Being Eleven

When you’re eleven years old, some days are tough, like being in history class on a sunny day and you can smell the sweet spring air coming in the classroom window. Some days are good, usually Saturdays when there is no school and no church. Some days are perfect and this was one of those.

 

It was June; almost summer, but still chilly in the morning. The sun was just coming up as I got out of bed, yanked a tee shirt over my head, and jumped into my dungarees ( we didn’t call them jeans back then ), socks and shoes. My day didn’t start without breakfast; I sure did love to eat. Grab any bowl at hand, toss in some shredded wheat, bury it in cold goats milk, and top it off with sugar. Chores were pretty simple; feed the goats and put them out to pasture. Dad did the milking and had it done while I was eating. There were always weeds to be pulled in the vegetable garden and lawn to be mowed, but I could tell before I got out of bed that today was for sneaking off.

 

I have always been a bit of a solitary creature. I had friends, brothers and a sister who would have gone with me, but if I really wanted a free day I would likely go off alone. Once the chores were done I went back in the house, fixed a peanut butter sandwich, found a small paper bag stuffed the sandwich in and jammed it in my jacket pocket. I had a Boy Scout canteen, but I wouldn’t need it today, because I knew there was a natural spring where I was going, and there is nothing quite like ice cold spring water with your sandwich.

 

The dirt road that went past our house continued past a neighbor’s house and then became a wood road, a wide path really, wandering almost two miles before opening onto another road. This woodland was filled with stone quarries. In the early nineteen hundreds New York city was being paved and the sidewalks were paved with smooth gray-blue sheets of bluestone from this part of upstate. Now in 1951, the quarries were long abandoned.

 

As I walked along the wood road I heard a crow call out from somewhere on my right, then it flew from behind me directly over my head, and straight in the direction I was going, and calling its raspy warning. I knew I would not be seeing any animals for a while.

 

I walked on down the path until I came to a fork, took the left branch, went over a small hill and came to the quarry that was my goal. This was the most interesting of the many quarries because it had the most “stuff’ around. The central focus was a crane made of two huge wooden poles, one straight up and one at a steep angle, connected by several cables, and a large gear wheel to haul the stone out of the quarry.

 

The prize here was a truck, a Dodge I think, with a narrow hood that opened on hinges from both sides, exposing its engine with all the wonderful parts that made it work. I had been here with my father and older sister and brother, and had been given a lesson on the parts that make a car engine work. The steering wheel still turned, and the gas, clutch, and brake pedals still pushed, so I knew that it was just a matter of a few adjustments and I would have it running. I began checking all those engine parts, but my little wrench and screwdriver were, alas, no match for years of rust.

 

Soon it was time for lunch, one of my favorite times. Pooh bear and I have this in common. The spring was not far away, and I wanted a drink with the sandwich. I did not bring a cup, so I first rinsed my very dirty hands in the downstream side of the spring ( at least I knew that much ), and then used my cupped hands to bring a few sips of that elixir to my mouth. My sandwich was much the worse for its time in my pocket, but it didn’t affect the taste at all. As I ate, I noticed some blackberry bushes growing on an old rock pile nearby. Blackberries, ripened in the sun would be the ideal dessert. I climbed up the pile and was about to pick a lush berry when I realized I had company. A black bear was standing on her hind les at the opposite side of the berry patch, no more than 15 yards away, casually eating berries. I am assuming it was a female because it was quite small, shorter than me, though quite a bit rounder. We stood there looking at each other, quite calm, saying nothing, for three or four seconds. Then she lowered herself to all fours and turned away. I went back down the rock pile, heart pounding, and could hear her moving away from me. At that point I decided I’d had enough adventure for one day, and headed on home.

 

As I look back over very many years, I find this all as happy now as it was at the time, and also greatly amusing. Meeting a bear was a special treat. I began my fascination with wild animals when I first tried to catch a chipmunk at about four years of age, and it has never left me. The truck had probably been sitting out in the weather for ten years and everything was covered in rust. I know it was an old design with a crank starter and a spark advance. I knew nothing at all except the name and purpose of some of the parts. The wonder of being young is that none of those limitations had any effect on my perfect day.

 

© Just Jim 2008