Remember when

As I mentioned before the first house was something of a frontier house with the hand pump in the kitchen serving as a reminder of times past. The stove in the kitchen was of the wood burning variety but that's about the only thing I remember of the inside, perhaps because I was always outside. Out the kitchen door was a porch looking out on the livestock yard with the creek beyond. Jackie and I were forbidden from venturing near the creek, in part because our bull haunted the area. The driveway out to the road was also off limits to a 4 year old with the urge to explore. But both of these areas figure prominently into my few early recollections. It seems the times you live on the edge stay in your memory banks forever.

We had a dog named Shep. The family didn't have much imagination as this had been the name of at least 1 dog in my dad's youth. The pictures we have suggest that this version of Shep was something of a cross between a Collie and a German Shepherd. He and I were inseparable. Wherever he went, I went. And, this is where the problem lies. For Shep cared not for the rules imposed upon a 4 year old human. One day Dad hopped on the tractor to do some work in the cornfield across the creek that ended up at the neighbor's property on the south end. To get there he had to take the road. So, Shep followed Dad and I followed Shep. I don't think I ever caught up with Dad but Shep and I were exploring new territory. Since this is my only recollection of having a neighbor we might have explored the area before deciding to take a shortcut home. The pasture - with the bull- and the creek stood in the way of lunch. And it seems I was late. Fortunately the bull showed little interest in Shep and I. Perhaps the reason I remember this incident is the impression I made upon my parents when I came busting into the kitchen with Dad already cleaned up and ready for lunch. How had he beaten me back when I had taken the shortcut? Yup. I was in trouble.

The next piece of the story involves Jackie. She was a toddler and I had been elevated to being in charge of her while she was outside. Presumably Mom was inside tending the fire to get lunch ready. It was springtime after the snow melt, which makes her about 1 1/2 and me about 4 1/2, and she wandered into the livestock yard where the deep muck sucked the rubber boots off her feet. One boot managed to find it's way back to the house but the other one condemned me for my inattention to her safety. I was always getting in trouble and Jackie seemed to get off scott free. Another time she was caught crawling through the chicken door into the chicken coop where she was breaking eggs. Who do you think got in trouble?

The last story about the homestead was one Mom told me and I didn't remember, perhaps because I didn't get in real trouble for it. She related that I had a brand new pair of shoes and I came back to the house with only 1 shoe. So we went exploring the farm tracking all the places I had been since I left the house. When we came to the corn crib I finally remembered, or was able to get across to her in my limited vocabulary, where the shoe had come off. Who needs shoes when nature is right outside the kitchen door?

Here's a couple pictures I took in 2016 when I went back to explore my roots. The slight mound in the first is where the house stood and the dreaded creek bisects the property in the second.