W - Western - #AtoZChallenge

 The trip home was always Bully's favorite part of each year. After a nearly 700-mile, two-month long drive getting his cattle to market, he could now relax and enjoy the beauty of this land he crossed every spring.

Every year, he paid the men who helped him get the cattle from Texas to Kansas (where they were worth five to eight times the Texas price) and released them to go find work elsewhere. He would make the long trip back home alone. He could make it back in a couple of weeks when he didn't have over 2,000 head of cattle to worry about and men to keep in line.

The obstacles he encountered on the way north to Kansas were barely an inconvenience when tackled alone on the way back. The Native Americans didn't even charge him to cross their land when he wasn't coming through with a large crowd disrupting their planting seasons.

Bully spotted a tree with a wide spread of branches right next to a creek. He didn't usually like camping out so close to creeks. Nocturnal animals coming out to drink would sometimes get too close when he was sleeping. However, there was no shortage of wood for a fire here. Keeping a good flame going throughout the night generally kept them away.

He set up his simple camp and fried some skillet camp bread to go with his dried beef. He prepped his coffee for brewing in the morning and gathered some more wood to keep the fire going all night.

Once satisfied, he laid back on his pack against the tree and listened to the evening sounds of Oklahoma as he drifted off to sleep. He loved this time of year.

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All this month, I am participating in the A to Z Challenge. A new post will go up every day (except Sundays) using a letter of the alphabet as the starting off point. My theme for the month is literary genres. I am writing in a different genre of flash fiction each day. Today's letter is W for Western.

Cave Dwellers

When I was a kid, our family vacations often consisted of going camping at Rend Lake in Southern Illinois. Rend Lake is the lake that was a few miles from our house, but to make it feel like we were on a major journey, our parents would always take us to camp on the other side.

Now, we did have some fun times, but I would yearn for the times when we would go further than the next county over. And get to sleep in an actual bed. And didn't have to catch our food if we wanted to eat. And use a real shower.

I don't blame my parents. A trip to the lake was a low-cost vacation and we didn't have a lot of money. Plus, the main purpose for a vacation is to get away from the stress of work. My dad worked hard in a coal mine and just wanted to get away now and then. Planning a big trip often just causes more stress and my father was of the belief that encouraging man's careless eagerness to live indoors just exaggerated that stress.

Despite the desire to stay close to home and eat burnt potatoes dug out of a campfire, sometimes we had to venture further out because my mother's family lived on the other side of Missouri. On one of our trips to visit them, we made an unscheduled stop to visit Onondaga Cave. I don't know how our parents felt about it, but that cave blew my brothers and I away. It was awesome. From that day on, anytime we were in the St. Louis area, we would beg to go back and see the cave.

On one of these trips, as we saw the interstate sign advertising that the cave was 87 MILES AHEAD, we started our usual pleading and my mother pointed out that there other caves beside that one. Now, that may have been true, but we had not seen those other caves and as stupid children (you may have noticed this about your own children), we wanted to see the one we knew we loved.

Despite how adorable we were, my mother denied our request and forced us to go to Meramac Caverns instead. Once we stopped crying about how horrible our mother was being to us, we looked around and noticed that this cave was even better than Onondaga. It was amazing. From then on, we became cave people.

Wait. Not "cave people" like we quit school and started living naked in the caverns while eating the few bats we could knock off the ceiling and using their guano to protect our skin from the sun when we stepped outside, but "cave people" like people who really enjoy caves.

Every time we were on a road trip, we kept our eyes open for cave systems and since Missouri has over 6,000 chartered caves, there were plenty to find. Our vacations started to center around cavern systems instead of the local lake. One of our vacations even took us to Arkansas because of a large system of caverns we were eager to explore.

On one of these trips, Dad heard about a cave we could explore ourselves and we drove out in the middle of BFE to find it. We went down miles of dirt roads and eventually parked in a field and started walking. It was a long walk, but we eventually found the mouth of the cave and ventured in. I was in junior high and my brothers are 3 and 5 years younger than me. This means that we are significantly younger and more nimble than our parents and were able to move through the cave more quickly and easily.  As the ceiling of the cave got lower and lower, my brothers and I pulled further ahead.

Before long, it required crawling on our hands and knees to progress further. Our parents checked our lights and told us we could go a few yards up to see if it opened up on the other side. If it did, they would follow us through. We edged forward as the ceiling lowered and lowered and soon had to pull ourselves along on our bellies. We yelled back that we were fine every time we heard our parents voices calling for us and continued forward.

As the ceiling started scraping our backs when we moved forward, we decided to move over into the small stream that was flowing beside us. The water was freezing, but the erosion of flowing water gave a few more inches of space to work with. Unfortunately, the ceiling was still getting lower as we progressed. We eventually had to flip over onto our backs and just keep our faces above the water as we pulled ourselves through. Imagine lying on your back in about a foot of water unable raise your head out of the water because there is a slab of stone about two inches above the surface. This is what we were pulling ourselves through. Of course, now that our ears were underwater, we could no longer hear the cries of our parents screaming for us to answer them.

We slowly pushed forward with no regard as to how we would back out of this if the ceiling got so low we couldn't breathe or what our plan would be if the water started to rise. Remember my earlier statement about children being stupid? We inched along and began to notice that we had a little more space than before. We were soon able to flip back over to our stomachs and move much faster. And then, we found the opening. It opened up into a HUGE room. Stalactites, stalagmites and limestone columns were everywhere. It was beautiful.

As much as we wanted to see everything, we could see that there were several paths out of that room and did not want to get lost, so we needed to head back to let our parents know that there was a room back here and they could come on through. We went back into the hole we just came out of.

Using the same method of lying on our backs to breathe, we inched our way back to our parents and surprisingly found them much sooner than we expected. When they were no longer able to hear us, they had done their best to follow us and prayed we didn't all get lost in there forever. They stopped in one of the little rooms we had found not knowing where we had gone after that. They didn't realize there was a path deeper in if you were willing to submerge yourself in water and pull yourself through on your back. Who was being stupid now?

I think that was the first time I ever got grounded on a subterranean level.

"F" is for Fishing

Anyone meeting me today would never know it, but I grew up as a country boy. We rode horses, played in the creek, went muddin', had pigs, rode four-wheelers, and had high school keg parties in fields. I was proud to identify myself as a redneck. However, I don't know that I was always sold on all the stuff that goes with it.

Today, and even as a child, I hate camping. I know a lot of people that just can't wait to pull their camper or tent out to the woods, cook over a fire, and fall asleep under the stars. WHY? Centuries of technological research and advancement have gone into making our lives more comfortable. Why would anyone choose to go backwards. We now have air conditioning, sealed homes to keep the bugs out, cable television, microwave ovens, protection from wild animals, and overhead lights. Sleeping under the stars is something homeless people do…and they don't even want to do it. I worked hard and paid a lot of money for my house and the things that are in it. I am not going to drop even more money to go sleep in the woods as though I didn't have a better place to stay.

Like most other country boys, I am an avid supporter of the 2^nd Amendment. I am against excessive gun control legislation and enjoy my guns. However, unlike the stereotypical country boy, I do not enjoy hunting. I never really have. I remember doing it a few times when younger, but never really got into it. It's not because I am worried about the animals. I support hunting. I just don't want to do it myself. I have friends who love to go and have invited me hundreds of times, but I have and always will turn them down.Take duck hunting, for example. I can't think of any reason a man would want to get up at 4 o' clock in the morning to load up a boat, drag themselves out onto a lake, put on waders to stand in 40 degree water and wait for the sun to come up unless he was doing it to get away from his wife. It's a similar situation with deer hunting. It sounds miserable.

Lastly, is the ultimate redneck/country boy pastime that I want nothing to do with. FISHING! This is an activity that I have participated in many, many times. I just don't understand it. Fishing is boring!!! Every time I bring up this argument, I am told that fishing is relaxing.

How?

After all the preparation involved with going, I am already missing the relaxing part. Even sitting on the side of a pond on even in a boat, I get bored very quickly. Staring at a bobber, waiting for it to sink is not relaxing. I can sit in my air conditioned house and stare at the wall with the advantage of being able to open a book or turn on the tv when it gets tedious. Which, it will.

Plus, if I happen to catch a fish it means even more work. Now, it has to be cleaned and cooked. I have stores and restaurants within blocks of me on all sides that will easily allow me to skip those steps and go right to the eating, which is the only part I actually enjoy.

Once I grew up, I moved into town. I wasn't trying to get away from the country life. It is just the way things worked out, but looking back, maybe I'm not as country as I thought I was.

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Happily participating in the Blogging from A to Z Challenge. For the entire month of April, 1,968 bloggers are working their way through the alphabet. One letter every day but Sundays for a total of 26 days.

Click here to visit the website and get more information to see if you might want to join in next year. It's a lot of fun, introduces you to hundreds of new blogs and gives your writing some fantastic exposure.

Stuntman Training #3 - Creative Uses for Living Room Furniture

I mentioned briefly in previous posts that I used to work with a Halloween Haunted Hayride. So many great (or terrible, depends on how you look at it) things happened during these hayrides that I will never run out of posts to write concerning them. Before I tell this story, let me explain how this hayride works.

Let me 'splain.
No, there is too much.
Let me sum up.

Every year, the local Jaycees host a Haunted Hayride for the public. It is a huge money maker for the yearly Jaycees budget. They pull hay wagons through the woods and actors are set up in various scenes throughout the trail to scare the people who paid money to have their dates jump into their arms or see their children cry. It is great fun. However, the real fun was had by the volunteer actors out in the woods.

The Jaycees organize this event by getting local farmers to provide and drive tractors with wagons to pull people. They man a concession stand and sell tickets. They have guys working security to make sure no one wanders into the woods during this time and they have people monitoring the crowd. These tasks use up all of their manpower, so the scary scenes in the woods are provided by locals who volunteer to participate. About 150 people are in the various scenes scattered throughout the trail.

The locals volunteering to build and maintain a scene are not caring benefactors wanting to give back to the community. They are almost always local 15 to 25 year olds who see this as an opportunity to hang out in the woods dressed in crazy costumes, drink insane amounts of alcohol and act like idiots.

The volunteers are assigned their area and given access to it a week before the hayride. That time is used to build their scene, dig fire pits or do whatever needs to be done to have it completed before the following weekend. I have had a scene with my brothers or friends four different years. It was during one of these weekends that I wrote about setting my brother on fire for the amazement of the customers. However, this story does not involve me.

This was just too much fun.

My youngest brother, Trevor, had a scene with his friends on this particular year. After a weekend of debauchery, extreme drunkenness, running naked through the woods and hitting on girls in neighboring scenes, it was now Sunday and time to clean up their area.

After filling in their fire pit, collecting all the empty beer cans and loading everything into their vehicles, they were left with the old couch they had dragged out there. It had worked great for their scene, but no one wanted it now. It was old and moldy, but they couldn't leave it there. However, the vehicles were full, there was no place to put it and no one wanted to come back once they left.

Pay attention, kids!

Still being legally inebriated after the weekend events, they hatched a plan. They strapped a chain around the ends of the couch and decided to drag it out.

Illinois state law prohibits open alcohol containers inside a moving vehicle, so my brother and his friend Chet decided to ride on the couch, which would allow them to continue to drink. We will overlook the fact that they were all underage and the legality of dragging a couch down the road behind a truck. Give them a break, they had been drinking for three whole days.

Maneuvering out of the wooded area proved to be a challenge, but they eventually reached the road. Once on the road, the coach moved rather smoothly. Since the couch was positioned backwards, Trevor and Chet enjoyed the looks they were getting from passing motorists as they continued down the road unaware that the driver was experimenting with how fast the couch could go before there would be a problem.

Trevor first became aware of their high rate of speed when one of the legs came loose as the truck approached 30 mph. Once the leg came off, sparks started flying from the corner. Trevor and Chet turned around to yell to the driver to slow down. He was either unable to hear them or refused to respond, but he continued to accelerate.  They began to yell louder when they saw the railroad tracks quickly approaching.

Most couches are not equipped
with seat belts

Seconds after the truck passed over the tracks, the back of the couch caught the first track. The road had been smooth up to this point, but this small gap caused the couch to flip.

Trevor and Chet were launched into the air as the tumbling couch came apart beneath them. The fold-out bed inside was exposed and Trevor landed on the springs with a shower of sparks. Chet landed on the road and skidded off into a ditch.

Trevor, knowing that he was moving too fast to escape without injury held on to the quickly disintegrating bed frame while blinded by the sparks flying everywhere. This wild ride continued until the drunken driver attempted a sharp curve causing the coach to swing wide, hit the ditch and break loose from the chain. The final resting place was a mess of wires, springs and shredded upholstery with Trevor entangled in it all.

Once the dust cleared and Trevor was removed from the mess, it was discovered that he only had minor scrapes and bruises, but he was pretty shaken up. Once they found Chet, they drank a beer to celebrate what had just been survived.

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For other failed stuntman stories, check out the following links:
Don't Try This at Home
This Is Why My Body Is Falling Apart Today
Stuntman Training #1
Stuntman Training #2 - Playing with Fire

Days of Summer

We are quickly approaching my favorite time of year. In three weeks, I will have completed my last class for the year and summer will be here. I have explained in a previous post how much I despise cold weather. The summer months can sometimes get hotter than I would prefer, but I will take the hot days over cold ones anytime.

The signs of warmer weather are everywhere. Some of the signs, I could do without. When I step outside, I hear the neighbor kids yell for me.

"HI, BRETT"

My response is always the same. I yell, "NO!"  For some reason they start giggling.

Then I check my mail and go back inside or hop in my car and drive off. I don't like small children and I have told them that on many occasions, but they keep insisting on talking to me.

A few times, I have come home to find that they are having a picnic in my front yard. Seriously, six kids on a blanket right in front of my door.

ME: "Why don't you guys do this in your own yard?"

UGLIEST KID: "Because you have the best tree on the street to sit under."

I have saved half the money I need to have the tree cut down.

The eyes are the best part.

Once, they knocked on my door and asked for food for their picnic. I gave them a can of sardines. Unfortunately, they ate them and came back asking for more. Nothing I try with these children seems to work. They keep coming back. They knock on my door at least twice a day.

Despite the annoyances of the kids on my street, I still love this time of year. The sun is out. My schedule is less hectic. There are more opportunities for travel. People have barbecues and fish fries. I love it.

Terry, an old friend I recently reconnected with, has invited me to go camping with his family this summer. He suggested the two of us spend time teaching his youngest son some survival skills. I laughed and told him that my best survival skill is pre-planning to make sure I am always within walking distance of a microwave to cook my dinner.

As much as I love the summertime and going outside to enjoy it, I have never been a fan of camping. When I was a kid, our family vacations usually involved loading up the truck to go sleep in a tent at a campground 20 miles from our house. It wasn't all misery. We did have some good times, but I would have much rather been in a hotel or traveling somewhere new.

Good times

The only times I ever chose to go camping was for a few years right after high school. The group of guys I hung out with would drive our vehicles to this spot a quarter mile back in the woods near a pond and have a campfire. Since this was actually just a way to get drunk away from the eyes of our parents, it really wasn't about the camping. We never even took tents. A few cases of beer, some lawn chairs and wood for the fire was all we needed. We slept in the truck beds or the lawn chairs, if we slept at all.

About a year ago, one of the guys suggested getting the old group back together to go out to the pond for a camping trip like old times. Twenty years ago, I would have jumped at the opportunity, but it doesn't sound like much fun today. I suggested we all just meet at Applebees.

Part of what those trips so much fun was that we were doing something we weren't supposed to be doing. Plus, the crazy things that happened while we were out there. One of our favorite activities was to pool our money to convince John to do something he didn't want to do. Once, for eight dollars, he waded across the pond. It was only about waist deep, but it was cold enough that it had a thin layer of ice on the surface. On another occasion for eleven dollars, he climbed to the top of a tree and shimmied out onto a branch until it broke, dropping him into the pond. He would do anything for a little money.

It didn't always involve money. His brother convinced him to climb a tree by telling him he didn't believe he could do it. This was a thin tree with a diameter less than a foot across at the base, but it was over 30 feet tall. John shot up the tree with very little effort. While he was bragging from the top about his climbing abilities, we chopped it down.

I really don't think those sort of things would happen if we went out there now. We would have to take out a loan to offer enough money to convince John to put his body in harm's way these days. We notice the mosquitoes and ticks much more now and one of the guys became a cop. It would be his duty to stop us from the really good stuff.

I doubt I will be doing much camping this summer, but there will be plenty of other things to do. I have a couple of trips planned. I am getting together with some college friends. I will be working a couple of weeks at a youth summer camp (high school, not little kids). There will also be the unexpected activities that pop up. Freedom from classes is just a few weeks away. I love this time of year.