A little clarification first. I’m relating truish stories from my life in the 50’s. I had never heard of s’mores then. That was an 80’s phenomenon for me. So my quasi clever title starter “S’more”. Is my first malaprop. There will be more. Remember, these are stories from about 70+years ago when I was 12-15.
So, no fair fact checking, Nancy.
One hot summer morning in July, I had just finished my chore of feeding some oats to the white leghorns (egg laying chickens). I was standing in the doorway of the “new” coop, where much feed was kept. I hadn’t noticed the wasp nest just above the door. Yep, I got stung (ouch). Still hurts to think about it. “Darn”, I yelled ( if you believe I just said,”Darn”. I got a bridge ———) And made a beeline up the path to the house.
My Aunt May promptly put some ammonia on a rag and covered the sting area. It helped a bunch but the sting still hurt.
To forget about my sore neck, i joined my buddy, Pete, to take a walk through some fields near the house for about a half mile or so to a creek we heard about. This creek was called “ The Kill” ( a Dutch or German word for creek). However, all the kids around, including us, believed it meant somebody drowned there. Obviously, a major magnetic attraction for two young boys.
So—- off we went with bathing suits under out britches and two 10-quart pails for picking blueberries ( maybe huckleberries) along the way. They grew wild in the fields in the valley of the Catskills. Before we got home, we’d each have the better part of a 10 quart pail filled with berries. ( Pie time).
We arrived at The Kill in about an hour and here’s what we saw. A small body of water, the equivalent of a 30 square foot round lot. One challenge for us is that it was about 6 feet deep in the middle, which is over our heads. The next challenge became obvious when we jumped in. It was FREEZING. That resulted in a very short dip and then the long walk home.
A few days later, we took another hike to The Kill, but thank Heaven, we brought Pete’s dad along to show him our latest discovery. We both got in but when I began to climb out I noticed Pete was struggling in the deep part, doing a dog paddle but going nowhere. His dad jumped in, totally clothed and pulled Pete to safety. He was about 6 foot 4 so it wasn’t over his head. What a day. We almost added to the legend of The Kill.
Life could be exciting and dangerous in the sleepy valley of the Catskills.
