Sunday, March 13, 2011

In the Hay loft

   
                                                                                 
Boy, this old picture tugs upon my heart and stirs my memories like a warm bowl of soup. Can't you just smell that dried clover and wheat straw?  You could almost taste the thick humid morning air. My mind spins and reels from the memories of the tunnels and secret passage ways we created with in the bails of hay.  Oh, the adventures we had...even my first stolen kiss, confessions and secrets never to be told. My life explored was reborn in a hay loft just like this one. If the old barn wood could speak it would echo our thoughts, the laughter and the tears it captured years ago within its weathered grain. Just imagine the things the hayloft keeps. Not just bails of hay or straw but the young lives spent there or the swearing in of the childish alliance "cross your heart and hope to die", kind of stuff.  I have to laugh now because it was a promissory seldom broken till it proved necessary to save ones own behind.
    It is amazing to think of the life that this building witnessed and supported.  From the sparrows that nested every year in the high corners and trusses and the barn swallows that would gather under its eaves. Including the mice, that one could probably count into the thousands.  Oh and don't forget the ground hog family that had a burrow just under the north corner stone near the corn crib.
    I can remember lying upon the loose chat that covered the floor like a thick soft mattress. Nestled back looking up at the shafts of sun light that broke through the slats of the barn siding. Just like search lights of the night they illuminated the loft softly and sparkled from the dust with in them. The sparrows chirped and spoke quickly to their young. I almost believed I could understand there urging. "Fly, Fly, Fly" and the little ones would flutter from beam to beam.  I noticed one of the scraggly gaunt barn cats hiding in the shadows that had been waiting with hungry eyes.  Watching and waiting for one of the young birds to fail in its attempt...............I slowly reached behind myself and pulled out my inner tube gun from my coveralls and pulled one of the big black rubber bands tight over the trigger. The Cat had not taken his gaze off the sparrows. I noticed a few pigeons had landed on the edge wood of the bay door and were cooing and pertting, heads a bobbing, as if to say, “is it safe? Is it safe?”
    I took aim at the cat and let loose the black ammo. With a throng sound my large rubber band flew and then smacked the barn wall with a thud and the cat jumped like he'd been shot out of a cannon and vanished like the magicians they are. The pigeons popped into the air instantaneously with their wings making that rushing weeping noise with feathers flying.  Then out of the darkness from the peak of the roof came a huge screech owl, swooping down into the light, towards the bay door.  Wafting the warm mid morning barn air with his huge wings just over my head he flew. My heart pounded with excitement, I jumped up and watched him wing his way and disappear into the big walnut tree just across the pasture. That entire ruckus wrapped up in just a moment. Life’s sudden dramatic chain of events was only broken by my labored breath.  I stepped forward into the sun light that haloed the bay door and felt its warmth and wondered to myself about what other adventures this magic place would bring. With a shiver through my shoulders and down my back, my real life daydream was broken and came to an end.  I stood there looking at my spent gun and where the owl had flown... wow that was fun. I looked back up into the sunbeams and they sparkled even more fervently from the dust just stirred.
    A familiar ring filled my ears, I heard my Mother banging on the wash pail that hung next to the back porch screen door, 1965 technology at it's finest.  In those days we always kept one ear bent towards home.  Sometimes I would use my imagination and become the famed Marlin Perkins, the MC of Mutual of Omaha's Wild Kingdom. I can hear him now...
"Lookout Jim, that jungle jaguar does not look happy."
"While we continue searching for the ever elusive flightless, three legged, Red throat Congo bird, you can hear the drums of Borneo calling the tribesmen together."
Gosh it was fun to be a kid...
Back to my Mother, What an amazing woman, she had to do this almost daily because right after breakfast we would all scatter like Dandelion seeds to the wind.
"Jim... Dale Lee... John... Jerry Joe... Cathy!  Donita !!!"
" it's time for Lunch!" she'd call out.
You'd think with as many brothers and sisters, my mother would have just said,
" Hey, You all get your butts here now!"
My Mom was great though, she said, if she didn't call us all by name then she wouldn't know who to expect.
But if she called us individually and by our given name, trouble was a brewing.
"John! Charles! Blackford! She would snap the last syllable of each word and with a quip of authority. Her tongue could be like the crack of a bull whip, and our behinds suddenly grew a brain and could remember that very hot sting as our legs would begin to quiver. Because we all knew the business end of Mom's big wooden spoon all to well. Besides the fact after being re educated, by her first, she would always say, "wait till your Father gets home..."  Mom never liked the word punished.   That's another story in and of it self.

So, My how time can just fly, I had to sneak out of the barn because we weren't allowed in it while Dad was away... yes, I lived dangerously........I wonder what ever happened to Jim and that jaguar?

10 great Music hits to bring back the summer of 1965

                           
this was my favorite song of the day in 1965

                           

1 comment:

bobncat1608 said...

Geese I remember so well the music,the barn events...and mom yelling our names...the words wait till your dad gets home!!! duntduntduntdaaaaaaaaa!!!!!! lmao

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