As I observe kids today totally absorbed in their electronic devices for self-entertainment, my old mind wanders back to my childhood near Moran in southeast Kansas and the creative ways in which my friends and I found to entertain ourselves.
One of my favorite memories from my youth is what I today call “The Crawdad Calamity.” What prompted that memory is that I recently saw a crawdad hole not far from my garden. At least, it had all the properties of a crawdad hole with a mud mound at the surface. What’s strange about it is that my garden is no where near any surface water — pond or stream. But, I do water my garden often and thoroughly, so I assume that Mr. Crawdad made himself a comfortable dwelling by burrowing down into the moist garden soil.
Regardless of the reason for that hole, it brought back this fond memory. I’ve mentioned before that my closest friend and classmate in high school wuz Brosen Burg. Brosen lived less than two miles from the Yield farm, so it wuz easy for he and me to get together for teenage rural entertainment.
Well, on the day this story happened, I went to Brosen’s place and he and I decided to fish for crawdads. It had been a wet season and in those days, every terrace puddle wuz inhabited by crawdads. We used a hunk of bacon tied to a fishline on a cane pole. We’d dunk the bacon in the water until we saw the line move, then we’d carefully lift the line from the water. More often than not, a hungry, stubborn crawdad would have its pincers hooked into the bacon and we could swing it to shore and drop it into a 5-gallon bucket.
Our intentions were to extract enuf crawdads that we could have a “crawdad boil” for a meal. Well, the crawdad fishing wuz superior that day. We were catching eating-size crawdads by the dozen. But, then we hit the bonanza. A real jackpot. Brosen pulled a giant crawdad out of the water. It wuz huge — at least 6–inches from the tip of its menacing pincers to the tip of its tail. The biggest we’d ever seen.
When we took our crawdads back to the Brosen house to prepare them for eating, our mischievous teenage minds conjured up a prank to pull on Brosen’s mom.
At this point I need to describe Mrs. Burg. She grew up on a ranch in New Mexico. She wuz an outgoing, happy-go-lucky soul. And, she wuz a tough lady when it came to ag stuff. She did chores. She wuz at home a horseback. She wuz a good hand at working cattle and sheep. She drove a truck. But, that tough lady veneer wilted in the presence of any rat, mouse, snake, frog, spider or big bug. She would scream like an urban diva or shrinking violet at the sight of any of those critters. It wuz that weakness that prompted our little prank that day.
While we were fishing, Mrs. Burg wuz in Iola, Kan., grocery shopping. So, Brosen and I had her kitchen to ourselves. Here’s what our prank wuz. First, we got a pan of water boiling. Then we dropped Mr. Monster Crawdad into the boil, whole, lobster-like. In fact, the crawdad resembled a Maine mini-lobster.
Then we found a small oval platter. On the platter, we placed Mr. Monster Crawdad in the middle on a nice piece of lettuce. We surrounded the crawdad with cottage cheese. We made sure that the crawdad’s pincers were propped up in a convincingly menacing manner. We even garnished the platter with a couple of green olives. When finished, we carefully placed the platter on the top shelf of the refrigerator — right where it had to be first-seen when the door wuz opened.
With the prank set, we waited for Mrs. Burg to get home from grocery shopping. When she arrived, she happily entered her kitchen with one arm holding up a paper bag of groceries. She smilingly greeted us boys.
But, then, still holding the bag of groceries, Mrs. Burg opened the refrigerator door and spied Monster Crawdad and his huge pincers. Predictably, she let out a blood-curdling scream. And, she dropped the grocery bag and groceries scattered all over the kitchen floor.
As this happened, Brosen and I were doubled-up laughing becuz our prank had worked to perfection. But, our mirth wuz short-lived when Mrs. Burg began to verbally berate the pair of us pranksters with language that couldn’t be misinterpreted.
All we could do is stand there and take the verbal dress-down. But, then, when she ran out of bombast, we burst into laughter again and Mrs. Burg began to see the humor in the situation. She eventually laughed herself and scolded, “Well, you got me. But, it better never happen again!”
I remember we helped clean up the floor and put away the groceries. But, for the life of me, I can’t recall who or when Mr. Monster Crawdad wuz devoured. I can assure you that the meal memory had disappeared, but the prank memory is still quite vivid.
***
This past week, Nevah and I decided to put the pall of politics aside for a few hours and do an All-American thing. We needed a county fair fix. We spent one evening at two county fairs — the Clay County Fair in Clay Center and the Riley County Fair in Manhattan.
It wuz good to see only positive happenings for a few hours. Rural folks having a good time. I watched parts of the swine show at the Clay County Fair and parts of the beef show at the Riley County Fair. Together, we toured the 4-H and open class exhibits. She guessed where her quilting would have placed. I guessed how my garden veggies would have stood the competition.
The best part wuz taking a 4-year-old great-grandson through the livestock barns. Everything excited him — the cattle, hogs, sheep goats, chickens, rabbits, turkeys and ducks. It wuz just plain ol’ family fun that I recommend for anyone wanting an uplifting break.
***
My words of wisdom for this week: “The original swat team was a herd of cattle in the summer.” Have a good ‘un.
