MAPLE CREEK MEMORIES VII

BOMBS AWAY


One Saturday afternoon when I was fourteen or fifteen years old, I decided to go back in the Simpson Hollow, which was just over the hill out back, to do some squirrel hunting. It was an ordinary day, late October, early November. Warm afternoon, probably in the low sixties. The trees had a lot of leaves on them still but they had begun to turn. A little unusual for so late in the season, but it had been a warm fall so far. As it was so warm, I just wore my jeans and a very light jacket to go hunting. I took the rifle since I didn't like to use a shotgun on squirrels, it just blew them apart. With a rifle, I could kill them without ruining the carcass for eating.

So about three o'clock I headed up the back path to the ridge that would take me over the hill into the hollow. Once I reached the top of the hill where the gas line went over to the well, I decided to move down the line to the left, taking me back toward Maple Hill Road, and not go down into the hollow itself. I sat down at the break between the hollow and the gas line, figuring that since it was a warm sunny day, the squirrels would be playing near the top of the hill and not down in the valley, at least until the sun started to go down.

After a short while I caught a whiff of smoke. It didn't really smell like a cigarette, pipe or cigar smoke. And not like a forest fire smoke, either (we had been very fortunate this year, we had had no fires in the woods yet even though it had been dry off and on.) I heard some yelling down below but couldn't make out any words, just that whoever it was was pretty excited.

The smell became a little stronger and I realized that it was the smell of tarpaper burning. Was someone burning an old shed or something? I didn't know, and besides, there were three squirrels playing up the hill and I was keeping watch to see if they were going to get close enough for a clear shot at them.

POP. POP. POP.

Someone rattles off three shotgun rounds below me and to my left. Matter of fact it was far below me. Almost down to the road.

BRRRPOP. BRRPOP. BRRRPOP. POP. POP. POP.

Sounded like an automatic shotgun. same area. Pity the guy who tries to eat that squirrel. In the meantime, my three are still playing around and not coming any closer. I thought I would just get up and try to get a little farther up the hill to maybe get a clearer shot at one or two of them.

That smoky smell was really getting strong. I could see smoke rising through the trees. But I could tell that it was not a forest fire-yet. I was hoping that they would contain it and not let it get into those woods at the bottom of the hill on Maple Creek.

KAWUMP KAWUMP KAWUMP KAWUMP KAWUMP KAWUMP POW POW POW POW POW POW POW POW POW POW POW POW POW POW POW POW POW POW POW POP POW KAWUMP KAWUMP KAWUMP POW POW POW KAWUMP KAWUMP POW POW POW POW POW POW POW POW POW POW POW POW POW POW POW POW POW POW POW.

Well, there went my three squirrels over the break into the hollow faster than I've ever seen anything move. I was moving too. Towards the house. It sounded like the Second World War, the bombing of Tokyo, Hiroshima and Nagasaki all at once and it was right down the hill below me, down about Frank's house. Was Frank's house burning or what? I knew he always bragged about how much ammunition he had stored there. It just kept going off.

I couldn't get close enough to see anything through the trees and smoke. And I really didn't want to get any closer because one of the shells might come in my direction. I had to keep high enough to keep the woods and the hill between me and that house. I ran back down the back path towards our house and stopped at the end of the woods, uphill about 150 feet from our house, at the top of our strawberry patch. From there I watched as Frank's house went to the ground. The fireworks were spectacular.

Watching it was more exciting that squirrel hunting , but now we couldn't have squirrel for breakfast that Sunday morning. We had to settle for oatmeal again. Again.