Coon season is on in the country. Farm boys take to the timber with their dogs. Dogs of all descriptions. Some with long flapping ears that may be sure enough coon dogs, some fox terriers, but mostly just dogs join in the chase. Dogs bark, boys halloo, lanterns bob up and down through the dark. They hunt all night, come in at 3 or 4 o’clock in the morning with one measly skunk! And the next night they are ready to go again. Perhaps the hunting chromosomes are lacking in our makeup. We couldn’t go hunting night after night for a striped kitty. Expectancy runs high with the boys here. They may tree a coon yet. Anyhow they like to run with their dogs.
Country kids are glad indeed that examinations were held last week. It was evident that spelling, reading and arithmetic were incidental this week. The school program was Friday night. Dialogs, recitations and songs occupied the attention, to say nothing of Christmas gifts. There is no prouder child in the county than the boy who happened to draw his best girl’s name in the Christmas exchange. The 10 cent limit cramps his style. He would like to spend a quarter for her gift and economize somewhere else.
All spools and tin cans and the small paint brush have been taken to school. The tin snips were borrowed from the tool chest. The air is full of secrets.
What a simple time children had a generation ago in comparison with the child of today. Then, we wrote a letter to Santa Claus and told him all our wants. Perhaps a few country children saw Santa Claus in town. A very few talked to him over the phone. Today’s youngsters hear a different Santa over each radio station. They see some skinny Santa’s, some jolly fat ones. The Santa at the church sounds exactly like our mail carrier. Four-year-olds puzzle these observations in their minds. They are more worldly wise than the 4-year-olds of yesteryear. Too many Santa’s are confusing. Somehow it brings a tinge of sadness to us.