LIFE BACK on the RANCH---WAY BACK

 

 

Have you ever been asked where you are originally from and what it was like growing up there? When someone asks me, before attempting to give an intelligible answer I ask if they’ve ever spent time in the very rural midwestern United States. If they’re a typical suburbanite who hasn’t, I attempt to provide them a descriptive explanation.

 

The Setting

 

My ancestors settled on our family ranch in the 1860s. Their first home was a hand-hewn log cabin. Today, the cabin is preserved and on display by the State Historical Society.

 

The ranch was located miles from any appreciable civilization. Nearly a square mile in size, it was nestled along a mile of timberland and river. It abounded with all manner of wildlife: deer, foxes, turkeys, squirrels, skunks, many subterranean animals, and beavers that constantly attempted to dam up the river.

 

Starting when I was six, the river and adjoining timberland became my perpetual playground. Although I had no nearby playmates, I had a pony and three trustworthy dogs. The dogs protected me from all dangers—except one.

 

I vividly remember my first encounter with a cute, furry, innocent-appearing black-and-white striped creature. My dogs had the good sense to abscond immediately. I did not. I thought I had discovered a new playmate or pet. I was sorely mistaken.

 

I was reaching out to pet the little creature when my approach was forcefully halted. I was struck with a horrible blast, seemingly with the force of a lightning bolt. Nearly blinded by a spray directly into my face, I ran the entire half mile home as fast as my little legs would carry me. I staggered from dizziness caused by the unbearable odor, which permeated my entire body.

 

My mother bathed me in gallons of home-grown tomato juice. My father buried my clothing, even my most beloved green-and-yellow John Deere cap.

 

Even after the soothing tomato bath, for days I stunk like a skunk. To this day, intense unpleasant memories arise when I see a John Deere cap.

 

To keep from contaminating our little ranch home, I was confined to our basement overnight. Despite my attempted bravery, it was an awful, scary night. All alone in our basement, I dreamt of skunks—dozens of them, small and large—coming to inflict more of their horrifying abuse upon me. Sleep was unattainable, but I survived the night. Subsequently, I was banished from the river and sentenced to the confines of our farmyard for quite a while.

 

What did I learn from that execrable experience? I learned that my dogs, in some ways, were smarter than I was. And never again would I encroach upon the territory of one of those furry little creatures, even in my own playground.

 

The Inclement Weather

 

The Great Plains had four distinct seasons. Each was inclement and exceedingly miserable. Most homes at the time were heated only by wood-burning fireplaces and furnaces, and none had air conditioning, so we were largely at the weather’s mercy. But we stoically endured all that nature so lavishly bestowed upon us.

 

Although the Great Plains are not the coldest, hottest, most humid, driest, wettest, or windiest region in our nation, they’re called the “Great Plains” for very good reasons. Their most prominent features include the following:

 

·       The land is flat, plain, and windswept.

 

·       Grueling summer heat dries up lakes and water wells.

 

·       Blizzards of freezing snow and ice sweep across the plains, stranding motorists, killing animals, and bursting water pipes.

 

·       Severe thunderstorms, accompanied by huge hailstorms and widespread flooding, devastates croplands.

 

·       In “Tornado Alley,” deadly funnel clouds demolish homes and kill people.

 

·       Horrific lightning strikes kill farm animals and occasionally humans.

 

Winter was cold and bleak and threatened the safety of all who dared inhabit this formidable land. It promised blizzards so severe that animals and some humans perished of hypothermia, sometimes on their own ranches. Ice storms periodically took out our power, but we plodded through with our antiquated kerosene lanterns.

 

I never acquired an appreciation for the bone-chilling, windy winters with knee-deep snowdrifts. Shoveling mountains of snow was one of my early chores. Another was keeping the home fires burning. I helped cut enormous amounts of firewood from our native forest to satisfy the constant demands of our massive fireplace and a wood-burning furnace.

 

It was not my favorite season!

 

In spring, it was not uncommon for the heavens to part and spew forth wind-driven rain and hail, as well as lightning. Enormous amounts of rainwater burst river banks, washed out roads, drowned small animals, and spawned all manner of insects. Hailstorms struck with a ferocity that broke windows and destroyed gardens and crops.

 

The sky often lit up with a colorful display of lightning bolts shooting across the sky. Some hit the earth, usually striking trees in our forest. Fortunately, they were seldom lethal, except for a few animals. However, lightning once struck our neighbor’s home.

 

It was a classic case of our neighbor being in the wrong place at the right time. The lightning actually blew him off his throne while he was in his bathroom. Miraculously, he escaped virtually unscathed, except for near heart failure and a disintegrated toilet.

 

On the bright side, spring storms usually brought some awesome rainbows.

 

Still, it was not my favorite season.

 

Summer was typically excruciatingly hot, muggy, and mosquito infested. It was not unlike spending a few months in a sauna without the luxury of being able to exit. Rivers and lakes that had earlier spilled over their banks from the unrelenting spring rainstorms often began to dry up.

 

Most feared—and devastating of all—was the summer tornado season. Our ranch was in the dead center of tornado country. It was common for several dozen menacing tornados to threaten our well-being each season.

 

They struck with little warning. When within earshot, they sounded like a runaway freight train descending upon us, sending us scrambling into our storm cellar. Some tornados skipped and danced around our ranch with little damage, others violently destroyed nearby villages.

 

When I was about to enter the fourth grade, a tornado struck the village where my school was located. In addition to the school, the tiny village had a post office, a gas station, a hard goods store, and of course, a tavern. Fortunately, no people were injured by the tornado, but numerous buildings sustained damage. I remember being dismayed that my school was not damaged; I had hoped for a scholastic reprieve and an extension of my summer vacation.

 

It was not my favorite season.

 

Fall held forth hope of being a milder season. However, such hope was often swept away by an unanticipated continuation of the summer heat coupled with early, frost-chilled nights. Temperatures from morning to night easily varied by 60 degrees or more in a single day.

 

When working outside, as ranch work demanded, I had to endure the continual, time-consuming challenge of wardrobe modification. That is, putting on warm clothes to combat the early morning frost, then soon having to remove them as the hot sun pierced the gray prairie sky. Shortly thereafter, I needed to put all the warm clothing back on again as the sun disappeared into the windswept clouds. Thus, it was a repetitive, ongoing process: clothes on, clothes off, on again, off again, all throughout the workday.

 

It was not my favorite season either!

 

Yet as the old saying goes, supposedly what doesn’t kill you makes you stronger! So with a measure of pride, we tried to take everything in stride, focusing on the bright side. After all, there were lots of elegant rainbows to behold.

 

 

Copyright © Arthur MacArthur