The Woods - Part Four.

OK, as I told you before, I actually organized a mock battle one summer day in about 1970. Like I said, I'd begun to acquire a following of younger kids by the last summer there in Missouri. That notion seems totally bizarre to me now, but I remember it fondly. I think they wanted to play with me because I was bigger than them and I was fun. Also, I wasn't a bully, which set me aside from a lot of the other older kids. I can't remember what prompted the battle. I may have seen a movie and floated the idea. No tellin'.

It seems to me there were about ten or fifteen kids on one side of that clearing and just me and three or four other kids on my side. We lined up opposite one another, armed with those dried weed stalks that I told you about before. You'd pull them out of the ground and the dried root would come up with a natural point. When you cleaned all the dirt off it and pulled off all the limbs you'd be left with a strait, light disposable javelin with a ready point that, because of the heavy end, would always fly straight and land point first.

Anyway, we all had several of these spears in our arsenal, and my boys all had shields. Of course, I had that big metal sled on my arm, making me virtually impregnable. It covered me from head to knee, just like the real thing. The other guys had stuff made out of wood or cardboard. We'd probably all sat around in someone's basement and made them together.

Again, the other kids were bunched up in a big group on the other side of a clearing. They were really hopped up, outnumbering us the way they did, but I had a plan. I'd seen the movies, so I knew what to do.

I told my guys to form a shield wall, shoulder to shoulder - All four or five of us, and told them to wait and hold their fire. The other kids started yellin' like it was for real and charged us. When they got about half way to us I told my guys to cut loose. I'd told them to throw their spears high in the air, over everyones' heads. Next thing you know the air was filled with those things and the other kids were dodgin' spears, pissin' their pants and runnin' away. Worked brilliantly, ONCE. When the next charge came they were ready for us and we all died a horrible death. Then we all got up off the ground, dusted ourselves off and did it again. That was a fun day.

I told you before about my envy of Mike Hinkley going hunting with his dad and my childhood dreams about being a hunter. Well, I'm not proud of it, but my very first hunting experience took place along that creek, not far from the house. OK, I don't count the crawdads. My first time was the little bunny.

I was just walkin' along that creek with my bow one day and noticed a rabbit out of the corner of my left eye, sittin' on the other side of the creek in a little clearing, chewing on some brush. I stopped cold and looked at it, drawing an arrow out of my quiver very slowly and quietly. I couldn't believe it. here was my moment. I wasn't even thinkin' about what I was gonna do with it after I killed it. It was just somethin' I could kill. Somethin' I could use to take things to the next level.

Like I said, I laid an arrow on the rest, drew my bow back, cocked at an angle so I could look down the shaft. That's how we aimed back then, before we graduated to aluminum limbs, plastic cams and 60 lbs of pressure behind the arrow. I aimed my bow and let fly, only to see the arrow miss by what seemed then to be a mile. Probably just inches, but the rabbit didn't bolt for cover, so I drew another and shot again, missing again.

I ended up emptying my quiver at that friggin critter and it never moved. It only ran for cover when I jumped across the creek to retrieve my gear. I couldn't believe it. How could I have missed? I was good with that friggin' thing! There wasn't a tree or sapling around that I hadn't plugged with holes from decent distances. I was very happy none of my friends had been there to witness my humiliation.

Anyway, that was my first hunting experience. We moved away from there and I was made to put the bow away soon after that, so I didn't get another chance to kill something for about 25 years. That's another story, for another woodsy post. We'll talk.

You'll also remember me tellin' you about the strange family up the street, with all the sons and the great dog? Well, like I said before, I can't remember their name. I don't know what their dad did for a living, though my mom has always been convinced that he was in the mob. Who knows? What fascinated me was how wild and free their kids were.

The oldest son was a biker who would ride into town now and then and make a lot of noise. He was an adult to me then, which might make him about 20. He'd always seem to end up out in the woods where he'd be found around a little camp fire, sniffin' glue and glarin' at people. The next oldest boy was about 2 or 3 years older than me, though he seemed WAY older. They all did. They all seemed older than their years.

That boy was scary too, so we didn't spend much time around him. My most vivid memory of him was of all of us building wooden ramps in the street to jump our bikes over. This was the era of "Evel Kneivel", so we were all tryin' to do all that sort of stuff, only on our bikes. He built his the highest, and made the jump. I remember being stunned to see him make it. I always admired that sort of courage, but wondered where that daredevil stuff came from. I was always too careful to try the highest jump. I guess I got enough thrills from the lower ramp. Story of my life, in a way.

Those two oldest boys were the two that supposedly drug a girl off into the woods once and raped her. The story I got was that she was probably the girlfriend of the oldest son. They all got stoned on something out there and things probably got too real, to quickly for her liking. To me at the time, not knowing what rape really was, all it meant was that those two had actually had sex, which was still a mysterious and scary thing to me then. it added to the larger perception that they were dangerous and to be avoided.

The next boy in that family was the one that was my age. Even so, we didn't spend much time with him. He was always wanting to fight and get into trouble. The one time I remember hanging out with him and havin' fun was when we went crawdad giggin' in the creek that day. The other vivid memory was of him flickin' lit matches at me, tryin' to impress some girl.

The one son in that family that we all hung out with and were friends with was the youngest boy. He was actually a few years younger than us, but he already smoked and ran with confidence in the woods. He did everything we did, had a good sense of humor, and was the only one of that bunch we all weren't scared of. I guess, growing up in that family, you had to mature quickly. I guess my fondest memory of him had to do with the "arrangement" he had with one of our neighbors.

Every once and a while this kid and I'd be playin' around the yard when the man who lived next door to us would come home from work. This kid would run up to him and ask him "Did you bring me my cookies?", and the guy would say "Yep!", and hand over a new, unopened box of cookies. Not knowin' what was goin' down, I thought that was the coolest thing I'd ever seen. Once dad saw me goin' over there with the kid and then havin' a cookie when he offered me some. He hit the roof. Told me never to go over there again and not to hang out with that kid any more.

I was totally confused, till dad told me what was up. It seems that family had gone on vacation once. My friend had broken in and drug all their sprinklers into the house and turned them on. They were payin' him off with cookies to get him to leave them alone. So he had his own little protection racket goin' on. Maybe his dad was in the mob.

He actually took me over to his house once. The place was a wreck, with motorcycles parked on the front lawn and no grass, and all sorts of boxes, cages and old trash cans all over the place. Each one of the boxes, cans and cages had a critter in it. I remember looking down into a metal trash can in the front yard and seeing a huge black snake that one of the brothers had caught in the woods. The whole place was a menagerie. It was fascinating.

I have a particular memory of going through their den and heading up the stairs to this kid's room. His oldest brother and all his friends were sitting in the living room, doing God knows what, but they all stared menacingly at me as I went up the stares. Thinking back on it now, the sight of all those guys sitting there reminds me of one of those old album covers, with the band sitting around a room, everyone with long stringy hair, or a huge fro and torn jeans and a puffy shirts. Maybe a hookah on the coffee table and HUGE stereo speakers blaring. Aaaa, the '70s.

Anyway, by far the coolest member of that family and the one we kids played with the most was their huge St. Bernard dog, "Gus". Gus was a horse of a dog. The smaller of us could actually ride him. He roamed the woods with us all the time, and would roam the neighborhood freely, doing whatever he wanted, wherever he wanted. Mom used to cuss him when she'd find what amounted to a horse turd in her garden.

Once, in the middle of summer, Gus gave me a scare. I was playin' down the street from the house one day when he came walkin' up behind me and tried to mount me. I was just standin' there, mindin' my own business. Next thing I know he's jumped up with his huge paws on my shoulders and tryin' to have his way with me. I got out from under him and some other folks came to my aid. I ended up with a long gouge in my back where his paw scraped me, and a pretty decent sized wound to my pride.

It was later determined that since our family dog, Missy, had gone into heat, I must have had some of her sent on me and Gus put two and two together. Once the shock and embarrassment of the whole thing wore off, the other kids and I turned it all into a game. Every time Gus saw me he'd chase after me, so we'd wait till he was about two houses away and get his attention, then run for our lives. He was a great dog. I've always wanted a big dog like that since then. One of these days.

Well, that's enough for now. Turns out I keep thinkin' of more stuff to tell ya, so there may well be a few more of these woodsy posts. So hold on, we'll talk. Cheers.