Sure as sunup every dawn, my first week of summer vacation since kindergarten was spent on my grandparent’s farm in PA. Looking back, I always thought my mom and dad just wanted to expose me to farm life, as they both grew up on farms. Why didn’t my older brother and sister come along? I chuckle to myself now because when I started going to school, my mom started working at the local grocery store. I figure she needed a break from worrying and taking care of me for a week, as my older siblings could fend for themselves easier.

Now don’t go feeling sorry for me! Going to the farm was big adventure for a five year old. My pre-trip routine consisted of getting a buzz cut, three pair of Wrangler jeans, and sixpacks to go of white T-shirts and underwear. A pair of cowboy boots completed my ensemble from city slicker kid to mini good ol’ boy, like my uncles, who still lived at home and worked the farm with my pap.

While there, I just did a lotta following my uncles around. A kid can learn a lot by doing that. I’m sure I drove them crazy, but they were good-natured about it. They had a built in go-fer in me. Whenever they needed something from the house, I’d run down, tell my grandma what was needed and run it back up to the barn, field, or workshop. Food and drink was the usual fare.

After the chores were all done, milking and feeding the cows, scrapping the barn aisles of manure, and then herding the cows back out to pasture, we were free to do as we pleased after supper. Here’s where the adventure part kicks in.

We’d roam the alfalfa fields for groundhogs. You had to be quiet, sneaky and a good shot. Periodically, one of my uncles would make a low-pitched whistle and then scan the field for any heads popping up out of curiosity. They don’t call them whistle pigs for nothin’. Armed with a scoped Remington .22 rimfire rifle any groundhog within 75 yards was in trouble.

As I got older, at the age of eight, I got my own H&R Plainsman .22 rifle and could hunt solo. This freed my uncles up and I was happy to be an independent hunter. I’d roam the fields and woods for hours looking for groundhogs. It taught me the lay of the land and how to be comfortable doing so by myself. Even back then I had fantasies of being a lone mountain man exploring the wilderness.

Coon Fever

Besides growing field corn for the cows, my pap and uncles always grew sweet corn for us. Nothing better then fresh picked sweet corn in the summer, slathered in fresh butter. Only problem, raccoons have a sweet tooth for it too! My uncles taught me how to set a double flat spring foothold trap to capture the masked marauders. We’d wrap aluminum foil around the trap pan to pique the raiders curiosity and then put sardines on the pan and set the trap. The foil would shine in the starlight if the sardines were eaten without setting the trap off so you still had a chance of catching them. Coons are curious critters and would slap at the shiny foil.

After setting my first coon set myself, I had a hard time sleeping that night! This has carried on to opening day of deer season to this day. Anticipation gets a hold of you and wont let go. After a restless night, the first rays of the sun creaked in my room and I nervously got dressed, grabbed my .22 and went out to check the cornfield set.

There he was! The coon wasn’t real happy having his front foot caught by surprise after his midnight sardine snack. He hisses at me when he sees me! Prepared for my first full death charge, I lower my .22 rifle, snick the safety off, and give him a shot between the eyes with a Winchester Super X hollow point. The corn fed critter never knows what hits him! Visions of wearing a coonskin cap the rest of the summer die by a botched skinning job, and I have to make do with a coon tail for my bicycle back home in MD.

Always Clean Your Knife After Skinning Something

With blooded hands and fingernails, I decide I need a manicure. Peacock proud, I use the same knife I skin the coon with, a Trojan Corn knife my Pap gave me, and clean my nails up real good. I finish the job off by promptly biting my nails down to the proper length. That night, I spike a fever of 105 degrees. Grandma gave me a cool, rubbing-alcohol bath, aspirin, and popsicles to get the fever down. She tells me if it gets any higher, we are going to the hospital. Luckily my fever breaks that night and I eat three waffles with bacon for breakfast. I was famished from the fever. I learn several lessons from that episode. Always clean your knife after skinning something and don’t bite your nails! I’m a believer now!

Good Old Days …

I continued my week long vacations to the farm until high school. When I got older, I started going up on my own because I wanted to. I still go up every opening day of deer season to hunt, catch up with my uncle and cousins and relax and reminisce. This past deer season, while driving home with my uncle on opening day from my cousins “butcher shop” where the deer are skinned and quartered, we talked about how I used to come up every summer. I tell him the farm means a lot to me and all the memories I have of it were special. I tell him mom bringing me up here every summer was the greatest gift she ever gave me! It instilled a love for nature, hunting, family, and the farm in me.

This chokes him up — as we continued the drive home in silence.

Mom’s gone now, as is Pap, Uncle Jerry, and a few others, but my memories still burn bright, and it puts a smile upon my face whenever I bethink of times past, and those memories of the farm will never die.