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| Blogs > talldrinkofwat2 > Beyond the Beyond |
Bowling, Beer Cans and B Road
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Bowling, Beer Cans and B Road Bowling, Beer Cans and B Road When I was just a little girl, my dad made up a game. Ah, but before I "paint" my story I have to fill in the backdrop. You see my family consisted of my father, mother, and little sister and of course me. We lived on a country road. By "country road" I mean that if you could count 5 or more passing cars, including tractors, on any given day you were witnessing full-blown traffic. Our home, which I lived in from the age of 4 until I left home at age 19, was literally surrounded by fields of corn. Even we had corn in our garden, which consumed a 1/3 of our acre of land. Imagine, if you will, 500 tomato plants growing in 4 rows and that was just one out of the dozen types of vegetables we grew each and every year. I know some of you will be surprised to find out that I grew up on a farm with chickens, ducks, geese, pigs and even a milk cow or two. Don’t get me started on the numerous pets we had including dogs, cats, ducks, pigs and a 29-pound turkey that thought it was a and hung out with my father in his garage. His name was Thomas T. Turkey, but that is a story for another day. J So, now that you have a better mental picture of my younger years let me get to the point to this little diddy. My father was a very innovative man. He could make something out of nothing, in fact that is how he made his living. Anyway, after a long day in the garage physically persuading twisted mental and more than enough Coors Beer to fuel his creativity, he came up with an idea. He was always full of ideas. J We, my little sister Cat and I, heard his muffled cry from his bedroom closet. I remember how he always called me either Andyee or Anders Smith. He had nicknames for everyone. Upon our arrival we found him opening what appears to be a dusty Bowling ball bag. I think it was brown. Beer in one hand and the ball in the other, we follow him out the front door. "Girls, go get some Beer cans." I remember putting two and two together as he stopped in the middle of our little rural road with only a letter for its name. B Road. Hank, our golden lab and doggy big brother, barked at us as if to tell us to "hurry up already". Excited, my sis and I hurried to gather up cans from the garage. We race back to the road. Our small arms loaded with tin victims. We were giggling with nervous energy, as we stood at the edge of the road, uncertain if we could join him on the double yellow line. I mean after all.... we were NEVER ever suppose to go out in the road, traffic or no traffic. "Well put them down there girls. Like pins at the alley." He smiled knowing that we all had just crossed over into dangerous territory...but only if our mother found out. Cat and I grinned back knowing that look, which whispered that he would take the heat when she finally located her missing offspring, only to find them hooting and hollering in the middle of an actual byway. Hurriedly, we positioned the mini metal pins with the labels facing our dad and stepped back to see what he would do next. Now I will never be able to accurately describe how my 9-year-old mind witnessed my immortal and perfect father that day. Sun on his bright red hair. Mischief playing with his smile as he launched that ball toward the pins. As far as I could tell he must have been a pro in his day, but we all know that it is a ’s love- colored glasses talking. The ball bounced loudly on the asphalt and effortlessly crushed 5 of the cans as it belted down the drive. Hank right behind it, desperate to get a good hold on the escaping ball with either tooth or paw chased after it as he backed his intent. "Go get it girls.", was exactly what we were waiting to hear. Off we went to follow ball and dog. Back we came with the cornered ball, which was damp from Hank’s attempts to subdue it. Many cans were killed that day, yet every one of them was recycled, just to ease your mind. J The highlight of the experience was not my mother yelling, even cursing at my father as she made contact with the back of his grinning noggin, but rather the last trip down the road after said ball and dog. Cat and I were hot on both their trails but our papa had really put some heat on this cannon ball. About two houses down was a lonely intersection. Now, like I said, cars were rare out in those parts so you can imagine our surprise as we notice a farm truck coming up over the hill towards the same crossing. We had the stop sign yet Hank, unable to arrest the culprit, followed the ball ignoring the truck and its stunned driver. The poor guy was nice enough to give us the right-a-way as both of us girls ran past hoping to stop our newest toy before it ended up in the huge drainage ditch on the other side of the road. I remember him smiling and shaking his head as he continued to watch us round up the fugitive and awkwardly waved a thank you as we quickly made our way passed his idling truck back towards our house. Our game came to a halt when Hank, probably angry at the insolent object, attacked it and nosed it off into the smaller ditch next to our house. He was quick to follow it down into the cattails, silt and the mere trickle of water that waited below. Unfortunately in his zealous he forced the Bowling ball into the tight pipe under our road. B Road. Two weeks later, we all watched with a mixture of emotions, as a team of 10 men used a backhoe to dig up our road. B Road. I will never forget the looks on that circle of men as the crane tipped the extracted pipe only to watch a muddy black Bowling ball bounce to a stop on the pavement in front of them, obviously ready for more Beer cans. |
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I think memories Such as your are probably the best things in our minds .I thabnk you for sharing yours and will patiencly wait for more to come in the future.
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