When school began in the fall, the evenings were still long and light until late. After I would get off the bus I would ride my bike or run to my neighbors. My neighbor was my age and we rode the bus together and were in the same class. This time when I went to her house she showed me a trough. She told me there was a fish in it, I think her dad had put it in there.

As you grow up you go through many different likes, dislikes, phases I guess. I quickly became obsessed with this catfish. The trough was concrete. It was filled with water. It had a spout, and sometimes there was a garden hose connected to it. Along the inside of the trough was black and green algae. The water was dark, which made it seem deep. I couldn’t touch the bottom of the trough with my hand. My arms would rub the sides of the trough and it would get pretty dirty and smelly.

I am not sure but I believe I went to her house every evening for a week or more trying to capture the fish. We always had fun and her moms cookies were the best!

At first I just wanted to touch the catfish. I could feel it slide by my hand when I would reach into the water. When it would touch me I would gasp and giggle. I started grabbing at it and it would slide through my hands. She would reach in and grab at the fish on the other side of the trough. We did this for about an hour then I would have to go home when it started to get dark. When I got home my shirt would be green and black with algae. On about the fourth or fifth evening my mom told me no more. I was getting filthy, and she wanted to know what we were up to. When I told her the story, she thought I was crazy wanting to catch a catfish in a trough.

Mom said it was getting too chilly out in the evenings and I needed to stay home. I didn’t ever catch the catfish, but my neighbor did grab it and pull it out of the water on that last warm evening. It had long whiskers and was the biggest fish I had ever seen.

I think the catfish ended up in my neighbors pond, at least that is what I have told myself.

We lived about a mile from the city limits. All along the north edge of our property it was filled with blackberry brambles and a few raspberry bushes. On the south edge, on the other side of the fence there were Kenny’s cows. They would watch us, and slowly follow us throughout the day. At the east end of our property we had a barn, 6 fruit trees, a big garden and a creek.

To get down to the creek you would have to skid down the embankment, by going this way you would get dirt and scratches on your legs. If you were walking down the road it was easier, you could walk down the embankment. Then you would end up next to a concrete culvert. Once you got down to the creek the only way to get into the culvert was to wade through the water. If you wanted to go into the culvert from the north side it was much easier, which is the way I usually went. You could just slide down the ditch and you wouldn’t have to wade in the water.

Once inside the culvert it was dark, and I couldn’t completely stand up straight. The rounded sides of it were slick with green algae. There were small rocks, leaves and some sticks that were caught in the water flow on the floor. When I would stand perfectly still I could hear the sound of the rustling leaves and the trickling water from the culvert falling into the creek.

I spent a lot of time down at the creek. I would walk across the thin slick flat rocks and feel the cool water on my hands while I looked for old bottles, Indian beads, and periwinkles. I taught myself how to skip small flat rocks across the water. My most favorite thing to do was to fish. The fish were so tiny I tried to catch them by hand, with a net and eventually used a pole. Whenever I could have cousins, friends or neighbors over we would end up down at the creek.

As I grew up I would take my nephew and nieces down there to explore. It was exciting to show them my favorite spot. I hope one day others get to enjoy the creek as I did when I was young.

I remember waking up with my mom looking down at me. “Time to get up”, she would say. It was a warm morning, I could see the rays of sun on the wall behind her. The aroma of the lilac bush was coming in the bedroom window. I asked her not to be mad but I had a question.

That morning I asked her if I could change my name and that I wanted a monkey. I told her I would never ask for anything for my birthday or Christmas again if I got a monkey. My friend had a monkey named Freddy, I was afraid of Freddy but I still wanted a monkey. If I had a monkey it would wear a diaper and I would dress it in clothes.

My mom asked me why I wanted to change my name. I didn’t really know why. I suppose my answer was – because. She then asked me what I wanted to change my name to. I told her buttons. I think our neighbors had a dog named buttons. She said she would talk to my dad about changing my name, but would not talk to him about the monkey.

That evening she told me I needed to keep my given name. She explained to me that I was named after an actor on a tv show that was about a crew on a submarine. She also told me I could not have a monkey because they are mean. I immediately asked if she liked peanut or pickles better than buttons. She laughed and with that laugh I knew not to ask again. I did ask again and again for a monkey however but that wasn’t in the cards for me either.

My dad got a wine making kit for Christmas. He liked the kit, but I think he felt it was missing something. He later added some of his own ideas and bottles.

It was the time of year that the Elderberries were ripe. Elderberries are a tiny dark purple berries. The berries grow in thick bunches on bushes at the edge of ditches and by the woods. The berries are so tiny you can’t individually pick them. My dad snapped the ends of the branches that were heaviest with the berries and put them in a bucket

When I saw the bucket of berries, I was so excited. I think is was the beautiful color and the mounds of tiny berries wet with dew. My dad told me he was going to make wine.

My mom came outside and saw my dad rolling up his pants legs. She seemed uninterested and went back in the house and continued sweeping, mopping, sewing, ironing or cooking, the things she did daily. My dad took off his socks and shoes. He poured the beautiful berries into a copper boiler. He pulled up a lawn chair, sat down and put is feet into the container and began to step on the berries. I wasn’t grossed out so I helped by pulling out the thin branches as the berries were squashed.

This story is now going to jump ahead a few months. I don’t know what happened or the details over the last few months. I do know that my dad had put two or three bottles under my crib.

One morning I woke up to a loud pop, glass breaking and a smell. It smelled kinda like vinegar. I was in my crib. Yes, my crib. I have been told I slept there until I was in “6th grade, because she was a runt”. Anyway, that’s another story. The loud popping sound came from under my crib. My mom ran in and told me not to move. There was a thick foam rolling through broken glass across the floor. It smelled terrible, maybe like vinegar. What had happened? The bottles exploded! The beautiful elderberries wasted into a foamy smelly liquid.

My mom was scrambling to mop up the mess and sweep up the broken glass. My sister helped while complaining about the smell.

That night there was a supper time discussion about the explosion. The next day I got moved from the crib to my own bed, in my sisters room, and that was the last time my dad made wine.

Thanks for joining me!

Good company in a journey makes the way seem shorter. — Izaak Walton

I feel like I need to share some of my stories from my childhood before I forget them.

We use to order baby chicks through the mail. The mailman would honk his car horn when we had a large parcel. The baby chicks would arrive in a box. If we weren’t home when the mail arrived, the box would be placed next to the mailbox post.

Only a few of the chicks survived in this order. I had a chick that really loved being around me, followed me around, let me hold him and pet him. He grew up and became a very angry hateful rooster. He chased my sister and me everyday all over the yard. He would chase us up to the back porch and leap at us as we opened the screen door to run in. He would occasionally make contact and scratch us on the back or the legs with his talons.

One day he chased me from the clothesline pole to the backdoor. I ran in the house crying, he had gotten me on the back. My mom was doing dishes, ironing, cooking, sweeping or mopping it seems she was always busy – well, this day she was not in any mood to hear about the rooster. She saw me, left the kitchen, went to the backyard and the rooster came at her. I ran to my bedroom to watch out the window. Somehow she got ahold of his neck, it all happened so fast. Mom grabbed his neck and started swinging him over her head. She went around one, two, three times. Then somehow he fell out of her hand onto the ground. His eyes were closed, like he was in a deep sleep.

Mom came back into the home. I only know because I heard the back screen door slam. She had went into the bathroom to wash her hands. I was still in my bedroom when she came in and told me she had killed the rooster. He was dead. We wouldn’t have to run from him anymore. I turned to look out my bedroom window to look at him. He wasn’t there. He was gone. I told my mom, and she said it could’nt be, she snapped him neck. He was in the back yard walking around, a little wobbly, but was still alive.

The evening when my dad got home, met him by the back door. She must of told him what had happened. I could hear him laughing, I am not sure why. Anyway, he went out to the yard – I watched from my window. He grabbed the rooster, took it to the farther back yard (which we called the holler). Mom put a pot of water on the boil. Dad did it. He murdered the mean rooster. I was sad and relieved.

We had the rooster for supper that night. We didn’t miss being chased, or scratched, or the rooster pecking our head as he flew by. We didn’t miss the 4:30 in the morning or the 12 midnight cock-a-doodle-doos. We did talk about him and mom many evenings over supper.