The Skunk

With fall coming on, the main topic of at-school conversation was hunting. Outside of the weak, little, hickory bow he had nothing to hunt with. Seemed like most of these country kids had a single shot .22, usually a “Stevens Favorite” or a “Crackshot” or a .410. or a 20 gauge single barrel. He didn’t even own a BB gun get although he pleaded constantly for one. The war in Europe had finally ended, but there were no BB guns to buy. Not only that but he was told he wasn’t old enough to have one yet. Pointing out that kids younger than he was had 22 rifles and .410 shotguns did no good. What a bummer! However another subject came up and that was trapping muskrats, mink, raccoons and foxes. In the machine shed hung about 1 dozen traps. Fortunately, Grandpa’s dad trapped when he was a boy so he was taught the fine art of trapping.

The farm had a lot of creeks and swamps on it and Grandpa was soon totally wrapped up in muskrat trapping. Success came slowly at first but as time went on things looked better. Getting up in the mornings in time to check traps before helping to milk (by hand) about 20 cows was pretty hard but worth it. Arriving to school the first item of business was to see who got what and most of in their traps.

Muskrats brought $1.50 each, skunks, depending on the width of the white stripe, were anywhere from $1.50 to $2.50. The less white the better. When coming up to a trap one morning Grandpa saw that a muskrat had been in it and was all torn to pieces. Grandpa’s dad told him that a mink had killed the muskrat. He showed him how to set 2 traps so that if a muskrat got in one and a mink found it, it would get caught in the second trap as he circled the doomed muskrat. Two days later he found a muskrat in one trap and a very enraged mink in the other. He also made another discovery. Muskrat hides brought $1.50 and Mink, $35.00. It was at this time that he entered the world of high finance.

Another discovery was made. Grandpa set a trap in the hole under the machine shed and coming back the next morning found a skunk inside. His dad was home so he was summoned for help. His dad took a hammer handle and slowly pulled the skunk out. He whacked it on the back of the head and that was it. Nice and neat! This was followed by a lesson on skinning skunks and what to avoid. No problem. Two days later the trap chain was again pulled down into the hole and sure enough there was a skunk in it. So he slowly pulled it out just like dad did and using the same hammer handle whacked the skunk just like his dad did. At this point things didn’t go the same.

Instead of just giving up the ghost as the last one did this one commenced to turn the air a kind of yellowish color even thought it was dead. After skinning this one as per instructions he went into the back shed of the house. Hid parents were having coffee in the kitchen and mom said, “Oh boy! I think there is a skunk in the shed!” When they looked in the shed at the smelly child standing there, mom said, “Stay right there!” She came out with a bar of “Jets Naptha” soap and he was told to take a bath in the cow tank. The fact that this water was close to freezing didn’t seem to matter. So a quick bath was taken, some old clothes brought out, and on further examination a second bath was ordered. That night he was fed out in the shed and found out what it was like to sleep out in the barn in the haymow. Sleeping in the hay was not so bad but things were about to start looking up.

Next day at school when discussing “who trapped what”, all the kids seemed to like the upwind side of him. Finally the bell rang and they all trooped into school. When the teacher came in her happy smile disappeared from her face and she asked, “Who got skunked?” He had to admit to it as every kid in the room was watching with a big grin on his face. The teacher told him that they couldn’t bear the smell and that he should probably go home for 2 days.

Wow! Trap a skunk and get 2 days off from school!! By this time he had trapped several more minks, and things were about as good as a kid could ask for. Except Grandpa still had no BB Gun and no .22 rifle. Oh well you can’t have everything at once and his dad said he could buy a BB Gun if one ever became available. With money in the bank, 12 traps and a dog named Rex for a buddy, what more does a kid need outside of a BB Fun!

Oh yes, one thing, how to kill a trapped skunk without getting skunked. There was an old trapper there who informed him that if you get the skunks feet off the ground he can’t activate his sprayer. You staple your trap chain to a pole and hoist the skunk up into the air, then whack him on the head. So that sounded OK coming from an old trapper. The next skunk was neatly lifted up off the ground on the end of a pole. It looked down to see where the kid was and sent a direct shot of stink right into the kids face. More baths with “Jets Naptha” soap, more nights in the haymow, and 2 more days off from school! There had to be a better way!

The Chicken Yard

Once the “Pecking order” was straightened out, all the “mean kids” were now good friends. The little country schoolhouse set on a hill. Behind it glowed a creek. Between the creek and the schoolhouse were swampy areas that held either mud or water, depending on the time of year. In the spring the creek overflowed and filled the low areas. If it froze hard the ice was thick enough to walk on. To the South just over the hill was the chicken yard of Mr. & Mrs. Clausen.

All you could see of it was the small chimney of the broader house form the schoolyard. In front was the church and parsonage. Kids I them days chucked rocks at everything, including: birds on fence posts, insulators on telephone polls, rabbits, and anything that looked like a good target. Although few of these things were ever hit, throwing stones was a passion!

So it came to pass that on the 1st day of school we found that the driveway of the church and school had recently been covered with new gravel. Not just ordinary gravel, but stones 1 ½ to 2 ½” big. It was a perfect size for throwing. The 1st problem was what to throw at. In that part of the country Martens, a bird similar to a large swallow, were greatly desired to have around. They came in colonies and each bird ate its weight in harmful insects each day. Elaborate birdhouses were built hoping to attract a colony of Martens. A birdhouse was found in a dilapidated state in the back yard of the parsonage. It was full of sparrows (each one would eat a bushel of wheat a year). So it soon became the object of discussion. Meanwhile, the war still raged in Europe and it didn’t take much imagination to turn the sparrows into Japanese or Germans, and the stones into hand grenades.

Soon the air was thick with stones and the old Marten birdhouse slowly lost parts and pieces. Soon nothing was left except the pole and the flat board it used to set on. Just like that, complete victory over the enemy! Next a stone was thrown at the little chimney over the hill, no, not a stone, a grenade. This brought forth a lot of racket from the chickens (Japanese). It didn’t take long for the air to be full of stones headed at the Japanese in Clausen’s chicken yard.

Great clouds of dust and feathers flew into the air accompanied by a lot of “fowl language”. The school bell ruined what could have been a complete victory. What fun! About 1 hour later there came a timid knock on the room door and the teacher went out in the hall. She came back in with an angry look on her face. She made the announcement that all the boys who threw rocks at Mr. Clausen’s chickens had to come forward. With great trepidation all the boys came to the front. The teacher said to follow Mr. Clausen.

He was a nice older man of about 20 years of age. He led us to the chicken yard where the dead Japanese were laying. Also, there were quite a few wounded ones. He quietly told us he wanted us to help him pluck and butcher all the chickens. He said they were getting old and not laying the way they should. He seemed quite pleased that he would have a lot of help with the work of getting the Japanese chickens ready for the freezer.

Later his little wife came out with cookies and lemonade. All had a nice time and he said he would be getting some new chickens. He told the boys he would appreciate it if they would hold off on throwing any more grenades. Next day a delegation arrived at school and spoke to them about the mess that parts of the old Martin birdhouse and all the rocks had made in the Parsonage backyard. The boys were volunteered to go over there during noon hour and recess to pick up the mess. Also it was suggested that a new Martin birdhouse be the next project in shop class. It took us the better part of the year to build it from some plans that someone came up with. The house was painted and it sure looked nice! A farmer with a loader on his tractor came and helped install it on the pole of the former Japanese hideout. It sure looked nice up there. Next spring a flock of Martins thought so also! They took over and returned every year thereafter!

The Bike

Summer was spent roaming the fields and woods. Watching crawdads in the creek, fishing for minnows and trout in the stream. Only later did Grandpa find out there were no trout. He spent his time catching frogs and snakes, looking for arrowheads and tomahawk heads, wishing for a BB-gun and messing with the litter of kittens that was found under the feedbox in a horse-stall. The regular cats were as wild as can be, but it didn’t take long to make nice pets of the kittens.

Summer was to soon gone and the spectacle of going to a new school was something not at all looked forward to. Grandpa’s dad managed to get a used medium sized 2-wheel bike for the smaller of his 2 sons. Due to the war there were no new bikes at any price. Finally, Great-Grandpa found a Schwinn in rather dilapidated shape. He sanded all the rust off and primed it, then painted it red with white trim. It was the model that had a tank between the 2 bars that went between your legs and it had a button on the right side. He also put a battery in the holder and we all were surprised when the horn worked. All in all the bike looked pretty nice and he was pretty proud of it. So finally the big day arrived.

It was 1 1/10th mile to the country schoolhouse and the 2 brothers made pretty good time. When Grandpa got there he found out that after looking at all the bikes there, his was about as nice as any of them. The country kids who stood in a circle around the bikes also observed this. Two of the bigger kids started taunting Grandpa about his bike and that him and his brother were “City Bugs”. This apparently made it OK for them to take rocks and start smashing the pretty red and white bike all to pieces. Soon the work of Grandpa’s dad and the boy’s pride lay there with all the spokes smashed out and the tank and horn button was a twisted mess of metal. The wheels were so bent they couldn’t be turned. Although the boy fought as hard as he could it was to no avail.

So sick at heart he went bawling home – walking. His parents were having coffee when he arrived. They finally got the story out of him of what had just happened. The upshot of all this is: 1. That if you don’t have a bike you walk to school, 2. He found out what a pacifist his dad was, and 3. He decided that given time he would kill or seriously wound all of those mean kids. Where the teacher was all this time he didn’t know. Mom got a call from school about the bad behavior of Grandpa in starting a fight. She let the teacher know that in no uncertain terms, that she knew what had happened and if they didn’t believe her to go out and look at what was left of the bike.

Grandpa went back to school (walking) and learned about “pecking orders”. He had to fight every boy there. Although none were killed, it sure felt good! It was 3 years before the oldest tormenter went crashing head over heals down 13 cement steps and yes, he remained alive!

The Farm

Yep! 100 acres of farm, not just any old farm, but a farm designed for a kid who loves to be outside. It had about 14 acres of woods that went on across the fence for what seemed like forever. Through the woods meandered a dandy creek that had small ponds of various sizes all along its banks. Cattail swamps were scattered here and there. Also, there was a large barn, a granary, chicken coop, pig pen, corn crib and a dilapidated old machine shed that, wonder of wonders, held a beautiful cutter. A cutter is a sleigh designed to be pulled by a single horse.

In the sleigh was a dusty, old, worn-out robe of an animal hide that later proved to be buffalo. The barn had 2 rows of stations for milking cows, a big box stall and four stalls for work horses. Of immediate interest was the fact that the lower floor was full of sparrows. By shutting the doors and windows you could close off all escape and then swat the birds with brooms. Grandpa’s dad informed him that each sparrow cost the farmers a bushel of grain per year so we had constant warfare with sparrows and starlings.

The previous owner hadn’t cleaned out the manure and a cow could stand on it and just clear the ceiling. There was a wheelbarrow and a plank that extended from the outside door to the top of the manure pile. Great-Grandpa was still doing carpenter work so the 2 brothers got busy forking out the mess, putting it in the wheelbarrow and dumping it over the back side of the manure pile. This went on undetected by Grandpa’s dad until it was all done. One night after supper Grandpa’s parents were talking about getting some milk cows. Great-Grandpa didn’t want to face the terrible job of cleaning out the barn to make room for the cows. The boys told him to come out to the barn so they could show him something. You can imagine his amazement to find it all cleaned out!

Grandpa’s dad was slowly buying the needed machinery to farm. He bought a “General” tractor, disk, drag, sulky mowing machine, etc. The neighbors had Belgium horses which were much more interesting to Grandpa than a tractor. His days were spent exploring the fields and woods. What a beautiful place. The creek and ponds were full of turtles and frogs, squirrels in the woods, and raccoon tracks in the mud. What more could a kid want?

So began a whole new phase in the life of my Grandpa. He had a lot of things to learn about: Such as skunks, trapping, country kids, getting shot at when walking 1 1/10th of a mile to school, and one room country schools with 1 teacher, troublesome girls, etc.

The Old Dutchman

Big changes were soon to come. One night at the supper table Grandpa’s Dad and Mom made the announcement that they were moving to a farm. Great-grandpa knew a man who owned a 100-acre farm. He was in need of someone to work and rent it from him. The fact that farmers were exempt from the draft probable had something to do with it also. So at the approximate age of 9 he went from a small city lot to 100 acres of land. Left behind were all the memories of youth. No more Cowboys & Indians, no more destruction of imaginary Japanese and Germans. Gone was the hotheaded old Dutchman neighbor who used to create some excitement.

Like the time he bought a radio and announced to one and all that he could hear all the way to Chicago. No one believed him of course because he had the first radio in the area. So he invited all the neighbors to show them what his radio could do. While all stood around in rapt attention he plugged it in and soon all the lights started glowing. This included a big green cat’s eye that changed, as you got closer to a station. There were loads of screeching sounds and a lot of static. For a couple of seconds there was far-off music mixed with static. The Old Dutch man was getting madder and madder. He finally leaped up from his chair, grabbed the offending radio and heaved it out the big window, smashing all the glass into the grass outside. This was the talk of the neighborhood for some time.

This same fellow had a garage that was cut into the bank on which was a cement top with an iron rail. You could walk from the grass right onto the garage roof. This fellow was a hard worker and made a little extra money in his day (outside of raising 9 kids). He had a big black car that had all the latest innovations on it. Grandpa’s dad had a Model T and later a Model A. These had a crank in front to turn over and start the motor. Now this big black car had an electric starter on it, which was the cause of much pride. On this particular day Grandpa was standing on the cement garage roof watching the Dutchman down below. His car had long running boards that sloped right up and became the fenders. On each of the front fenders was mounted a big chrome headlight shaped like a big bullet on a stem.

Anyways the Dutchman got in his car and stepped on the starter. The engine turned over a few times but wouldn’t start. Finally, the battery was dead. By this time the Ole Boy was really getting wound up. Now he lifted the hood and stood looking inside. Then he messed with a few things, got back in the car, but no battery power. So he set the gun and whatever and went out with the crank in his big hands. He turned the motor over and it started. Rushing back to the door he leaped inside only in time to have the car stop. So out again. He put in the crank and kicked it over. Again it started; again it stopped just as he was getting in. By this time he was turning blue and Grandpa was learning a whole new vocabulary. Now things were really getting interesting.

In a fit of terrible anger the Ole Boy grabbed a sledge hammer and with a mighty swing and crash, sent one of the headlights sailing off its stem and down into the road going tink tink tink. Then with another roar he changed the other headlight with a Dutch curse and a swing sent I tinking after the first one. By this time he was in a mighty rage and proceeded to pound with the sledge upon the hood of the car. Who knows how far this could have gone if his patient little wife didn’t step out and say in her accent, “Vell Jacob Vwat to tink yore doing dis time?”

So now its 100-acres of freedom, cats, cows, dogs and all that good stuff.

The Canoe and the Clubhouse

On looking back over the years, one event each summer still holds wonderful memories. Grandpa’s dad would rent a cottage on Wall Lake for 1 or 2 weeks. What fun! A fishing pole and a piece of bread could catch hundreds of bluegills and sunfish right off the dock. Of course they were small and had to be tossed back but still it was a lot of fun.

It was at this lake that he first saw a beautiful, streamlined boat with the ends turned up. Great-grandpa said it was a canoe and acted like it was as deadly as a rattlesnake. You get in one, go out in the water and tip over and drown. Looking around he noticed quite a few of those “canoes”. In the evening people would be out in them fishing or just paddling around. He watched anxiously for them to turn over and drown everyone, but it never happened. So the day came when a cousin came over. As soon as all the older folks had arrived they got into boats and left for a resort on the other side of the lake. The 2 boys put the dreaded canoe in the water and climbed in. How nice it responded to a stroke of the paddle. Soon they were cruising around the lake. Everything went fine until they met up with dad and mom on the far side. They looked at the boys in shock and horror. We were told in no uncertain terms to go back home before we tipped over. We got told again of the canoes propensity to turn over and drown all on board. This must be what makes them so popular!

On returning home, another problem had developed. There was a big Box-elder tree that grew on the edge of our lot. It bowed over across the fence and a large part of it was over the neighbors land. In the top of this tree was a tree house. It had been built by a bunch of kids that had over the years caused my grandpa and his brother a lot of trouble. On the outside the large letters were notices that those two could not be members of the “club”. The regular members jeered and taunted them. This went on for about 4 days. Finally they came up with a plan.

The younger brother went to work with an axe. Due to the great leaning of the tree it wasn’t long before there were snapping noises. The “club” at this point was offering free memberships, but it was too late. The screams brought out the parents just in time to see the whole tree and “club” came crashing down. It came down sort of slow and no one got hurt. Grandpa’s dad didn’t take to hot to this “affirmative action”, but he said that he was sick of all the box-elder beetles and was going to remove the tree anyway. It also taught the nasty kids not to mess with the 2 brothers.

Meanwhile the war raged on. Pearl Harbor and the resulting war was to make dramatic changes in their life style.

Cowboys 'n' Indians

With the terrible threat of TadyAtes being removed from our lives, there only remained one real threat. That being, “If you don’t behave, I’ll lock you in the coal bin.” In the winter the smell of burning coal filled the air. Small children didn’t really understand what was in the coal bin. There was never any light in them and what little light did shine in showed shiny sparkly things. Whether these were eyes or teeth no one wanted to find out.

One thing greatly coveted by my Grandpa was a pocketknife and a real “cap gun”. The knife of course wasn’t to be had because “you’ll cut yourself” and the gun cots $1.29 and was way to expensive. On Wednesday night at 7 pm the “Lone Ranger” came on and Grandpa listened to the thundering hoof beats of the great horse “Silver” and the cry “The Lone Ranger Rides Again!” For a while each Wed. night they were transported back in time to where good prevailed and the evil was either shot or severely punished.

During the day they played “Cowboys and Indians”. One rich kid had 4 sets of double holsters and chrome plated cap guns. He’d let you use one but that meant that he could say whom really “got shot” or not. You could waylay him between the barns and shoot him at point blank range. He could tell you that your bullet hit an obstruction and therefore you didn’t “get him”. Meanwhile he could shoot at you from a block away and never miss! Grandpa learned one of the basic principles of life being, “Them whats got = gets”. Once can imagine the great thrill when for Grandpa’s birthday his favorite Aunt bought him a bow and arrow set.

Due to the war in progress it didn’t have metal points on the arrows but some form of plastic. This bow was shot from morning to night until he got pretty efficient with it. This led to two things in his life. They were probably not real good, but in retrospect one was pretty neat. First, was the Cowboys and Indians ordeal. Being the only kid with a bow and arrow he automatically became the Indian. He learned that in the game of “guns”, it was the one who quietly waited in cover that usually “got” the other guy who sneaked around looking for you.

So it happened one day that he hid between one of the barns behind some wild plants and waited. After a while he saw the rich kid complete with cowboy boots and clothes. He had two guns fastened low for a fast draw and peeked out from behind some junk and got ready to make a run across an empty back lot. After looking around for the “enemy” he made his run. Grandpa drew back his bow, swung with him, got a good lead on him and shot. Even today he can look back and see the beautiful arch that arrow made. The arrow went clear across the lot and hit the rich kid right in the top of head neatly removing his cowboy Roy Roger’s hat. For once there was no argument about his being shot. That also was the last time we played Cowboy and Indians. From then on it was America’s army against the Japanese and Germans as the war raged on.

The second ordeal was due to squirrels. This particular one was sitting on top of the neighbor’s house and sassing Grandpa. It was pretty iffy whether the small bow and arrow would bring down a squirrel, but here was the big chance. Carefully drawing back the bow he took a fine aim. The arrow went right under its mark and over the ridge of the house. This proved 2 things. He didn’t hold it high enough and an arrow only makes a small hose in a neighbor’s front window. That of course can easily be fixed with several layers of scotch tape. Why would a guy get so bent out of shape for such a small hole! He avoided going on that street for about three months. No sense in stirring up unnecessary trouble!