My dad had an old army truck. He took the sides off when he was taking the D2 Caterpillar tractor to the other farm.
The barn is a good 2 city blocks from the house, so sound didn't carry very well.
I, as usual, was climbing and the truck looked like a good bet...who knows why, I was a kid.
I had on shorts and a top and bare feet...always bare feet.
It was a hot summer's day and I was sweaty, so when I heard mom calling me to come clean up and go to town, I jumped off the truck bed.
But, I didn't land on the cement floor as I intended.
Instead my shorts got caught on one of the metal rectangles (?) that hold the sides safely in place.
I took my mad leap and ended swinging upside down and back and forth like a bedsheet in a strong wind.
I began to flail my arms thinking I was close enough to the ground that I could get purchase and by throwing my weight downward I would land on my hands and knees.
Not such bloody luck!
I was 1 inch from the cement floor. I bloody inch. Using my weight I swung one way then the other. When the toes touched the fingers didn't and vice versa.
I was becoming frantic. I began yelling, help! help me! This went on for days...well minutes but it felt like days. Me yelling and flailing and swinging back and forth under the damn truck. ,
Finally, after what seemed like a year.....my sister came to the big door and looked at me. I pulled my head up and saw to my horror that she was laughing. Laughing so hard that she was doubled over. I yelled at her to help me and she just kept laughing. Finally she ran halfway to the house and called my mother to come, quickly. There I thought, hearing her in the distance, mom will get me down.
I lay still for a while, blood running to my head and beginning to go numb in my legs.
Eventually my mother arrived and standing next to my sister, both still in the doorway, I looked up to see them both laughing their heads off.
I don't know what I said, probably 'kiddy swear' and then.......I told mom if she didn't get me off the truck I would tear my shorts if I had to.
They were still laughing as I, blind with anger threw my body weight as hard as I could until I heard the telltale sound of my shorts give way.
I landed as I expected, in the dirt and on my hands and knees.
I got up dirty, sweaty and tear stained, pulled all of my shredded dignity around me and stalked past them with my head high....probably 'kiddy swearing'.
They stopped as I passed them, then as I moved toward the house, I heard them........................still bloody laughing.
Many years later I saw in my vivid imagination, what I must have looked like and then................I too laughed!
Saturday, April 1, 2017
Thursday, March 30, 2017
My grandfather bought a steam driven tractor, it was part cash part barter. They were large and cumbersome. But they allowed the farmer to get on the field sooner than those using horses. They didn't need to be feed or watered or rested. They just worked and worked. And my grandfather did just that. When he was done with his own small 100 acre farm, he drove down the road to help other farmers get their fields plowed, disc-ed, harrowed and planted weeks before others.
This ability, increased the farmers time for other tasks. It allowed them to give their crops extra grow-time and have an earlier harvest.
Because my grandfather took the risk, others profited. And his foresight helped his neighbours as well as himself.
If it had failed, he would have lost, but because it succeeded, he was applauded.
My father did the same thing. he bought a D2 Caterpiller tractor which he used on his and my uncles fields, thereby leaving much time to do 'custom work' for other farmers. He helped them. They paid him. My family gained. No one lost.
I find myself proud of both of them for this.
There's nothing quite like being born with mud between your toes. (although it was a bit hard on mom)
This ability, increased the farmers time for other tasks. It allowed them to give their crops extra grow-time and have an earlier harvest.
Because my grandfather took the risk, others profited. And his foresight helped his neighbours as well as himself.
If it had failed, he would have lost, but because it succeeded, he was applauded.
My father did the same thing. he bought a D2 Caterpiller tractor which he used on his and my uncles fields, thereby leaving much time to do 'custom work' for other farmers. He helped them. They paid him. My family gained. No one lost.
I find myself proud of both of them for this.
There's nothing quite like being born with mud between your toes. (although it was a bit hard on mom)
The rain was coming down in buckets. My sister and I asked mom if we could put on our bathing suits and go out in it. She, checking the sky for lightening, said yes.
We tore out into the front yard where the water was collecting in our dainage ditch. It was shallow and grass lined. And we, laughing used the grass as a slide. In and out of the water we went. Wet from above and wet from below. We screamed our joy at the rain. We splashed each other and swam in the slow moving ditch as children will til we tired of it. Eventually we came in and when in the house mom said 'now you need a bath' at which we howled our displeasure. What made one a joy and the other a curse?
We tore out into the front yard where the water was collecting in our dainage ditch. It was shallow and grass lined. And we, laughing used the grass as a slide. In and out of the water we went. Wet from above and wet from below. We screamed our joy at the rain. We splashed each other and swam in the slow moving ditch as children will til we tired of it. Eventually we came in and when in the house mom said 'now you need a bath' at which we howled our displeasure. What made one a joy and the other a curse?
In the summer, on the farm, you could quite literally eat your fill without ever leaving the fields. The purple plums,the yellow pears, the fuzzy peaches, six types of apples, raspberries, cherries both sweet and sour. Elderberries, blueberries, gooseberries, crabapples, lush ripe, wet tomatoes and all manner of vegetables. Then, in the fall the potatoe lifting.
All summer long the fruits of the farm filled our always empty bellys and taught us to forage.
All summer long the fruits of the farm filled our always empty bellys and taught us to forage.
After a blizzard we all went out into the snow. We ran, jumped and laughed. It was wonderful and cold. One day my younger sister got lost. We all spread out to search for her following the muffled screams of both fear and exasperation. She was finally found in a drift quite far from the house. We had failed to see the trail. She, with her rosy cheeks and blond curls peeping out from her helmet like cap was blisteringly angry. She was only two but she told us off in no uncertain terms. My brother said, 'Fine, stay there then' She looked at him then howled the howl of a wolf cub....which brought my mother to the door. Taking in the situation she just said to my brother, 'Go get her.' So he did. He tucked her, still red faced with screaming, under his arm and hauled her back to the house, where our waiting mom declothed and calmed her.
The rest of us shrugged and went back to the snow banks.
Kids eh?
The rest of us shrugged and went back to the snow banks.
Kids eh?
In the lake in front of our grandmothers cottage there was a sudden and deep hole. My brother warned me to stay away from it. I thought I had. Apparently not. In I feel and began to drown. Now I won't tell you that my six years of life flashed before me. No, what flashed before me was my brother standing there watching me go up, gaspe for air, then go down again. I was bloody furious.
On my third trip down I had lost my anger and was now seriously frightened. My brother again looked at me (with I think disgust) and then reached over and grabbed me by the hair and pulled me out.
I have never felt such gratitude and was gulping my thank you to heim when he just said, 'Idiot, I told you not to go there.'
And that was the end of my gratitude.
Kid's eh?
On my third trip down I had lost my anger and was now seriously frightened. My brother again looked at me (with I think disgust) and then reached over and grabbed me by the hair and pulled me out.
I have never felt such gratitude and was gulping my thank you to heim when he just said, 'Idiot, I told you not to go there.'
And that was the end of my gratitude.
Kid's eh?
My mother and father both had a grade eight education.
They grew up and married during the depression. And this is what they did.
My mother taught herself how to cook, to sew, to clean (and yes you do have to learn) to decorate, to make a dollar do the work of ten. To raise children, to can fruits and vegetables, to do laundry and to hold a finger food luncheon.
My father, went from a two horse hitch to a steam tractor, to a D2 Caterpiller tractor. He build his house, his barn, his implement shed, his work shop, he wired, he plumbed, he bartered, he traded, he learned to fill out government forms, to start a farm co-op.and to donate a tenth of his money to his church.
We ate well, we dressed well, we had manners and we treated our neighbors with respect..even when they didn't deserve it.
They did all of the things required of them and they did it all with a grade eight education.
They grew up and married during the depression. And this is what they did.
My mother taught herself how to cook, to sew, to clean (and yes you do have to learn) to decorate, to make a dollar do the work of ten. To raise children, to can fruits and vegetables, to do laundry and to hold a finger food luncheon.
My father, went from a two horse hitch to a steam tractor, to a D2 Caterpiller tractor. He build his house, his barn, his implement shed, his work shop, he wired, he plumbed, he bartered, he traded, he learned to fill out government forms, to start a farm co-op.and to donate a tenth of his money to his church.
We ate well, we dressed well, we had manners and we treated our neighbors with respect..even when they didn't deserve it.
They did all of the things required of them and they did it all with a grade eight education.
The icy cold water drips from the icicle d house.
Drop. Drop. Drop.
Melting then refreezing again when it hits the ground
They form a hard round pool of ice.
An skating rink for mice.
A slide for birds.
A mirror for the sun.
And I watch.
Rainbows as icicles.
Rainbows as droplets.
Rainbows as a pool.
Rainbows again, as ice.
And I watch.
Drop. Drop. Drop.
Melting then refreezing again when it hits the ground
They form a hard round pool of ice.
An skating rink for mice.
A slide for birds.
A mirror for the sun.
And I watch.
Rainbows as icicles.
Rainbows as droplets.
Rainbows as a pool.
Rainbows again, as ice.
And I watch.
The icy cold water drips from the icicle d house.
Drop. Drop. Drop.
Melting then refreezing again when it hits the ground
They form a hard round pool of ice.
An skating rink for mice.
A slide for birds.
A mirror for the sun.
And I watch.
Rainbows as icicles.
Rainbows as droplets.
Rainbows as a pool.
Rainbows again, as ice.
And I watch.
Drop. Drop. Drop.
Melting then refreezing again when it hits the ground
They form a hard round pool of ice.
An skating rink for mice.
A slide for birds.
A mirror for the sun.
And I watch.
Rainbows as icicles.
Rainbows as droplets.
Rainbows as a pool.
Rainbows again, as ice.
And I watch.
I sit looking out the window, over the rim of my coffee cup.
While the icy wind cuts the skin off the people outside.
Some move fast.
Some move more slowly
All of them either accepting or denying the cold.
The birds huddle in the shrubs.
Puffed up twice their size.
Increasing their mass in order to protect themselves from the cold.
Don't we all?
While the icy wind cuts the skin off the people outside.
Some move fast.
Some move more slowly
All of them either accepting or denying the cold.
The birds huddle in the shrubs.
Puffed up twice their size.
Increasing their mass in order to protect themselves from the cold.
Don't we all?
Every year all schools city and country sent their choirs to the Kiwanis Music Festival.
And we were no exception.
I was an alto. I was crap. We were all pretty crap. But our teacher made us all believe that we were a band of angels singing the Halleluiah chorus in front of God. All those fresh scrubbed faces, girls in dark skirts and white tops. Boys in dark trousers and white shirts.
We never came close to winning. Not even honourable mention....as I said we were crap...but so where most of the others so it didn't matter.
We were told to smile while we sang, so we did.
Look like you are happy, so we did.
Look like it's fun, so we did.
The festival took a few days, it was a big event. We took a packed lunch and listened to the other festival participants.
It was fun. I did enjoy it.
I enjoyed it so much that I decided to go again tomorrow. Even though I was supposed to be in school. Even though I didn't ask either my mother or my teacher.
I went next door to my aunts and asked her to pick me up at school on her way to work. She didn't ask why and she did.
I went to school with my packed lunch and told my teacher that I was going with my aunt to the festival. She said nothing.
I went out to the fence and waited for my aunt. She picked me up and dropped me at the church where they were holding the festival.
She said be at her work at 5 sharp. I said ok.
I spent the day listening to the other contestants. I ate my packed lunch and then at 4:30 left to go to my aunt's car, got in and waited for her.
She drove us home and I arrived at 5:30, an hour and a half later than I should have.
No one ever questioned me about this.
And it was a good thirty or forty years before even I questioned...what the hell had I been doing? Why did no one...and I mean no one, ever question that a child and disappeared for a day or two every year and no one asked why.
Now, don't pity me. I used this ruse summer and winter in order to get much needed away days from family and school. I liked to wander. I had started young and I suppose 'they' were used to it.
I didn't question....but you do wonder...what were they thinking............... or perhaps....not?
And we were no exception.
I was an alto. I was crap. We were all pretty crap. But our teacher made us all believe that we were a band of angels singing the Halleluiah chorus in front of God. All those fresh scrubbed faces, girls in dark skirts and white tops. Boys in dark trousers and white shirts.
We never came close to winning. Not even honourable mention....as I said we were crap...but so where most of the others so it didn't matter.
We were told to smile while we sang, so we did.
Look like you are happy, so we did.
Look like it's fun, so we did.
The festival took a few days, it was a big event. We took a packed lunch and listened to the other festival participants.
It was fun. I did enjoy it.
I enjoyed it so much that I decided to go again tomorrow. Even though I was supposed to be in school. Even though I didn't ask either my mother or my teacher.
I went next door to my aunts and asked her to pick me up at school on her way to work. She didn't ask why and she did.
I went to school with my packed lunch and told my teacher that I was going with my aunt to the festival. She said nothing.
I went out to the fence and waited for my aunt. She picked me up and dropped me at the church where they were holding the festival.
She said be at her work at 5 sharp. I said ok.
I spent the day listening to the other contestants. I ate my packed lunch and then at 4:30 left to go to my aunt's car, got in and waited for her.
She drove us home and I arrived at 5:30, an hour and a half later than I should have.
No one ever questioned me about this.
And it was a good thirty or forty years before even I questioned...what the hell had I been doing? Why did no one...and I mean no one, ever question that a child and disappeared for a day or two every year and no one asked why.
Now, don't pity me. I used this ruse summer and winter in order to get much needed away days from family and school. I liked to wander. I had started young and I suppose 'they' were used to it.
I didn't question....but you do wonder...what were they thinking............... or perhaps....not?
As a child living in the country in the 1950's, when tv was only on a few hours a day, imagination was the most important gift I had. From the day I read my first book Black Beauty, reading was my greatest pleasure. And to me, the best days of the month were the days when the magazines arrived.
Reader's Digest, Woman's Day, Family Circle and at school, the National Geographic.
I was so excited that I was like Lassie at four o'clock. If I'd had a tail, I'd have wagged it.
The Geographic opened my eyes and my mind to people and places all over the world.
Readers Digest, stories, health,science, human interest and lots of jokes.
Woman's Day and Family Circle had recipes, woman's issues and most of all Mrs. Daffodil. The pen name of Gladys Tabor an American who lived in an old farmhouse in New England.
Her writing style was so simple and soothing. I have at my side right now, two of her out of print editions.
I can remember smoothing the glossy but rumpled pages after others had 'read'? these mags. I caressed them. I sniffed the paper, smelling both it and the ink.
Ah! Halcyon days....the days the magazines arrived.
I remember.
Reader's Digest, Woman's Day, Family Circle and at school, the National Geographic.
I was so excited that I was like Lassie at four o'clock. If I'd had a tail, I'd have wagged it.
The Geographic opened my eyes and my mind to people and places all over the world.
Readers Digest, stories, health,science, human interest and lots of jokes.
Woman's Day and Family Circle had recipes, woman's issues and most of all Mrs. Daffodil. The pen name of Gladys Tabor an American who lived in an old farmhouse in New England.
Her writing style was so simple and soothing. I have at my side right now, two of her out of print editions.
I can remember smoothing the glossy but rumpled pages after others had 'read'? these mags. I caressed them. I sniffed the paper, smelling both it and the ink.
Ah! Halcyon days....the days the magazines arrived.
I remember.
I found an Angel in the trash. It wasn't yet called recycling. I had my bundle buggy and as I came around the back of the building I saw what looked like a white head peeking out of a container.
I went over and looked.
It was a plaster angel with broken hands. It had been 'released into the wild' by the church.
I stood unbelieving at this 5 foot statue. Peeling paint, missing hands and thought...hmmmm.
I turned my buggy on it's side and gingerly slide the bottom heavy angel inside.
It bent the bottom of my buggy but I dragged it home. I figured it it didn't want to go with me that it could say so by cracking down the middle or something.
It did not.
I placed in on my floor and decided to wash and paint him/her.
When I was finished I place him/her on a plaster pedestal...which I just happened to have and wired her hands with a light fixture. It
looked pretty good.
It is now 2016 and CLARENCE and I have been together for sixteen years.
When I go by him/her I often rub it's head and mutter a prayer.
When my son died the following year I would go to Clarence and put my arms around...ah...him/her....and weep my heart out.
Clarence never complained. Never left. Was always there.
And she still is.
(Memory from last year)
I went over and looked.
It was a plaster angel with broken hands. It had been 'released into the wild' by the church.
I stood unbelieving at this 5 foot statue. Peeling paint, missing hands and thought...hmmmm.
I turned my buggy on it's side and gingerly slide the bottom heavy angel inside.
It bent the bottom of my buggy but I dragged it home. I figured it it didn't want to go with me that it could say so by cracking down the middle or something.
It did not.
I placed in on my floor and decided to wash and paint him/her.
When I was finished I place him/her on a plaster pedestal...which I just happened to have and wired her hands with a light fixture. It
looked pretty good.
It is now 2016 and CLARENCE and I have been together for sixteen years.
When I go by him/her I often rub it's head and mutter a prayer.
When my son died the following year I would go to Clarence and put my arms around...ah...him/her....and weep my heart out.
Clarence never complained. Never left. Was always there.
And she still is.
(Memory from last year)
I got the measles when I was just twelve. As I had a mild case..very mild...I enjoyed having time off school just before summer break. It was a gift.
I was told to stay inside but the weather was soooo delicious that I begged nay pleaded with my mom to just let me go outside under the maple tree. I would stay in the shade and read on the patio.
She gave in.....and this was when I saved a life.
My baby sister...who still is...10 years younger than me was on the patio...sigh...large families...and my payment for being on the patio was to watch her.
So I did.
Plump little creature, blond hair, green eyes...quite liked her. She was wearing double diapers and plastic pants and was coming up two years old. And she had a sucker in her mouth...now don't blame my mother...she was supposed to be watched by me, while my mom cooked or cleaned.
I had was reading...no kidding...Classical Greek Mythology in Song and Story. It was my elder sisters school book and I was short of reading material. Country people in the fifties didn't have 'libraries' few had any books except old school books...if that!
There was no breeze on that hot sunny June day and we were schvitzing.
Not knowing many of the words in the book I was skimming so not fully engaged.
A fly buzzed around my head and I smacked it..missing.the bugger. Just then I heard a noise. a funny sound. It was my little sister and she was choking. I looked at her and....this is true...realized that if I didn't take action soon, she would die. It was a thought coming unbidden and quite clearly. Help her or she would die.
Now they say that in emergencies time stands still or at least slows and I can tell you it does.
In my head things were moving slowly, I was analyzing whether I could get my mother outside in time or if I had to act. But physically I was already on the move.
I lept to my feet and grabbed my sister and turned her upside down slapping her on the back.
I still don't know how I knew what to do...but I did.
I heard this crack as the candy (apparently not a sucker then) hit the patio and shatter.
I immediately righted her and waited for a thank you...even though she was over young for that.
Did she thank me? Like hell! My little sister to whom I had, in my god like mode, who's miserable life I had just saved...screamed and said
"Mommy, she hit me".
The little shit!
She ran screaming and crying into the house. My mom gave me what for...and yelled at me.
I never bothered to explain. It just pissed me off. Little shit!
But mine.
Kids eh?
I was told to stay inside but the weather was soooo delicious that I begged nay pleaded with my mom to just let me go outside under the maple tree. I would stay in the shade and read on the patio.
She gave in.....and this was when I saved a life.
My baby sister...who still is...10 years younger than me was on the patio...sigh...large families...and my payment for being on the patio was to watch her.
So I did.
Plump little creature, blond hair, green eyes...quite liked her. She was wearing double diapers and plastic pants and was coming up two years old. And she had a sucker in her mouth...now don't blame my mother...she was supposed to be watched by me, while my mom cooked or cleaned.
I had was reading...no kidding...Classical Greek Mythology in Song and Story. It was my elder sisters school book and I was short of reading material. Country people in the fifties didn't have 'libraries' few had any books except old school books...if that!
There was no breeze on that hot sunny June day and we were schvitzing.
Not knowing many of the words in the book I was skimming so not fully engaged.
A fly buzzed around my head and I smacked it..missing.the bugger. Just then I heard a noise. a funny sound. It was my little sister and she was choking. I looked at her and....this is true...realized that if I didn't take action soon, she would die. It was a thought coming unbidden and quite clearly. Help her or she would die.
Now they say that in emergencies time stands still or at least slows and I can tell you it does.
In my head things were moving slowly, I was analyzing whether I could get my mother outside in time or if I had to act. But physically I was already on the move.
I lept to my feet and grabbed my sister and turned her upside down slapping her on the back.
I still don't know how I knew what to do...but I did.
I heard this crack as the candy (apparently not a sucker then) hit the patio and shatter.
I immediately righted her and waited for a thank you...even though she was over young for that.
Did she thank me? Like hell! My little sister to whom I had, in my god like mode, who's miserable life I had just saved...screamed and said
"Mommy, she hit me".
The little shit!
She ran screaming and crying into the house. My mom gave me what for...and yelled at me.
I never bothered to explain. It just pissed me off. Little shit!
But mine.
Kids eh?
Blacky and I were in the 1 acre woods. We moved slowly through the old leaves. We were just looking. We had no plan. We were young and we were together and that was enough.
Blacky paused and looked down, then looked up at me. That was his way of saying look. So I looked. Down.
I lifted a leaf and there was a mother mouse and her two babies.
She looked both fierce and frightened. We studied the situation. If Blacky were the the usual type of cat would have pounced, but he wasn't so he didn't. And I being a farmer's daughter, should have wanted to kill the little family of rodents. But I didn't. I put the leaves back over the nest and in mutual understanding, we moved on.
Did I hear a faint sigh of relief? Who knows.
Blacky paused and looked down, then looked up at me. That was his way of saying look. So I looked. Down.
I lifted a leaf and there was a mother mouse and her two babies.
She looked both fierce and frightened. We studied the situation. If Blacky were the the usual type of cat would have pounced, but he wasn't so he didn't. And I being a farmer's daughter, should have wanted to kill the little family of rodents. But I didn't. I put the leaves back over the nest and in mutual understanding, we moved on.
Did I hear a faint sigh of relief? Who knows.
My Blacky was a very even tempered and dignified cat. My mother said he never gave a minutes trouble. He was always grateful for the food he received and cared not if anyone but I showed him attention.
He came in every morning, ate his breakfast, smiled up at my mother then went to the staircase door to be let upstairs where he spent the day sleeping and waiting for me to come home.
I would pet him and read. He would purr and smile. We were content.
As he got older he began to come in with fight marks on him. I never asked and he never explained.
We trouped around the farm together. I climbed the tree, Blacky climbed as well. We sat on large branches together and talked.
I told him everything. He was very compassionate and when I cried he put his paw on my arm or curled up on my lap, looking up with such caring. Blacky was sincere, trustworthy and most of all loyal. No one ever got between my Blacky and me.
We went for long walks into the woods and when we came out I removed the burrs and swigs from his coat. He thanked my by licking my hand and purring.
One morning, it was a weekend and Blacky didn't show up.
Eventually I went to look for him. We had a whole day, where was he?
Well, it seems that my Blacky had been attacked by a larger animal and had been badly mauled. He wasn't as spry as he used to be and couldn't make it back to the house. My father had found him near the garage and came to tell my mom. They were discussing it as I began my search.
Dad told me to sit down and then he told me that Blacky was badly injured and he needed to be put down.
I knew my father well enough to know that if he said it was bad, it was. Looking at their sad faces, I didn't argue and I gave my permission. Probably the only time they ever asked for it.
From that day to very recently I had blocked this story from my mind. But lately, I have been thinking about Blacky and his unconditional love.... our love.
This was my first experience with the death of a loved one and I didn't handle it well. I failed to grieve.
This is me taking ownership of my grief and remembering my beloved Blacky.
My dear Blacky,I hope your there to meet me when it's my time to pass.
And if I know my Blacky he will.
This is how I began my Blacky storys.
He came in every morning, ate his breakfast, smiled up at my mother then went to the staircase door to be let upstairs where he spent the day sleeping and waiting for me to come home.
I would pet him and read. He would purr and smile. We were content.
As he got older he began to come in with fight marks on him. I never asked and he never explained.
We trouped around the farm together. I climbed the tree, Blacky climbed as well. We sat on large branches together and talked.
I told him everything. He was very compassionate and when I cried he put his paw on my arm or curled up on my lap, looking up with such caring. Blacky was sincere, trustworthy and most of all loyal. No one ever got between my Blacky and me.
We went for long walks into the woods and when we came out I removed the burrs and swigs from his coat. He thanked my by licking my hand and purring.
One morning, it was a weekend and Blacky didn't show up.
Eventually I went to look for him. We had a whole day, where was he?
Well, it seems that my Blacky had been attacked by a larger animal and had been badly mauled. He wasn't as spry as he used to be and couldn't make it back to the house. My father had found him near the garage and came to tell my mom. They were discussing it as I began my search.
Dad told me to sit down and then he told me that Blacky was badly injured and he needed to be put down.
I knew my father well enough to know that if he said it was bad, it was. Looking at their sad faces, I didn't argue and I gave my permission. Probably the only time they ever asked for it.
From that day to very recently I had blocked this story from my mind. But lately, I have been thinking about Blacky and his unconditional love.... our love.
This was my first experience with the death of a loved one and I didn't handle it well. I failed to grieve.
This is me taking ownership of my grief and remembering my beloved Blacky.
My dear Blacky,I hope your there to meet me when it's my time to pass.
And if I know my Blacky he will.
This is how I began my Blacky storys.
The Tale Of The Cat With The Crooked Tail.
Agamemnon was a small non-descript female cat.
But she held a strong allure to all of the local males and was to all intents and purposes our one woman (as it were) breeding farm.
All of our cats be they male or female were non-spayed and led their own lives once the were put out for the night.
Dot and Jack seemed to keep together and lived apparently celibate lives as brother and sister.
Cleopatra was queenly and as arrogant as her name implied. She seemed never to succumb to the seductions of the neighborhood males. And therefore kept her shape and all of her fur.
Buster lived up to his name and eventually was lost in some midnight quarrel.
Grey was a large and slinky male. He liked to climb on furniture and look at himself in mirrors. He lived long and never came home with any signs of fights. My aunt thought he was gay. I just thought he was to lazy for fight for anything but his place by the fire and the food found every morning in a dish.
But Agamemnon made up for them all. Out she went every night and back she came each day, looking beat-up and self satisfied. Another notch in the ear. Another patch of missing fur. And every three months or so, she delivered a healthy batch of kittens.
Every three months for about ten years.
The entire extended family came to view her progeny and chose a kitten. Six weeks later, Agamemnon having been relieved of her offspring, went happily into the night to start again.
One day, however she came home without her usual satisfied look.
She came home with a crick in the last inch of her tail. It was bent completely sideways and it seemed for a while, no surprise, to hurt her. The family speculated endlessly on Aggie's accident. But as she was unusually non-verbal, we never found out how it happened.
One day Aggie was in a mood and when she came into the house and joined her siblings she got into a fight with Grey the greedy.
The two of them went at each other. Grey showing surprising energy and Aggie showing surprising rage. My aunt was so surprised that she just watched and though the fight only lasted a few minutes, it was intense. Very intense.
Because when the fur fight was over, Aggie had taken Grey's place by the fire, and Grey had slunk away to sulk in a corner, my aunt found the on inch tip of old Aggie's tail lying on the floor and as Aggie sat licking herself quite contentedly she seemed not either notice or to care.
Little Aggie the assembly line of kittens was one inch smaller by size. But if Grey's future actions of giving her first choice in the place by the fire was anything to go on. She was a lot larger in presence.
Agamemnon was a small non-descript female cat.
But she held a strong allure to all of the local males and was to all intents and purposes our one woman (as it were) breeding farm.
All of our cats be they male or female were non-spayed and led their own lives once the were put out for the night.
Dot and Jack seemed to keep together and lived apparently celibate lives as brother and sister.
Cleopatra was queenly and as arrogant as her name implied. She seemed never to succumb to the seductions of the neighborhood males. And therefore kept her shape and all of her fur.
Buster lived up to his name and eventually was lost in some midnight quarrel.
Grey was a large and slinky male. He liked to climb on furniture and look at himself in mirrors. He lived long and never came home with any signs of fights. My aunt thought he was gay. I just thought he was to lazy for fight for anything but his place by the fire and the food found every morning in a dish.
But Agamemnon made up for them all. Out she went every night and back she came each day, looking beat-up and self satisfied. Another notch in the ear. Another patch of missing fur. And every three months or so, she delivered a healthy batch of kittens.
Every three months for about ten years.
The entire extended family came to view her progeny and chose a kitten. Six weeks later, Agamemnon having been relieved of her offspring, went happily into the night to start again.
One day, however she came home without her usual satisfied look.
She came home with a crick in the last inch of her tail. It was bent completely sideways and it seemed for a while, no surprise, to hurt her. The family speculated endlessly on Aggie's accident. But as she was unusually non-verbal, we never found out how it happened.
One day Aggie was in a mood and when she came into the house and joined her siblings she got into a fight with Grey the greedy.
The two of them went at each other. Grey showing surprising energy and Aggie showing surprising rage. My aunt was so surprised that she just watched and though the fight only lasted a few minutes, it was intense. Very intense.
Because when the fur fight was over, Aggie had taken Grey's place by the fire, and Grey had slunk away to sulk in a corner, my aunt found the on inch tip of old Aggie's tail lying on the floor and as Aggie sat licking herself quite contentedly she seemed not either notice or to care.
Little Aggie the assembly line of kittens was one inch smaller by size. But if Grey's future actions of giving her first choice in the place by the fire was anything to go on. She was a lot larger in presence.
Just now, through the open windows, I heard a father encouraging his child to daycare.
It began in the distance, like hup hup hup...then as they got closer I heard the father speak words of encouragement You could hear the smile in his voice
He made it a game, getting to kindergarten or daycare. He made his child happy while still getting them thereon time.
I heard the tritty-trot of big and little feet.
It was the Doppler effect...going past my windows.
I didn't get up from my chair to look. It wasn't necessary.
Cause that dad and that laughing child had made me happy.
Happy as I looked out into the spring sun and sipped my coffee.
And that IS a good thing.
Have a nice day all.
It began in the distance, like hup hup hup...then as they got closer I heard the father speak words of encouragement You could hear the smile in his voice
He made it a game, getting to kindergarten or daycare. He made his child happy while still getting them thereon time.
I heard the tritty-trot of big and little feet.
It was the Doppler effect...going past my windows.
I didn't get up from my chair to look. It wasn't necessary.
Cause that dad and that laughing child had made me happy.
Happy as I looked out into the spring sun and sipped my coffee.
And that IS a good thing.
Have a nice day all.
At the end of our gravel road just where it met the paved highway, there was a section of it right at the very end that, in early spring, became like muskeg.
This was caused by the combination of clay and sand absorbing and holding water. It quivered and it shook but it would not bear the weight of anything more that small animals. And even they left deep footprints.
It was about 60 feet long and the usual width and this stretch had a deep ditch on one side and a small stream on the other. Tricky.
And some years it was completely impassable for about a week.
The school bus could not pass. The cars could not pass. Not even tractors or old army trucks could pass.
They tried poring on extra gravel and sand, but it never worked.
The road committee had met their match.
The highway ran freely. The gravel road ran freely. But this one patch of ground for many many years defeated them.
Everyone was unhappy and flummoxed...well the adults.
I on the other hand and I am sure the other kids on the bus and maybe even the bus driver, were not.
Because this little patch of ground had given us a holiday. A mud day or days. The revenge of nature over humans. Our wonderful passive-aggressive mud.
I prayed for it every year. I got it some years.
I was always grateful. But am sure our parents weren't.
Eventually, many years later, the paved that section of road.
But it was long after I finished high school so I no longer cared.
This was caused by the combination of clay and sand absorbing and holding water. It quivered and it shook but it would not bear the weight of anything more that small animals. And even they left deep footprints.
It was about 60 feet long and the usual width and this stretch had a deep ditch on one side and a small stream on the other. Tricky.
And some years it was completely impassable for about a week.
The school bus could not pass. The cars could not pass. Not even tractors or old army trucks could pass.
They tried poring on extra gravel and sand, but it never worked.
The road committee had met their match.
The highway ran freely. The gravel road ran freely. But this one patch of ground for many many years defeated them.
Everyone was unhappy and flummoxed...well the adults.
I on the other hand and I am sure the other kids on the bus and maybe even the bus driver, were not.
Because this little patch of ground had given us a holiday. A mud day or days. The revenge of nature over humans. Our wonderful passive-aggressive mud.
I prayed for it every year. I got it some years.
I was always grateful. But am sure our parents weren't.
Eventually, many years later, the paved that section of road.
But it was long after I finished high school so I no longer cared.
Muskeg....can be a good thing....for kids!!
Blacky and I decided to go to the one acre woods to see the fort built by my older brothers and male cousins. Girls were not allowed so I had to wait until they were working on the farm.
The woods were at the far end of the farm about fifty acres away.
As the crop was in we had to enter the field at the headland and walk straight back til the row ended. It was summer and the crop was corn. And corn can grow inches in a day and eventually up to fifteen feet. Blacky was seven inches tall and I was about three feet so it was like entering a jungle. Blacky meowed his dislike and looked at me in hopes that I would turn back. But I talked him into it.
Finally we reached the edge of the wood and entered. Even more like a jungle it had interlocking limbs, holes filled with water and covered with leaves. We persevered.
About 30 feet into the wood we saw the fort. It was made of upright logs and towered above us.
On the side there was a ladder at about a 45 degree angle. It was made of two poles with large flat steps. It was easy to climb. So climb we did. Blacky ran quickly up and I followed more slowly.
On three sides the poles extended another five feet but on the ladder side they did not. This ledge faced west toward the afternoon sun, peeping through the limbs and leaves of the thick growth of trees..
Blacky sat beside me and I opened our jar of water. He drank from the lid and I from the jar. We were hot so warm as it was, it tasted good. Then I opened our sandwich. It was salmon on bread. I gave him some salmon which he ate with great delicacy. I not so much.
As we sat and enjoyed our picnic, we watched the sun move through the trees, assisted by a light warm summers breeze. It created moving shapes on our eyes and on our bodies.
Then I lay down on an old sack that the boys had left there and napped. Blacky lay down beside me and purred his contentment.
Bodies at rest cool down even in summer heat, so eventually we decided it was time to move. Actually it was Blacky. My clock.
I gathered my things together and put them bag in my Huckleberry Finn pack and tied them back on the stick. We climbed down and made our way out of the woods and down the hot rows of corn.
Back to the headland. Turn right and back to the barn. Were the straw was waiting to offer up its late afternoon entertainment and to make sure we got back before the boys began their invasion of the fort.
It was a good afternoon, all in all.
The woods were at the far end of the farm about fifty acres away.
As the crop was in we had to enter the field at the headland and walk straight back til the row ended. It was summer and the crop was corn. And corn can grow inches in a day and eventually up to fifteen feet. Blacky was seven inches tall and I was about three feet so it was like entering a jungle. Blacky meowed his dislike and looked at me in hopes that I would turn back. But I talked him into it.
Finally we reached the edge of the wood and entered. Even more like a jungle it had interlocking limbs, holes filled with water and covered with leaves. We persevered.
About 30 feet into the wood we saw the fort. It was made of upright logs and towered above us.
On the side there was a ladder at about a 45 degree angle. It was made of two poles with large flat steps. It was easy to climb. So climb we did. Blacky ran quickly up and I followed more slowly.
On three sides the poles extended another five feet but on the ladder side they did not. This ledge faced west toward the afternoon sun, peeping through the limbs and leaves of the thick growth of trees..
Blacky sat beside me and I opened our jar of water. He drank from the lid and I from the jar. We were hot so warm as it was, it tasted good. Then I opened our sandwich. It was salmon on bread. I gave him some salmon which he ate with great delicacy. I not so much.
As we sat and enjoyed our picnic, we watched the sun move through the trees, assisted by a light warm summers breeze. It created moving shapes on our eyes and on our bodies.
Then I lay down on an old sack that the boys had left there and napped. Blacky lay down beside me and purred his contentment.
Bodies at rest cool down even in summer heat, so eventually we decided it was time to move. Actually it was Blacky. My clock.
I gathered my things together and put them bag in my Huckleberry Finn pack and tied them back on the stick. We climbed down and made our way out of the woods and down the hot rows of corn.
Back to the headland. Turn right and back to the barn. Were the straw was waiting to offer up its late afternoon entertainment and to make sure we got back before the boys began their invasion of the fort.
It was a good afternoon, all in all.
The Circus.
One summers day when we had told our mother enumerable times that 'there is nothing to do'. She gave us some fabric and told us to go play with it. Expect she wanted to say something else.
We took the fabric and went to the playhouse. A converted chicken shed. Thinking.
Finally one of us...probably my older sibling decided that a circus would be a good idea. We would invite the neighbor kids and charge them five cents for the privilege. Mom made lemonade and cookies. more of a bribe than a gift.
I think it was the influence of Andy Rooney and Judy Garland films that inspired us. You know. We need to make money. I've got a barn. I have some costumes (read fabric to make costumes). I have....etc.
Sister decided that as the younger I should take orders. HAH!! Never a good move with me.
She may have had the idea but I was the creative one....much to my later chagrin.
The window of the shanty was high and we put two large fuel oil barrels across from it and a huge crowbar on top. Somehow tied on both sides. But not well.
Sister was a crap sewer but better than me, so she made me a costume. I was to be an acrobat. A 'flying Wallinda'. Not good.
As I practiced my fabulous 'moves' on the rusty crowbar, my sister created my equally (NOT) fabulous costume. A pair of shorts and a funny top, not unlike the first cutting of the Santa outfit made by the Grinch...remember?
This took all morning. By the afternoon we thought all was ready. Hah!
As the master of ceremony, my sister did front of house and back of house....while I limbered up in the shanty. Getting ready for their 'awe and shock'. Well I think I succeeded in at least one and it wasn't awe.
All was ready. A large log served as seating and the lemonade and cookies went down a treat.
Then me. Ordered out by my sister I did all the right things. Posturing and posing while she said Ta da! Now, here on this stage (stage?) presently ......etc.
I began my act with a leap to the crowbar, henceforth to be known as my death trap. I swung from one arm and then from two. The 'audience' was not impressed. My sister was not impressed. I tried harder. Finally I attempted (don't tell mom) a complete circuit of the bar in a wild and erratic swing. I failed.
My pants so loosely put together by my idiot sister broke open to show my white knickers. I was horrified. She was horrified. They were killing themselves...and horrified.
As the pants ripped, I lost grip on the rusty crowbar, the oil cans slipped the crowbar went off the side and so did I.
I hit the ground hard and the crowbar landed inches behind me
I got up scared beyond belief and then furious.
I turned on my sister. My sister turned on me. We began a screaming match of accusations. No-one won.
'You should have made the costume better' 'you shouldn't be so fat' You nearly got me killed' You should have tied the bar down better' This went on for a while as we both eventually calmed down. She knew I could have been killed. I knew she knew. We were both wrong. I showed off a little to much and she, well she will never work for Dior. So there.
Went we finally looked around at our 'audience' they had quietly gone leaving their nickels on the log.
Kids eh?
One summers day when we had told our mother enumerable times that 'there is nothing to do'. She gave us some fabric and told us to go play with it. Expect she wanted to say something else.
We took the fabric and went to the playhouse. A converted chicken shed. Thinking.
Finally one of us...probably my older sibling decided that a circus would be a good idea. We would invite the neighbor kids and charge them five cents for the privilege. Mom made lemonade and cookies. more of a bribe than a gift.
I think it was the influence of Andy Rooney and Judy Garland films that inspired us. You know. We need to make money. I've got a barn. I have some costumes (read fabric to make costumes). I have....etc.
Sister decided that as the younger I should take orders. HAH!! Never a good move with me.
She may have had the idea but I was the creative one....much to my later chagrin.
The window of the shanty was high and we put two large fuel oil barrels across from it and a huge crowbar on top. Somehow tied on both sides. But not well.
Sister was a crap sewer but better than me, so she made me a costume. I was to be an acrobat. A 'flying Wallinda'. Not good.
As I practiced my fabulous 'moves' on the rusty crowbar, my sister created my equally (NOT) fabulous costume. A pair of shorts and a funny top, not unlike the first cutting of the Santa outfit made by the Grinch...remember?
This took all morning. By the afternoon we thought all was ready. Hah!
As the master of ceremony, my sister did front of house and back of house....while I limbered up in the shanty. Getting ready for their 'awe and shock'. Well I think I succeeded in at least one and it wasn't awe.
All was ready. A large log served as seating and the lemonade and cookies went down a treat.
Then me. Ordered out by my sister I did all the right things. Posturing and posing while she said Ta da! Now, here on this stage (stage?) presently ......etc.
I began my act with a leap to the crowbar, henceforth to be known as my death trap. I swung from one arm and then from two. The 'audience' was not impressed. My sister was not impressed. I tried harder. Finally I attempted (don't tell mom) a complete circuit of the bar in a wild and erratic swing. I failed.
My pants so loosely put together by my idiot sister broke open to show my white knickers. I was horrified. She was horrified. They were killing themselves...and horrified.
As the pants ripped, I lost grip on the rusty crowbar, the oil cans slipped the crowbar went off the side and so did I.
I hit the ground hard and the crowbar landed inches behind me
I got up scared beyond belief and then furious.
I turned on my sister. My sister turned on me. We began a screaming match of accusations. No-one won.
'You should have made the costume better' 'you shouldn't be so fat' You nearly got me killed' You should have tied the bar down better' This went on for a while as we both eventually calmed down. She knew I could have been killed. I knew she knew. We were both wrong. I showed off a little to much and she, well she will never work for Dior. So there.
Went we finally looked around at our 'audience' they had quietly gone leaving their nickels on the log.
Kids eh?
Cat Tails:
I was once again in trouble. I had peed off my brothers and they were on the hunt for me. I didn't know what they would do but being many years younger I knew it might involve violence. I had played with one of their sacred toys and I had heard them yelling to mom about it. I ran like a rabbit with it's tail on fire. And Blacky followed.
I chose the weeping willow near my gamma's house. The long tendrils were excellent security.
Up we went to the wide thick branch and sat down. He in his usual calm dignified manner and I tense and squirmy. There we listened and waited.
They were all over the farm. Seeking me like a pack of wolves.
I sat on the limb out of site hiding beneath the ground length tendrils.
They got closer and I pulled my legs up under me and held my breath. I heard them say....well find her and another where's that damn cat if you find him you'll find her. Then, eventually they moved on. I had not food or water but I had fear and that kept me there.
Blacky sat close to me and watched. He looked down at them and waited.
Just then I heard a loud voice. THE loud voice. My savior!...it was my dad calling the boys to leave a little girl alone and get back to the truck. It was time to work not chase girls. (sounded like a dirty word).
When the truck left the driveway for the other farm I looked at Blacky and he smiled at me. We were safe. We climbed down and ran into my gramma. She had been watching. She said, 'just leave their things alone' and I said but they have better toys than we do. She nodded and said, 'they always do'. Then she gave us lemonade and fresh baked cookies. She never told. And neither did Blacky.
I was once again in trouble. I had peed off my brothers and they were on the hunt for me. I didn't know what they would do but being many years younger I knew it might involve violence. I had played with one of their sacred toys and I had heard them yelling to mom about it. I ran like a rabbit with it's tail on fire. And Blacky followed.
I chose the weeping willow near my gamma's house. The long tendrils were excellent security.
Up we went to the wide thick branch and sat down. He in his usual calm dignified manner and I tense and squirmy. There we listened and waited.
They were all over the farm. Seeking me like a pack of wolves.
I sat on the limb out of site hiding beneath the ground length tendrils.
They got closer and I pulled my legs up under me and held my breath. I heard them say....well find her and another where's that damn cat if you find him you'll find her. Then, eventually they moved on. I had not food or water but I had fear and that kept me there.
Blacky sat close to me and watched. He looked down at them and waited.
Just then I heard a loud voice. THE loud voice. My savior!...it was my dad calling the boys to leave a little girl alone and get back to the truck. It was time to work not chase girls. (sounded like a dirty word).
When the truck left the driveway for the other farm I looked at Blacky and he smiled at me. We were safe. We climbed down and ran into my gramma. She had been watching. She said, 'just leave their things alone' and I said but they have better toys than we do. She nodded and said, 'they always do'. Then she gave us lemonade and fresh baked cookies. She never told. And neither did Blacky.
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