Growing up “country bumkin” style, Part 3
My older brothers are six and four years older than me, and I am five years older than my next brother, and then a fourth brother is 11 years younger than me. We love him and decided to keep him, even though he was an “oops.” I did have another brother two years younger than me who died when he was four years old, the evening before my seventh birthday. So many friends and relatives came to our house the evening my little brother died. I had two birthday cakes that night and got a shiny red tricycle that Mom and Dad gave to me as there were so many kids there. So as we are, there are five of us—two brothers older, two younger, and me smack-dab in the middle. (Think of an Oreo Cookie; then think of that sweet frosting in the center. That’s me.)
I loved our half-mile-long pasture, the tree-lined field road along the pasture that made a canopy to walk under in some places, the pond, the junkyard. I loved to explore in the junkyard, looking for treasures. And I loved sitting at the far south end of our pasture and dreaming of building a house there some day. Now, after things of my parents’ were divided amongst us siblings, I have a watercolor painting that was created by a distant relative of mine, that happens to be at the very spot where I spent hours day-dreaming.
My bikes through the years logged a thousand miles, for sure, visiting the neighbors or just riding. As long as I had a bike—and a cat or three—I was never bored.
Sometimes in the summer, Dad would pull a bale wagon into the large front yard and we would sleep out under the stars, on the wagon. One time, one of our cats had kittens right there between us, on the bale wagon.
Speaking of cats, of which there were always many... I love the picture that is still in my head of kitties lined up when my dad was milking cows. Dad would direct a squirt of milk right into their faces, and that would keep them all busy for a while.
Aside from my own bedroom, I had a playroom upstairs, also. Being the only girl meant I never had to share a bedroom, and during my young years before more brothers came along, there was a big room on the second floor of the old farmhouse for me to have my own “house.” My dad built a table and chairs (I still have the “indestructible” table!), a baby doll crib (I still have!), and mom made a closet out of an orange crate to hang my dolls’ clothes, and then sewed a curtain she hung across the front of the crate. I had a little rocker (which I also still have!) plus other small wooden chairs. I had a kitchen area with a set of cardboard “appliances” consisting of a stove, refrigerator, sink, plus more orange crates as cabinets to keep all my dishes. I also had a crate of dress-up clothes, some gloves from my mom, highheeled shoes, and a couple of fancy hats. I was never bored, even though I was the only girl.
A lesson was learned one day when I attempted to go down the steps wearing a long dress-up dress and high heels that were probably five sizes too big. Somewhere near the top of the staircase was where the lesson was actually learned as I got tangled up in the dress, plus the big shoes, plus carrying a baby doll, and I tumbled down the steps. Those steps had a rubber tread on them, and when Mom came running to meet the screams, there were matching tread marks on the top of my head and forehead.
Well, I know you are completely bored with all this by now, so I will call it quits. But I admit, it’s been fun for me to think back a long, long time ago. Even though I say I don’t remember much about my childhood, I think I’ve remembered quite a lot, once I got to goin’!
