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!