As we were growing up, it sort of became a second home to my brother, my sisters, and me. You see, my Aunt and Uncle, Jeanne (Mom's sister) and Harlan (Dad's stepbrother), lived there, worked there, raised their family there, and, sometimes, even raised us there for short periods of time when our parents took a trip. The favor was returned sometimes, and Jeanne and Harlan's kids would stay with us in the thriving metropolis of New Leipzig (population at the time - around 350, including cats, dogs, chickens, cows, and maybe even a wild animal or two). Many wonderful memories.
One of those memories (still trying to figure out if this was one of those 'wonderful' memories, or
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| Uncle Harlan Circa December 1985 Last photo of him about a week and a half before he passed away |
That boar had to have weighed in at about a hunnert thousand pounds, cuz it was bigger than me (I was a seventh grader at the time, almost 6'3" tall and maybe weighed in at about 130 lbs. with five layers of clothes on and all of them soaking wet).
Harlan's plan was to 'herd' this boar (who was one cantankerous sumbitch to begin with) inside and along the fence line. He'd do this on horseback. So far, so good. Yeah, Harlan could do this. Yeah, he knew exactly what he wanted and what he was doing.
Problem is, Harlan decided to include me in this plan by planting me at one point along the fence line (inside it of course) armed with a stick. He would drive the boar straight at me, and when this behemoth got close enough, I was supposed to whack it on the snout to turn it toward, and into, the chute into the back of the pick-up.
That's when it went south for me. That's when it seemed kinda like herding cats was what I was in for.
He assured me the boar would turn, that the boar wouldn't like getting whacked on the snout, that the boar would do as expected. Yep, sure, all right.
With more than a little trepidation, I went to my spot, stood there anxiously awaiting what I thought would surely be the death of me. I watched as Harlan did exactly what he said he was going to do. He herded that boar very expertly along the fence line all the way out to the road, to the other side of the sty, and down the fence line directly on a collision course with me.
I stood my ground.
I still stood my ground.
I continued to stand my ground.
Then, all of a sudden, I was up and over the other side of the fence before I even had a chance to think about it.
Harlan was NOT happy with me.
To be honest, I don't even remember how we finally got that sumbitch boar into the back of the pick-up. What I do remember is the embarrassment, the shame at having let my Uncle Harlan down in this very simple, but dangerous job.
It's the little things I remember from my childhood, like this, that shaped who I became eventually. I blew this one. But, was I a coward for jumping out of the way? Or, was I using common sense? Or, was I just exercising my own 'survival instinct'?
Lots of things have happened to me in my life since then - some of them a lot less pleasant, by far, than this one was. I can look back on this event with some humor now. It didn't seem humorous to me at the time, that's for sure.
By the same token, I can now look back at some of the things that have happened in my adult life, and, although I won't ever find them to be humorous, I've found I either must cope with and live with the outcome(s) or the outcome(s) will consume me.
That's life. Cope with it and live with it. Fatalistic? Perhaps. But if you are still standing even after a metaphorical runaway freight train has run you over, you've already shown that life can hand you hardship, but you're stronger and more capable of handling it than even you realize. And, once you accept that inner strength, true happiness will also find you.
Thanks, Uncle Harlan (may you rest in peace), for teaching me one of those little things that ultimately helped shape who I became.
Shared stories of vulnerability is a powerful strength. Thank you.
ReplyDeleteThank you, John. I appreciate that. You being from 'Down Under', I'd welcome stories from your upbringing, as well. The more we share, the more we will know.....
DeleteOne of the highlights of being a little kid was visiting cousins in North Dakota. We lived in Montana and drove over several times. I recall Jerry (always will be Jerry to me) telling me the first joke I ever heard as we were riding in a pickup near New Leipzig. It was fun at the farm and I thought it was great feeding the animals and doing the chores without realizing that they had to be done every day of the year, rain or shine and that my cousins were not so enamored with it. Uncle Harlan was pretty strict and a no nonsense kind of man. I liked being around all the animals, and remember going into the barn after a sow had a big litter and I sat down next to her while they were feeding and was petting them and talking to them. They had a farm hand named Hugo, I think, and he told me to 'be careful around dem pigs' but I stayed with them for a bit until Harlan came out and saw me in there with them and asked me if I was crazy. I told him I liked the pigs and he said they were gonna taste good someday and to get the hell out of there. He was hard on the animals and the kids but it was necessary because farm life is not easy. He did cut loose a little bit with my dad in the evenings when they'd have a drink or three and the adults would play cards. Aunt Jeanne was always so jovial and kind to us young'uns. I had a childhood crush, I reckon you'd call it. on my cousin Fonda, we're the same age and we'd play in the barn together and one time I recall going to school with her during a Thanksgiving visit. She sang some songs and was the star of the Pilgrim's pageant. Us kids slept up in the attic while we were visiting and I had to sleep with Clyde on the boys side of the big room. One night I ran over and jumped in bed with Fonda and we were hugging and giggling. Harlan came up to check on the kids and found me in bed with her and snatched me up and whacked me on the butt a good one. I went back to sleep with ol' Clyde and in the morning at breakfast was severely chastised by the adults. I didn't know what the fuss was about, being eight or ten years old and I told them that I was gonna marry Fonda anyway. They told me that we couldn't be married because we were cousins and would have 'funny looking babies' or some such nonsense. I told them that in that case I'd get her spayed (we had just had our dog spayed not long before.) They got a hoot out of that and sent me outside to help with the chores. Fonda and I never did get married to each other but between us have had quite a few spouses...When I was in the Army in 1971 in California, I went up to visit Harlan in Oregon after the farm had been sold and he reminded me about that story.
ReplyDeleteThanks for sharing, Steve. You do have a way with words. These are the kind of comments I'm hoping other family and friends will weigh in with.
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