Example Question.
When spraying undesirable weeds, where should you point your spray wand?
A) At your own eye.
B) At your co workers eye.
C) At the weed you wish to be killed.
D) Puppies.
Hint, it’s not D.
Anyway, working for Orem City and breathing in a manly dose of 2 Cycle engine exhaust and weed pollen has made me recall my Redneck, earthy roots. Let us all take a minute and I will regale you with my favorite Hillbilly memories:
1) Demolition Derbies: These are pretty awesome. There is nothing like the roar of 20 dangerous old beaters as they rev across a muddy rodeo ground to pound each other into even MORE useless hunks of scrap metal. For those of you who don’t know about this blessed event, it entails the purchase of an old heavy bodied vehicle, such as an 1970’s station wagon, then busting out all of the glass, moving the gas tank into the middle rear of the vehicle, chaining/welding the doors shut, and then wildly spray-painting the most horrendous home-style camouflage design or eye-jarring florescent. Sadly, this is a dying sport. There is a finite number of old cars to waste in such a venture, and a few years ago, a stupid piece of government pandering known as “cash for clunkers” was initiated which decimated possible derby candidates. Now there is an older foreign cars section (btw, the various rounds are called “heats”, a little hick vernacular for you there), but it’s just not the same. If you have a chance, go to a derby THIS YEAR. It may be that we soon will have no derby.
2) The Fruitland Cook Out: There was once a time when Fruitland was a neighborly magical place where every year the town would get together for some good eatin, scones, and general gossip. This took place at various locales, but my favorite was always up Red Creek (or crik if you want to be authentic) Here, there were sack races, singers of country songs, tug of wars, and water fights. My favorite event and something I think everyone should do when they are young involved the adults throwing a couple of bucks worth of change into a pile of sawdust and letting the youngsters go ape trying to find the money. It had all the blood lust of Roman Gladiators, mixed with the addictive thrill of Vegas gambling, and a dash of Indiana Jones treasure hunting. People died in that sawdust pit. I was quick and had a good eye, which latter advantage was slightly diminished by the large amount of sawdust that inevitably entered into them. There were only a few kids in Fruitland who were my age (there was enough of the fine sense of justice prevailing in Fruitland that the littlest kids were allowed to go first to pick up the obvious loot and so they wouldn’t be sacrificed in our Hunger Games). The only rule in the Sawdust money hunt was that there were no rules. I would elbow people wherever they needed to be elbowed to get to my shiny preciouses, and someone, we’ll just call her Relly Kobinson to preserve her anonymity, had a bite to avoid, especially considering the crookedness of her teeth.
3) Shooting Cans: It is a time honored tradition to not only own a gun, but to shoot it regularly. Stray nuisance animals, magpies, cans… it is all fair game. This is the blessing of having no close neighbors. Here’s a fun tip- if you fill a pop can with water, it will explode when you shoot it. Our old bolt action .22 rifle with its 7-shot clip has provided hours of fun.
5) Swimming in the Pond: Ponds happen in the farm/irrigation world of rural back road places. They are likely riddled with mosquito larvae, tetanus, and the special type of foam that occurs then water runs through dusty culverts and ditches. And they are awesome. I don’t know why, but nothing feels better during a scorching summer day than a dip in the pond.
6) Arrowhead Hunting: This is now against the law, but back in the day, it was a delightful way to get out and around. My dad is something of an amateur pro in finding worked stones, and I have admired his ability to meander out into a sagebrush field and locate old campsites for screening. All his time out in the mountains cutting logs has given him the uncanny perspective that enables him to find sweet arrowheads and other cool worked rocks.
7) Goin’ to the Store: There were only two gas stations in my “town” when I was growing up. Now there is only one store, with no gas. But when I was young, a good reward for doing chores was a trip to the store. The store trip would be an excuse to get away from the house for a little while. It was a chance to pick up mail at the post office. And it was a good way to pick up a pop or a Carmello. And hey, when 14/15 years of age rolled around, it was a good way to practice driving.
8) Playing on the Slab Pile: Already established in this blog was the family wood cutting enterprise. But what you may not know is that we had a saw mill set up in our field. This was a truck (semi truck) bed that had been converted into a piece of machinery that had a 40+ inch circular blade and a sliding frame that enabled logs to be cut into cants. (Cants are square logs). The excess wood that gets cut off are called slabs, and they make for a large hill when stacked up year after year. (A quick aside, I think that my dad provided the sawdust for #1 on this list). Playing on this pile may have been a tad dangerous, but slabs could be broken into excellent swords and who can resist climbing a sketchy looking hill of wood? Along this same thread of thought are the thrills to be had on a massive pile of firewood.
9) Hikeing up Gray Hill: This was something that was really good times, despite my sister’s best efforts to sour the experience the experience for my brother Cheek (Jonathan) and I. Apperantly, there was an old man who killed people up on the mountain, and he collected a bunch of dolls heads. Why? I don’t know, he just did, probably in an effort to solidify his creepiness. Along with him was a villainous murdering type named Eddy Bo Beddy, who only killed people named Jason Earl Sweat … which was obviously of great concern to me. But even these stories couldn’t keep us from exploring this hill/mountain near our house. There are many cool parts of Gray Hill, some of which may not exist anymore. There was the junk filled wash. There was the natural dirt arch that spanned the junk filled wash. There was the cave that was in the sandstone boulders. There was the TV substation. The oak brush grove. The windy roads, and also lots of honeysuckle flowers.
Looking back, I had a pretty great childhood. There were lots of other summer events, such as family reunions, house building projects, wood hauling trips, garden planting, etc. One thing I like about Fruitland is that it is sometimes so quiet, the silence itself makes a noise. While I don’t think I’d live there forever, I really hope that there is always a member of my family living in the house we built so that I can visit.
1 comment:
Point of Order (that is lawyer talk, you'll hear a lot of it in Law School): the pond had a ditch running swiftly through it and therefor did NOT have mosquito larve. Also, that old man who killed people named Jason Earl Sweat is still out there. They never caught him. Just saying.
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