Stan Hitchcock-View From The Front Porch-May 31, 2013

1946. Ten years old is an age in between. You are still treated like a little kid, by your Mother, your Dad is so busy with his work that he hardly notices that you follow him, every where he goes, just wanting to be around to learn Man things, ‘cause in your own mind you are starting to feel pretty dang big.

In the early Summer, after school is out, and before the hay fields start producing, and causing everyone to be doing their jobs to get it cut, baled and in the barn…I would run free, ranging across the woods and mountains that surrounded our valley.

I had an old black and white shepherd dog named Laddy, that was my constant companion in whatever adventure might develop, whether it be snake killin’, ridge runnin’, tree climbin’ or meeting in the woods with some of the other boys that lived on nearby farms. Our secret society of farm boys knew every inch of the heavy woods, the meadows and the flowing creek that ran the length of our 400 acres.

Our favorite Spring time adventure was climbing up into the tall trees, looking into the nest we found up there, if there was babies in the nest that were big enough, we would bring them back to our farm house where my dad had built me a very large cage for my captured animals. Now, I’m talking BIG cage, four foot square, covered in heavy duty wire screen, with a big door that allowed me to walk in. At any given time, in the Spring and Early Summer, the cage, sitting under a big elm tree in the back yard, would be home to: Owls, Hawks, Gray Squirrels, Red Fox Squirrels, Flying Squirrels, Rabbits, Possums…almost had a baby Fox once, but it outrunned all of us. I would keep these babies, feeding them with eyedroppers ‘til they got big enough to eat and make pets of them. By the end of Summer they would be big enough to turn loose back in the woods. Some of the Squirrels I would keep for long time pets. I had one Flying Squirrel that I would put in my denim shirt pocket and take to school with me, he would stay in my pocket, occasionally poking his head out to get a piece of nut, and then settling back down to snooze some more.

In the late Summer, the free time was pretty much gone. We raised White Faced Cattle and had a herd of fine horses that was my Fathers pride and joy. It took a lot of feed raisin’ to take care of the livestock over the winter. We had three main crops. Oats, Alfalfa and Corn. The Oat field, North of the big barn, was harvested by binding it. After the binder had cut and tied the bundles with string, we boys and men would gather up the bundles and “shock” them in groups of bundles all across the field. When it was done it would be a beautiful sight, and one that a farmer took pride in.

The corn was cut and chopped and put into the upright Silo for corn silage to feed the cows all winter. My job, in the winter, was climbing up into the silo and forking down the silage into the farm wagon, in the morning before school, to be taken out to the fields and put into the feeders.

The job that I loved best was driving the old 1930’s Ford flat-bed truck in the Alfalfa field, while the men and larger boys would load the bales of hay, stacked as high as they could go, to be taken to the barn and bucked up into the hay loft. I had been doing this job since I was 8 years old, so by 10 I was an old hand at it. Starting out, at 8, I had to sit on my knees to see over the steering wheel, and when we would get to the end of the row of bales, dad would have to run around, open the door, push me over, and turn the truck around for the next row. By 10, I could wrassel the wheel around and pretty much turn it myself, but I still could not reach the pedals. There was that one time when I kinda run through the fence and almost ran it into the creek before dad could get there to stop it. But, such is life on the farm…stuff happens.

I think of the year of 10 years old as a particularly free and wonderful year. By the time I reached 12, I was expected to toughen up and be responsible, not run free like a young savage. The year of 10 was a woods running, creek wading, wild animal raising kind of life that only lasted a short time, but was very memorable.

Later, in my Adult life, I guess we tried to re-create that kind of boys life for the boys at the Boys Ranch, who had not had memorable childhoods. Every child should have that freedom to run and grow, in a safe and loving environment.

Deep inside this old body, still lives that Ozark boy, eager to run and search out all the exciting mysteries of the World I live in, and when I get into my old ’57 truck, I almost want to get up on my knees to see over the wheel again, experience that thrill of first discovery…..but, first discoveries only happen to 10 year olds, and then they are only old man memories.

Stan