I wouldn't trade these memories for anything, but I'm glad to share them, hoping they might spark a memory of your own.
The World is made of Wool
By:
Victor Epp
Did you ever notice how much the world shrinks from the time you're a kid until you grow up? I don't mean ‘the world’ as in the whole world, although that might be true too, if any kid had a concept of the size of it. No, I mean a kid's world, that circle just beyond what he or she knows how to navigate - that scary part yet to be discovered. It's huge when you're little - and scary too. It's even scarier after dark.
Actually, it never occurred to me until just this very minute what the real size of my world was, measured in big people's terms. If you didn't count our yard or the roads or trails leading to and from it, it would be about an acre or so of no good Manitoba gumbo right where I said it was before - about a mile off the end of the earth. But Holy Toledo - the stuff that happened to me there is enough for a lifetime of adventure, even if we'd never moved away.
For starters, if you really, really had to go on the north road, well, there was nothing you could do about that. You did what you had to do. But you made sure to stay on the west side of it because about a quarter mile north of us was a mound on the east side. Some said that mound was an Indian grave and if you stepped on it, ghosts would rise out and swallow you up whole. Trouble was, in the spring that mound was the only piece of ground not under about two or three inches of water. That always meant deciding between getting a boot full of water and risking being swallowed up whole. Well once you thought about doing chores in soaking wet scratchy wool socks and explained to your mother in the morning why they had all shrunk to the size of baby booties, you generally got up enough courage to outrun any dad blamed ghost that might come after you. Of course I don't remember hearing of any kid ever getting eaten by ghosts so either we were all fast runners or the ghosts didn't mind us walking on them that much. Now if you went south past Wielers' place a couple of miles, you'd end up on the Teulon cut off. If you went east a mile, you'd end up on number eight highway at my grandma's house. Well you could do that, or you could sneak through the bush directly to their place, which was a whole lot more fun than going on the road. With all those possibilities at hand it's easy to see how somebody might think that the little corner I'm talking about would be the center of the universe so to speak. Heck, roads from just about anywhere met right there where all the action was. In fact that was the very self same corner where old A. M. and I nearly keeled over trying to turn ourselves black, but that's another story.
One night about four o'clock in the morning, me and my dad were headed off to the neighbors' place to help with killing and butchering pigs. This would have been in the middle of January when the weather stayed cold enough that any uncured meat could be frozen outside in steel barrels. Now, I say me and my dad because when you're four years old and get to go with your dad, you're partners don't you know? You didn't bother to figure out that mom said to get that kid out from under foot for once and that dad was stuck with you for the whole day. Such a thought never entered my head anyway. We were just a couple of men going off to do men's work as far as I was concerned.
Anyway, the two of us headed out on the Teulon road toward Wielers' farm on this starry, wintry night. We'd got no further than the crossroads at the corner of our property when there was a lot of calling coming from the house. It appeared that our brood sow had got out of the pen and was on the loose somewhere.
Now in all fairness to the brood sow, she was a good brood sow. That was the only good thing you could say about her. For one thing she was as ugly as sin, even for a pig. On top of that her shipping weight had come and gone a long time ago. At the time I figured that sow must have been pretty close to the size of a Clydesdale - easy. And she was mean too. Well, nothing to do but go back and pen her up again. Dad lets go of my hand and says, “Wait here. I'll be right back.” Hoooooooly!! I thought we were partners! Now he leaves me in the pitch dark where I don't even know where the house is, and there's a giant, wild pig on the loose out there - looking for me! That'll give you some idea of why I said the world is a huge, scary place when you're a little kid. I mean, who would expect your own dad would desert you on the middle of the night when he knew there was this wild giant pig, and maybe wolves, and who knows, maybe even lions out to get me? Well, I'd fix him. I'd stand there and not move and when all these wild animals came to eat me, I'd let them and then my dad would be sorry.
So I stood there, too scared to hardly even breathe, for what seemed to be about a hundred years. When dad came back, the crunch of the snow under his feet scared the pants off me and I probably took back my thoughts about letting the animals eat me, until I realized it was him. After that, the partnership was somehow not the same anymore. If it wasn't for the other kids at Wielers' place, and the women keeping a sharp lookout for any mischief we might get into, I would have had a miserable time. See what I mean? There was always some adventure happening starting from that corner.
The scariest one though by far was on moving day about two years later. I was going to school by then although I swear it was just a waste of time. I was just getting more confused by the minute rather than learning anything. Looking back now, it seems a major achievement that I even managed to get to school and back without getting lost. The only thing that saved me was that it was a straight line, two and a half miles long. If you went south, you got to school. If you went north, you got home - fair enough.
Well, then it happened. We were moving, whatever that meant. Our new place wouldn't be too far away according to mom and dad, but to me it might as well be a million miles off. What I mean is that just when I somehow seemed finally to be able to cope with this big adventurous world of mine they were going to change things on me. It wasn't right. I guess my folks didn't take things in the proper light too well since I don't remember much being reassured or convinced that this would be an exciting thing to do. They never really caught on to the fact that I might not be the brightest star in the heavens. If they did, they never let on. Anyway, those days children were pretty much expected to be seen and not heard except when otherwise called upon. The point is that on a certain day we were to move - maybe.
The way you moved back then was a little different than you might do it now. What you did was load up all your possessions on the hayrack, or wagon, or both, hitched the team to it and well, moved. What made it different was the weather. There wasn't a tarp big enough to go over a hayrack or even a wagon, for that matter. If it rained, it rained all over your possessions so you had to decide between being dry and being moved. Of course, my folks had been around weather long enough to know ways to outsmart it. My dad figured that he'd just accidentally happen to have the hayrack standing right close to the door for a couple of days ahead of time while he went about his business as if he wasn't going anywhere. They could load up quickly on moving day and make a run for it before the clouds got wise to him. Well now you could begin to see where I get some of my ideas.
It was going to be a crapshoot at best to see if we would move on that day which also happened to be a school day. That being the case, we were told that if it didn't rain, we were to go directly to the new house. If it did rain on the other hand, we should go to the old one.
There must have been a short circuit in my brain that day and that was unusual since the only electricity out on the farm came from lightning. It had rained that day, on and off but it never even dawned on me that my folks would have time between rains to make it to the new place. I wasn't even smart enough to stick with my sister who by this time was a half-mile up the road toward the number eight. In the meantime, I was half a mile north and going home.
Now there's another thing you have to keep in mind about six year old boys and rain; and that's rubber boots. The rubber boot hasn't been made that will keep your socks dry when you're six years old. Oh I had rubber boots all right. I remember them as though they’re still on my feet. Some genius had figured out how to make ankle rubber boots - with eyelets and laces and all. These were just made for somebody like me.
Every dip in the mud road, every pothole needed testing for the whole two and a half miles. Imagine - all of that to investigate – and with just the right equipment. How could anyone be expected to think about anything else? Well, I walked into the house and there it was - the end of the world! The place was empty - I mean empty! There wasn't a stick of furniture anywhere, not a soul around. I was alone in the world, an orphan.
Suddenly I was very cold. Rainwater squished in my fancy boots and spilled over on the floor as I wandered around the empty rooms aimlessly. Where had everybody gone? They shouldn't have moved. It had rained today - and where was my sister? Now I couldn't even remember where the new house was!
Well, this was the end. I'd never see my family again. Not only that, but where would I get my supper? It was hopeless. The prospect of going to my grandparents to tell them my family was gone forever didn't particularly appeal to me. Somehow I had the suspicion that I had made a mistake. But I couldn't just stand around in an empty house either, I knew that much. Pretty soon it would be getting dark and that appealed to me even less. Slowly, my sodden feet took me down the road toward grandma's place. I was so cold and utterly miserable that it seemed a worthwhile thing to stop in at O'Malleys' farm that was right on the way. Maybe they would come up with some miracle to get me out of this mess. What Mrs. O'Malley had instead was a hot cup of sweet tea and some biscuits, which was pretty much of a miracle as far as I was concerned. Well, it was close enough, but still in the end, she sent me packing to grandmas.
By the time I got to grandma's house I was pretty well tuckered out. So far my journey had taken me about four miles or so and in my miserable state, what with an extra ten pounds of water in my boots, it seemed a lot longer. I seem to remember that nobody was particularly overwhelmed at my heroic march, but my cousin Irma who lived next door to grandma and grandpa took pity on me. If I would wait until she finished her chores, she would give me a ride me home on her bicycle. Well! It might as well have been Joan of Arc come to save me I was that relieved. It never even occurred to me to ask whether she knew where to go. Obviously though, everybody but me knew and it wasn't long before I was sailing along safely tucked onto the crossbar of my savior's bike and delivered to my intended destination. Irma had gone up about ten notches in my esteem and still stays there to this day.
It wasn't that my folks weren't glad to see me. In fact, my dad was just about to come and look for me if I hadn't turned up when I did. They were just kind of baffled by my ability to do so many things wrong all on the same day.
Funny how you remember things like that. I can't remember what I had for lunch two days ago, but I can still recall the taste the salted bacon fat and cracklings on home made bread that evening over sixty years ago. Oh yeah and how my scratchy wool socks shrunk to the size of baby booties when they dried. Mom didn't even give me any grief over that for once.
I guess my folks must have been glad to see me because I didn't get into any major trouble over the whole affair. We just never talked about it. I never went back to that corner again either, because - well because it was too far away from where we lived, and then when we moved to the city, it was even further. It was just as well. That was one scary place.
Well now, come to think of it, I did go back one other time many years later. One evening after work, I decided to go out there again. I had this hankering for wild plums. Now isn't that funny? After all those years I would have a hankering for wild plums. I knew just where to find them too. You guessed it - right there on the corner. I asked my oldest boy did he want to come with me? I'd show him where I lived when I was little. Well, he was older at that time, maybe twelve or thirteen and would go about anywhere on an adventure. We set off for the country, enjoying the evening air and pretty soon were getting close to the turn off to the Wieler place. I knew there was a spot across the road from their farm full of plum bushes right on the road allowance.
That was the first disappointment. The municipal public works had decided to clear the road allowance and in the process, mowed down all my plum bushes. It was kind of odd being back there on that country road. Even though it now had a gravel surface it still seemed like kind of a narrow road; smaller than I remembered it. Well no matter, we got to the mile road and it too had been widened and had a gravel surface. I don't know why that should disappoint me but it did. Everybody was forever changing everything. They couldn't ever leave things they way they were, even if there was nothing wrong with them.
My boy was sitting there in the front seat scratching his head and wondering when the adventure would start. All he could see was small, crummy country roads and not much else. To tell the truth, I kind of felt the same way. Everything had got smaller - sort of withered away all shrunk in size from what I remembered - kind of like my wool socks.
Well maybe it had only been big in my over active imagination. That must be it. We continued on to the old farmhouse that was still there and turned onto the mile road leading back to the number eight. The road was now one of those that you read about being reclaimed by nature. It was just barely passable - pretty well unused. The O"Malley farm might still be there but the driveway was closed off. That's when it hit me! All I could think of was the itchy socks that had shrunk to nothing that moving day. The wool had come from O'Malleys' sheep farm. Now it seemed that the whole place must have been knitted out of the same wool and shrunk the same way; that's how small it had become.
There was nothing left to do but get out of the car and have one last look around. In trying to find the overgrown trail through the bush that we used to take for a short cut - wouldn't you know it? There were tons of wild plums. When I went back to the car to get my pail, my boy refused to join me - too many mosquitoes. He'd just wait in the car and listen to the radio. By the time my pail was full and I headed back, he had slipped behind the wheel and every time I got close, he kind of put it in gear and drove off a bit. Only one of us thought that was funny. Thank God for that road being abandoned. He had enough sense not to try and negotiate a huge pothole that was more like a wallow in the road or I might have been walking still. All I could think of as I backed the car all the way to the corner was that this was still a scary place. Maybe it was the ghosts in that Indian grave finally handing out their comeuppance. I wasn't about to find out though, and I haven't been back since.
Well, these days I've got that place stretched back to the size it ought to be according to my memories. That's the way it's going to stay too. If you want, I can point it out to you on the map. If you want to actually see it though, you'll have to go yourself because there's no way you'll get me to go back there.
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