farm and in the fields. My Mom always
said that if she wanted to find me she would just look for the big dog. I was so small that I had to carry a stick –
a small staff as tall as me – to block Czarina’s tail from hitting me across
the eyes as we walked together. We
rambled around the farmland with the big Dane close beside me.
Czarina kept me from getting too
close to the creek. Walking the 100
yards through the pasture seemed a mile, but we made it to the water. She blocked me from getting too close, just a
few yards from the water, by turning sideways in front of me. I would try to end run around her head, but
she would put her head down and push against my chest, knocking me down. Same thing if I tried to go around her tail
end, when she would turn and nudge me down with her huge snout. I tried going under her, but she would knock
me down and sit facing me between me and the creek. She never let me get to the water in those
days.
* *
Ramblin’ Boy, in town
This was a completely
unauthorized solo expedition, and I caught hell for it in short order. But it was one great adventure, etched into
my memory.
It was sometime in the early
1950s, and I was not five years old. I
remember wearing my little cowboy boots and taking off alone on a twilight
summer evening to visit my cousins who lived on another street in town. Playing with my cousins was always such great
fun.
Uncle Rod, Aunt Kate, and my
cousins, Danny, Bonnie and Crystal, lived in The Little Red House on Pleasant
Street. I was too young to be able to
walk to it straight across two hundred yards of rough field in a beeline, but I
did know how to get there by the streets although I’d never actually walked it
before.
It was quite simple: One could just walk up our street toward
town, and take the first street to the left (Curtis Street). Walk on until taking another left on
Pleasant. The Little Red House was on
the left way down near the end of the street.
You couldn’t miss it. I knew these
directions because I had been driven there many times by my parents.
It was summer twilight, and I was
in the front lawn with my Mom and her friend Anita. We were standing by the white board fence
under the big maple, and they were talking about something. I remember trying to get my Mom to listen to
me, and asking her if I could go see Danny, Bonnie and Crystal, but she was
busy talking. I remember how tall these
two adult women were, towering above me, and I tugged on the hem of my Mom’s
dress and asked her again. But she didn’t look down or seem to be interested in
hearing me. I guess I figured that it
wasn’t important enough to her to give any permission, so I permitted myself to
go. Typical.
I just walked away, crossed the
street, and took to the sidewalk. I took
the left at Curtis, and near the junction with Pleasant I met some older kids
on bicycles. Wayne Schoonover stopped,
and with apparent concern asked, “Ross, do your parents know where you
are?” I said, “Yes,” thinking that my
Mom had certainly heard me. The walk
along Pleasant was long, but before it got too dark I arrived at The Little Red
House.
I knocked on the door (or rang a
bell, I can’t remember), and Aunt Kate answered. The first thing she said was, “Do your
parents know where you are?” (Why is
everyone asking this?) I went up the
steep stairs to my cousins’ rooms, and soon we were all laughing and jumping
around, having great fun.
But all too soon, Uncle Rodney’s
deep voice called up from the bottom of the stairs, “Ross. Come down here.” (Huh?)
Reaching the bottom of the stairs, I knew the fun was over. There was my Mom, who bent down, grabbed my
arm, and gave me a spanking. I guess I
miscalculated about that permission thing.
Aunt Kate had (wisely) called my Mom, who was probably freaking out when
she couldn’t find me.
It seemed to me to be just a
misunderstanding. To my mind, I knew
what I was doing and thought I was in total control of the situation. This little solo adventure probably had my
parents thinking about getting a leash for me.
But it shows that my rambling has had a long tradition.
-Zenwind.
.
