Years ago, I went to a family reunion in Acme and stayed late trading stories around the campfire. A huge harvest moon rose up over the trees, hanging there like a giant and mysterious UFO. It was shining so bright, it was casting shadows. Driving home, past all the old familiar places, I had visions, the ghosts of long gone memories guiding me home on that mystic moonlight drive.
In Acme, is the street we used to live on and I’m only two years old. I’ve wandered off with my dog Towser. Bright yellow dandelions are waving in the breeze, so I pick some and step onto the railroad tracks. I hear my name called and see Momma running. I hold out the dandelions and she scoops me up in her arms holding me tight. Momma is crying!
Just out of Acme, I drive by Great Grandfather’s old farm. The Roose Family was living there those days, and suddenly I’m 8 years old again. I’m staying the night with my friend Kenny Roose. There’s lots of chores to do feeding calves and chickens, cleaning stalls and helping Mr. Roose with the milking. Then we set down to a big farm dinner and there’s not a lot of talking because hard work and sustenance are serious things for these people. After dinner, Mr. Roose takes out the family bible and reads to us. The odd thing is... I can’t remember what he read, I just remember thinking, “That’s the biggest danged book I ever saw.”
Just beyond is Uncle Bob’s place and I’m walking knee high to my daddy. He’s got a shotgun and looking to shoot a duck for dinner. Up flies a big green head mallard... Boom! My ears are ringing and I’m running up to that duck, it’s really big and I can barely get my arms around it. It’s still alive and Daddy wants me to give it over, but nope, I won’t let go of my duck. Then that duck revives a bit, it’s pushing with it’s feet and the little toe nails are scratching my arms, then he's flogging me with his wings and he flies away.
Next, I’m standing on Mrs. Maleng’s front porch and I’m scared to death. I’m waiting for her to open the door so that I can apologise for misbehaving in class. Mom and Dad are sitting there in the ’56 Plymouth making sure I get the job done. She was my 3rd and 4th grade teacher at Samish school. Her son, Norm Maleng, grew up to be King County prosecutor, and he even ran for governor once. She was an old fashioned kind of teacher who tried her best to break me of being left handed. Every time I picked up a pencil or crayon with my left hand, she’d whack me with a ruler across the knuckles. I got frustrated and called her names, and now I’m standing on her front porch, waiting for her to open the door so I can apologize.
At Montgomery’s Dairy, I’m suddenly 16 years old and milking the cows. Mr. Montgomery had a falling out with his milker and needed a spare hand while he found a new milker. All week long I called them cows, “Come Boss, Come Boss.” I’d lock-em in the stanchion, grain-em, wash-em, milk-em and shoo-em out the door. After milking, I shoveled manure then washed down the walls and floor. Come Friday night, I was getting ready for a date, I took a long shower and I still smelled like cows. I splashed on some cologne and still smelled like cows. I splashed on even more cologne and now, with all that cologne, I smelled just like “Floosy the Cow.” By the end of the second week, still smelling like a cow drenched in cheap cologne, I decided maybe going to college would be a good idea.
A little further up the road, is the Ranch Tavern and I'm digging fence post holes on Jackie Wiede’s old place. My Dad was born in the old logging camp that used to be back of the tavern. It’s really hot and I’m really thirsty and thinking if I walk in there and ask for a soda that bartender will probably throw me out! Finally, it’s so hot and I’m so thirsty - I walk in and ask for a soda pop. That bartender just smiles and asks if I wanted an Orange Crush or a Squirt. I went back and sat beside my fence post hole under the shade of a big maple tree and took a big swig of that Orange Crush and I felt the cold go all the way to my toes, and it was so good. Now, on hot summer days, I still have a special place in my heart for an ice cold Orange Crush.
In Wickersham, there was Bob Haner’s old country store and meat locker. In those days, many people didn’t have a freezer so you rented your locker space from Bob. When you’re talking food, there’s two things Daddy loved, and his locker was full of deer meat and blackberries. It’s cool and quiet in the old store, the bell on the door announces our arrival, the stairs creak as we climb and step into the arctic cold of the locker room. If you inhale sharply, you can stick your nose shut! And that’s something only a little kid can figure out.
Across the street was the old roller rink, and on the back wall was the chute, a sort of roller coaster for skaters, and my Daddy could go down it backwards. There was like 3 big whoop-de-doos
The corner by Handy’s Dairy has been the site of many wrecks. People don’t realize the corner is not properly banked and when it’s slick you just slide right off the road. I’m driving an old Ford tractor and a haywagon, I’m 14 and riding high in the saddle. All by myself, I loaded that big old hay trailer and headed for the barn. Empty, going slow in the field it stopped just fine. Now, with that big load of hay and a little speed, I stomped all over that brake and with a look of horror, I plowed through the gate, the boards a flying, and my pride hurt something awful. I just knew Allen was going to be real mad at me, and sure enough here he came, a coffee can of nails and a hammer in his hands and he was laughing so hard he could barely stand straight.
Then there’s the old Samish school, 1st and 2nd grade are on the third floor and the fire drills are big fun. The teacher just tosses you right out the back of the building – 3 floors up. I’m whistling down a big metal tube and flying out the bottom in a shower of sawdust. When the building was torn down, the slide was cut up and parts were used for the water slide at the Clear Lake swimming hole.
Just after the school is Ray Hall’s place. I’m hearing old Ray’s voice telling about boiling your traps and wearing your gloves. We’re walking up an old grade and he’s showing me to put a log across and to set a trap at the low point where the animal is most likely to cross. It was pretty cool learning that old time stuff and I’ll always have fond memories of Ray, but I couldn’t get into leg traps. The fear and pain in their eyes, and the chewed off legs was a little too much for me to appreciate.
At the intersection of Hwy. 9 and Fruitdale Road is Mom and Dad’s place. I’m playing in the yard and Daddy’s yelling – get my gun, get my gun! He has a coyote by the back legs and it’s snapping at him something fierce. Momma wouldn’t give me the gun until she looked out the door and saw Daddy with a look of desperation and panic on his face. Then she handed me the .22 revolver and a box of shells. Our old farm dog, Bowser, had cornered the coyote under a log and they were goin' at it tooth and nail. Daddy went up behind the log and just grabbed that old coyote by the back legs and hot footed it for home.
Just down the road from Mom and Dad’s is Bob Beaver’s field where Daddy talked me into grabbing a live skunk. We drove home in Dad's ‘36 Plymouth with the windows down and Mom refused to let me in the house. Ended up I was one of the first streakers in Skagit County. I dropped my clothes under the old cedar tree and skedaddled for the house. I scrubbed from the top of my head to my toes with tomato juice, and at school, nobody wanted to sit next to me for the rest of the week.
In Sedro-Woolley, I drive by my old church on Township where we had Sunday school in the basement. We always sang, “Onward christian soldiers, marching off to war...” whatever happened to “turn the other cheek”? Later I learned my little church was dedicated by the Ku Klux Klan in 1926. I always wondered what they did upstairs while we ate our graham crackers and drank KoolAid.
Finally, I’m home and crawl into bed with a smile on my face, dreaming a sweet dream, and thinking... there’s some things you just don’t tell about!
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