I don't know what made me think of it, maybe yesterday's snow and sunshine, but a memory from my teenage years just popped into my brain. Thought I better capture it while I could.
It was early spring in the country outside of Zanesville. Sunshine and warm spring days came begrudgingly to the hills and hollers of that area. Some fields and woods would come alive with wildflowers and budding trees, while others would still have ice on the creeks and snow on the banks. That was what we grew up with, and it made us really appreciate spring when it finally took hold.
Early spring often meant that it was time to address a whole new set of chores. The farmers in our area looked forward to the promise of another year, and the kids looked forward to something other than cleaning out the barn-- more exciting times driving farm machinery, riding horses, and thinking about next year's tunnel system in the hay mow. I wonder if any civil engineers or architects got their start doing this. One particular assignment brought a rather unusual experience for three young buckeroos from the wild northern territories of Zanesville.
My best friend at that time, Gene (who later was the best man at our wedding), had a farm that was primarily hills and contained three large hog barns. They raised some cattle, but didn't really have the right amount of pasture land to permit grazing and still have land to raise hay and some corn. So, Gene's dad rented pasture land on the farm that was located next to theirs. Our job each year was to move the cattle from the feed lot on their farm to the pasture land. It was a pretty nice spring day so they decided that it was time to make the move.
We saddled up the horses and began to move the cattle out. The first part didn't go too badly. We drove those doggies up the closest thing to a small mountain in that area, and got ready to start the hard part -- driving about 45 cold, inquisitive cows through a strip mine and woods to the other farm. Normally this wouldn't be too bad, but we were really only into the moderately warm days and the cold lingered in the woods. The cattle were hesitant because the thin ice easily broke under their weight, and the banks were slippery and muddy. We were getting close to our destination, starting to feel like the cowboys of old nearing the end of their drives when I took a route down a pleasant looking gully-- you know "the road less traveled by...". The dogs started barking and raising a fuss. I thought maybe they had a rabbit going or something and then I saw it -- a body lying face down in the still frozen creek. The man appeared to be dead for quite a while, but since he was still obviously frozen there was little decomposition. We marked the spot, finished the cattle drive and then called the sheriff. We had to hook a wagon up to the tractor and help them retrieve the body. The sheriff said the man was an escapee from the county jail. We also found a hand gun on him.
This was quite an experience for a couple of young teenagers from a small town. It registered with our parents, each in a different manner -- mothers in the way mothers usually do, and fathers in a manly sort of way. The most interesting reaction was the one we got the next day at school at our lunch table as we recounted the details . Of course we embellished the details of the body, its condition and our HEROIC actions. Funny, we got lots of food from the other guys at the lunch table -- some of which was abandoned and some as offerings to our bravery and heroism.
That was in the early 1960s. Things like that didn't happen very often, especially in small town Ohio. Probably wouldn't even get a raised eyebrow today as nightly news stations compete quite enthusiastically to out-crime, out-dramatize each other. I don't know if this experience influenced me in any way in later life, but at least it didn't lead me down a path of crime with my trusty horse, riding through the countryside terrorizing people and robbing banks. I just continued on with my typical small-town Ohio teenage years.
Raising teenagers is like nailing Jell-o to a tree.
Hooah
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