Thank you for sharing your beautiful, and sometimes sad, memories. You reminded me of so many wonderful summers hanging out with the Moore boys down the hill in DeForest; their house was right next to the endlessly captivating Yahara crick. Also listening to your turns of phrase from Coop inspired me to walk upstairs and pull my copy down for another read. Thank you for that, too.
Great episode Michael. I not sure why kids have such a fascination with culverts. Maybe it's the thought that the water that had been meandering along in its bed was suddenly controlled and told where to go.
I was in Scouts from the age of 7 until I aged out at 17. On one camping trip in the middle of nowhere one of my friends decided it would be good idea to see if he could crawl his way through a culvert that was just slightly larger in diameter than he was. Turns out he couldn't. It took a while before we realized he was missing and when we located him he was well wedged in. Being Scouts we knew we had to get him out since help was a long ways away. We devised a plan - we tied a rope around one of my ankles (me being the skinniest) and I crawled in behind him. When I reached him I grabbed the cuff of his jeans the the guys pulled us both out together. Only damage was some dirty cloths and skinned up elbows.
That put an end to our culvert adventures for good.
My brothers and I'd defy our parents' warnings and escape to an old abandoned clay pit, hidden behind the town cemetary. A smoldering campfire left by train-hopping "hoboes", fragments of animal skeletons, and piercing birdcalls confirmed that we'd entered a rarefied world of adventure few of our friends would dare explore.
Still have my toy Farmall tractor that looks just like yours. My brother has the old white Tonka truck that he passed on to his son.
And thank you for "crick," which I keep telling my Milwaukee-born wife is indeed the correct pronunciation.
Yah, we go with crick up there.
Thank you for sharing your beautiful, and sometimes sad, memories. You reminded me of so many wonderful summers hanging out with the Moore boys down the hill in DeForest; their house was right next to the endlessly captivating Yahara crick. Also listening to your turns of phrase from Coop inspired me to walk upstairs and pull my copy down for another read. Thank you for that, too.
I so enjoy it when "my" story echoes with others. Thank you.
Great episode Michael. I not sure why kids have such a fascination with culverts. Maybe it's the thought that the water that had been meandering along in its bed was suddenly controlled and told where to go.
I was in Scouts from the age of 7 until I aged out at 17. On one camping trip in the middle of nowhere one of my friends decided it would be good idea to see if he could crawl his way through a culvert that was just slightly larger in diameter than he was. Turns out he couldn't. It took a while before we realized he was missing and when we located him he was well wedged in. Being Scouts we knew we had to get him out since help was a long ways away. We devised a plan - we tied a rope around one of my ankles (me being the skinniest) and I crawled in behind him. When I reached him I grabbed the cuff of his jeans the the guys pulled us both out together. Only damage was some dirty cloths and skinned up elbows.
That put an end to our culvert adventures for good.
Oof, the Scout story is entertaining from a distance, but could have been deadly. I'm glad all ended well.
So beautiful 😍 I love the way you write!!
Thank you for giving it your time.
My brothers and I'd defy our parents' warnings and escape to an old abandoned clay pit, hidden behind the town cemetary. A smoldering campfire left by train-hopping "hoboes", fragments of animal skeletons, and piercing birdcalls confirmed that we'd entered a rarefied world of adventure few of our friends would dare explore.
Such wonders we were allowed in roaming.
Krick. Yes. Happy Easter.
Thank you sir.