MAPLE CREEK MEMORIES XXIV
UP THE BRANCH
Part VIII
During the warm days, we all got together with our friends around the area and played there around our house. Many times it devolved into just the four of us and a kid who lived on up the hollow, and then we usually played baseball.None of us were particularly good
at it but we loved to pretend we were.
Living out in the country and not wanting to walk all the way down to the schoolyard, we would play in the dirt road that went past the house. Always at our house, because the road was much wider there than anywhere else.
A very few times, we actually had a real baseball. But mostly we had a taped up ball or, sometimes, we wrapped twine around a rock and taped it up--but it was a ball at least. Bats were occasionally real ones, but many times just a handy stick. Bases were dried up mud puddles--well, most of the time they were dried up, but sometimes we just went ahead and got wet.
With five boys total, we had three on each team. Simple math. Two permanent on each team , one rotating from team to team. Sometimes it was two per team and one always pitching for both teams, or catching, or wherever. Actually catching was what was needed most, because the pitching got pretty wild at times and we needed someone to shag the balls behind the batter. I was the youngest. You know who rotated, who pitched, who caught, who shagged--yeah, me.
There was a sixth position needed, so we all rotated through that position. That was the 'caller.' He had the responsibility, no matter what else he was doing, of watching for traffic and calling out "car coming" so we could get out of the way. This was only necessary because the drivers would not stop or swerve. In essence, at times, we played dodge ball--or ford ball--or chevy ball.
And though our talents were limited, our desire was not. We played with an intensity unmatched by real teams and would argue endlessly about whether a ball ws fair or foul. Or argue about safe/out calls. Did we EVER argue about safe/out calls. But that was more fun than actually playing the game, of course. We could have one or two plays and then argue all afternoon without even raising a sweat. What's wrong with that?
Towards the end of our careers, home plate was in the middle of the road, aligned with our mailbox, and second base was the last mudhole before the apple tree across the road from out front porch. Second base was slightly out of alignment because the mudhole was nearer the edge of the road beside the ditch than the center of the road, so the distance from first to second was a bit longer than from second to third. First and third bases were a weed and a large chunk of coal, respectively. Home plate ws a stick of wood laid crossways in the road.
The pitch ws made and a crack of the bat sent the ball through the infield. Carl (the kid from up the road) rounded first and headed into that long second base stretch. Nelson was there waiting and the throw came in at ground level. Nelson had it before the runner got there. Carl did his Fancy Dan slide, and that is something you don't do on a rocky road. Slide burns, gashes and blood all over. We patched him up, then told him he was out. And he argued. And argued. And argued. But he lost.
Carl swore that he'd never play ball there again, that we enjoyed seeing him get hurt. Well, maybe we did, but he came back again and again. Eventually he and I went to college together. He was the best man at my wedding and I at his. we remained friends for a while, but drifted apart. I moved to Texas and on to California, and we never got close again. He passed away a few years ago.
But memories remain.
[Insert "Huntin' Possum]
[Insert 'Cabin on the Hill]
Now that I'm thinking about that old cabin up there above the strawberry patch, it reminds me of all the times we we were back on that hill getting wood for the winter. We heated and cooked with coal and wood at that old house so we had to get in large amounts of wood during the summer in order for it to cure up for winter use. I never really calculated how much we would get in each year but it always seemed a prodigious amount. Let's see, four rows, two feet wide, and about 30 feet long-that's 240 square feet and we stacked it about six feet high, so that is 1,440 cubic feet and a cord is 128 cubic feet, so we had, oh, about 11 cords, give or take a little. And that would last about a year.
We'd go on the hill behind the house, sometimes as much as a half- to three-quarters of a mile up that ridge and cut trees in the early summer, sometimes as early as the late spring. We seldom cut anything later than mid-August as it would not dry in time for use. If we did, it was always an old dead tree. We always cut oak, hickory, ,locust, maybe an elm, hardwoods only--never pine or poplar or any of the softwoods. We tried to find trees that were anywhere from six to twelve inches in diameter, for it was much easier to bring them off the hill if they were smaller, and it did not take near the processing time once we got them home.
Naturally, as time went on, and the cutting continued, the supply got shorter and shorter and we had to move farther up the ridge to find the type trees we wanted. A few times we even went onto adjoining ridges to locate a good stand.
The tree cutter was always the oldest one there, unless our father went along. When he did, Paul or Nelson alternated with him in cutting the trees. We younger ones never got to touch the axe while on the hill unless our father said we could. We used a double-bitted axe which was kept sharp at all times. As any good axman can tell you, you never have to replace a good axe, but you only replace the handle. As I recall, we only had to do that twice in some fifteen years.
The trees were felled and limbed with the axe. Sometimes some of the limbs themselves were large enough to use as firewood and we would bring them off the hill too. Once we had a supply of logs ready to go, we attached them together with a chain and began the job of bringing them off the hill and into the back yard of the house. Sometimes the yard looked like a miniature lumberyard with all those logs waiting to be sawed into usable lengths. Many times, the tree cutter and another one of us would stay on the hill felling more trees while the others brought the previously cut logs to the house. That way we could get many more logs off the hill in a days time.
We had constructed sawhorses in the yard, actually just crossed timbers driven into the ground. Logs were placed on the horse and then were sawed into firewood lengths using a two-man crosscut saw. Smaller logs were chopped with the axe on the chopping log we kept in the yard.
A lot of chickens lost their lives on that old chopping log also. If splitting was needed, that was done as soon as the units were sawed off. We drove medium sized timbers into the ground at one side of the yard near the porch at the top of the bank, and at the walk coming off the porch. We stacked the firewood between these timbers for drying and storage until needed. We never covered the wood, preferring to let it air dry. If it rained, and it always did, only the top got wet anyway.
[Insert 'Blackberry Pickin' Time']
[Insert 'The Chicken Pluckers']
[Insert 'Telecommunications']
[Insert 'Big Yellow Schoolbus']
Part VIII
During the warm days, we all got together with our friends around the area and played there around our house. Many times it devolved into just the four of us and a kid who lived on up the hollow, and then we usually played baseball.None of us were particularly good
at it but we loved to pretend we were.
Living out in the country and not wanting to walk all the way down to the schoolyard, we would play in the dirt road that went past the house. Always at our house, because the road was much wider there than anywhere else.
A very few times, we actually had a real baseball. But mostly we had a taped up ball or, sometimes, we wrapped twine around a rock and taped it up--but it was a ball at least. Bats were occasionally real ones, but many times just a handy stick. Bases were dried up mud puddles--well, most of the time they were dried up, but sometimes we just went ahead and got wet.
With five boys total, we had three on each team. Simple math. Two permanent on each team , one rotating from team to team. Sometimes it was two per team and one always pitching for both teams, or catching, or wherever. Actually catching was what was needed most, because the pitching got pretty wild at times and we needed someone to shag the balls behind the batter. I was the youngest. You know who rotated, who pitched, who caught, who shagged--yeah, me.
There was a sixth position needed, so we all rotated through that position. That was the 'caller.' He had the responsibility, no matter what else he was doing, of watching for traffic and calling out "car coming" so we could get out of the way. This was only necessary because the drivers would not stop or swerve. In essence, at times, we played dodge ball--or ford ball--or chevy ball.
And though our talents were limited, our desire was not. We played with an intensity unmatched by real teams and would argue endlessly about whether a ball ws fair or foul. Or argue about safe/out calls. Did we EVER argue about safe/out calls. But that was more fun than actually playing the game, of course. We could have one or two plays and then argue all afternoon without even raising a sweat. What's wrong with that?
Towards the end of our careers, home plate was in the middle of the road, aligned with our mailbox, and second base was the last mudhole before the apple tree across the road from out front porch. Second base was slightly out of alignment because the mudhole was nearer the edge of the road beside the ditch than the center of the road, so the distance from first to second was a bit longer than from second to third. First and third bases were a weed and a large chunk of coal, respectively. Home plate ws a stick of wood laid crossways in the road.
The pitch ws made and a crack of the bat sent the ball through the infield. Carl (the kid from up the road) rounded first and headed into that long second base stretch. Nelson was there waiting and the throw came in at ground level. Nelson had it before the runner got there. Carl did his Fancy Dan slide, and that is something you don't do on a rocky road. Slide burns, gashes and blood all over. We patched him up, then told him he was out. And he argued. And argued. And argued. But he lost.
Carl swore that he'd never play ball there again, that we enjoyed seeing him get hurt. Well, maybe we did, but he came back again and again. Eventually he and I went to college together. He was the best man at my wedding and I at his. we remained friends for a while, but drifted apart. I moved to Texas and on to California, and we never got close again. He passed away a few years ago.
But memories remain.
[Insert "Huntin' Possum]
[Insert 'Cabin on the Hill]
Now that I'm thinking about that old cabin up there above the strawberry patch, it reminds me of all the times we we were back on that hill getting wood for the winter. We heated and cooked with coal and wood at that old house so we had to get in large amounts of wood during the summer in order for it to cure up for winter use. I never really calculated how much we would get in each year but it always seemed a prodigious amount. Let's see, four rows, two feet wide, and about 30 feet long-that's 240 square feet and we stacked it about six feet high, so that is 1,440 cubic feet and a cord is 128 cubic feet, so we had, oh, about 11 cords, give or take a little. And that would last about a year.
We'd go on the hill behind the house, sometimes as much as a half- to three-quarters of a mile up that ridge and cut trees in the early summer, sometimes as early as the late spring. We seldom cut anything later than mid-August as it would not dry in time for use. If we did, it was always an old dead tree. We always cut oak, hickory, ,locust, maybe an elm, hardwoods only--never pine or poplar or any of the softwoods. We tried to find trees that were anywhere from six to twelve inches in diameter, for it was much easier to bring them off the hill if they were smaller, and it did not take near the processing time once we got them home.
Naturally, as time went on, and the cutting continued, the supply got shorter and shorter and we had to move farther up the ridge to find the type trees we wanted. A few times we even went onto adjoining ridges to locate a good stand.
The tree cutter was always the oldest one there, unless our father went along. When he did, Paul or Nelson alternated with him in cutting the trees. We younger ones never got to touch the axe while on the hill unless our father said we could. We used a double-bitted axe which was kept sharp at all times. As any good axman can tell you, you never have to replace a good axe, but you only replace the handle. As I recall, we only had to do that twice in some fifteen years.
The trees were felled and limbed with the axe. Sometimes some of the limbs themselves were large enough to use as firewood and we would bring them off the hill too. Once we had a supply of logs ready to go, we attached them together with a chain and began the job of bringing them off the hill and into the back yard of the house. Sometimes the yard looked like a miniature lumberyard with all those logs waiting to be sawed into usable lengths. Many times, the tree cutter and another one of us would stay on the hill felling more trees while the others brought the previously cut logs to the house. That way we could get many more logs off the hill in a days time.
We had constructed sawhorses in the yard, actually just crossed timbers driven into the ground. Logs were placed on the horse and then were sawed into firewood lengths using a two-man crosscut saw. Smaller logs were chopped with the axe on the chopping log we kept in the yard.
A lot of chickens lost their lives on that old chopping log also. If splitting was needed, that was done as soon as the units were sawed off. We drove medium sized timbers into the ground at one side of the yard near the porch at the top of the bank, and at the walk coming off the porch. We stacked the firewood between these timbers for drying and storage until needed. We never covered the wood, preferring to let it air dry. If it rained, and it always did, only the top got wet anyway.
[Insert 'Blackberry Pickin' Time']
[Insert 'The Chicken Pluckers']
[Insert 'Telecommunications']
[Insert 'Big Yellow Schoolbus']
posted by tanstaafl | 7:54 AM
1 Comments:
Ah, you've given me an idea for a blog entry of my own :) Something to smile about. I have this afternoon and evening to myself--I think I'll write it then.
One thing I am noticing is that, when you were young, you guys didn't have much time to be bored. You know what I think? I think that is why it is now your generation with the most active minds. Did your mom have anything in particular she would say if one of you dared to try claiming boredom? Or did you all ever do that.
I know when we made the mistake of saying we were bored, Mamaw always seemed to have a list of options for us, haha. And she never even had to think about it--just started spouting out all the things we could be doing instead of moping around being bored.
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