123.  End of Once I Was A Kid

Last week was the Conclusion of Once I Was A Kid, With the Wild Things On the Farm.  It was delightful and nostalgic to relive and share with you memories from my youth on the farm, especially with wild pets and animals.

My favorite and most successful wild pet was Bandit, the raccoon, and of course Barney the crow.  Riding Smokey, my pony, was always an adventure.  There were several dreaming places, The Fantasy Forest at the back of the farm, and by The Pond at the west end, and the closest, just “disappearing” in the grass under an apple tree to listen to bugs perform their Springtime Symphony.

I wrote these memories because they inspired rhyming stories that capture the imagination of the experience.  These are published as an ebook, Once I Was A Kid, With the Wild Things On the Farm.

You can get the ebook to download to your cell phone, computer or tablet for $0.99 on Amazon or Barnes and Noble.  Go to their website and type in the search bar – “Once I Was A Kid Robert Z Hicks” – to bring up the book.

OR  use the link below to all the ebook digital stores where Once I Was A Kid is available.  Click on the digital store of your choice.  Amazon (Kindle), Barnes & Noble (Nook),  Apple (iBooks) etc.

https://www.books2read.com/RobertZHicks

I received feedback expressing regret that the memories were ending, that they had enjoyed sharing my memories.  The good news is that this book was only the memories that had a poem attached, and there is ANOTHER book of memories, not published, that I can share. 

Memories of Daddy are my memories, and my Dad’s life, seen through my eyes, is a journey of an amazing man who lived through a time of incredible changes. 

Daddy, Leland Hicks, was born in 1894, saw combat in WW1, watched a man step on the moon, raised two kids,  (myself and my sister Jan) and lived to age 92 living on the farm near Ionia Michigan.

Next time, we’ll start the story.  

122.  Wild Things –Born Free

Looking back on what I learned from Mom as I experienced adventures with the wild things while growing up on Grandpa’s farm, I remember that Mom always wanted God’s wild creatures to be free, and to imagine how you would feel, if you were in their place.

BORN TO BE FREE

The grasshopper fiddling;
Fiddling with glee;
Created by God,
And born to be free.

Frogs in the pond;
The owl in the tree;
Created by God,
And born to be free.

Bunnies in the garden;
Their tracks that I see;
Created by God,
And born to be free.

Barney the crow;
Walking with me;
Created by God,
And born to be free.

Skunks in the forest;
A big bumblebee;
Created by God,
And born to be free.

All of God’s creatures;
Born to be free.
I’m God’s creation;
How about me?

CONCLUSION

My journey with imagination and empathy is not over.  Using my imagination to better understand people and have empathy for what they are feeling has helped me over the years.  It has helped me have better relationships with family and friends, and improved my teaching by enhancing my understanding of my students.

It has been a lifetime of years since I lifted my foot to stomp on the ants.  I cherish the memories of happy times during my childhood on Grandpa’s farm.

I continue to use my imagination to enjoy God’s wild creatures, and to practice the presence of God in my life.

This concludes my book, “Once I Was A Kid, With the Wild Things On the Farm”.  Next I’ll share memories that are NOT in the book.

The whole book is available as an e-book and can be purchased for $0.99 that you can download to your computer or cell phone.

Use the link below to all the ebook digital stores where “Once I Was A Kid” is available:
Amazon (Kindle), Barnes & Noble (Nook), Apple (iBooks)

https://www.books2read.com/RobertZHicks

Click on the digital store of your choice to get to the book.

121.  Fantasy Forest – A Place to Imagine

Across the highway, way in the back of the farm in the extreme northeast corner, some trees had been left standing.  Bushes had grown up around the outside of the trees blocking any view of inside.  When I slipped inside the bushes, it was like stepping into an enclosed room roughly fifty feet long full of poles.  Low branches had been trimmed, and high branches arched across like a green cathedral ceiling with many leaves blocking out the sky.

A thick mat of dry brown leaves covered the floor of the tiny forest, and that covering, along with limited sunlight, probably accounted for almost nothing growing under the trees.  It was so quiet I could hear the hum of insects.  I would lie on my back on the mattress of dry leaves and stare up at the green ceiling and trace the golden rays of sunlight that occasionally snuck through a hole in the leaves to spotlight something on the floor.  I would dream of being in the jungles of Africa, or paddling a canoe up the Amazon, or sailing a boat in the South Pacific.

This was a perfect hideout for a young boy.  A secure, secluded green-leaf cathedral hidden from the real adult world, where fantasy could become the reality of the future.  It was a place of dreams where imagination could be set totally free; truly a tiny fantasy forest!  

I wish I had gone there more often!

 IMAGINE THAT! 

Let’s take a peek at God’s creation,
Through the window of imagination.
Close your eyes. What do you see?
You can be anywhere you want to be.

Imagine you’re an eagle way up high,
Soaring in the African sky.
Hear elephants trumpet and lions roar;
See crocodiles basking on the shore.

A tall giraffe looks really neat.
His ears are a long way from his feet.
But imagine what an awful note,
To be a giraffe with a bad sore throat!

Imagine a polka dot hippopotamus.
Now that is just preposterous!
He’s a big gray tank that’s always clean;
He swims underwater like a submarine.

Speaking of something quite preposterous,
Imagine a red and white striped rhinoceros.
Thundering over the African plain,
His red and white horn like a candy cane.

Imagination is the golden key,
To anything you want to see:
A blue and white zebra wearing a hat,
Monkeys in the jungle, or a big black cat.

Can you imagine that?  

120.  Nature’s Beauty

Mom and I were walking through shaded woods on a neighboring farm hunting for mushrooms when we came across a beautiful lady slipper. “What a pretty flower,” I said. “Let’s pick it and take it home.” “Oh no, we mustn’t pick it,” Mom responded. “Then it will surely die. We’ll enjoy it while we’re here, but leave it to bloom and live as long as it can. Then others can enjoy it too.”

THE PRINCESS AND THE LADY SLIPPER

Deep in the forest in a moonlit glen,
The pixies come out to play.
They always come in the dark of night,
For they mustn’t be seen by day.

They sing and dance and play their games,
In the glow of the firefly’s light.
And if by chance you’d see it,
You’d think it an amazing sight!

They tell of a magic night one spring,
When the Princess came out to play.
A prince appeared, asked her to dance,
And they danced the night away.

Was it the magic of the springtime?
Or the full moon up above?
For everyone there that night would say,
The glen was aglow with love.

To remember that magic night they danced,
Beneath the bright Big Dipper,
They fashioned a flower from her shoe,
A beautiful lady slipper.

Of course, it only blooms at night,
When the pixies come out to play,
Deep in the forest on a moonlit night.
Or, at least, that’s what they say.

119.  Three Stubborn Stinkers

As I was passing through the kitchen, Daddy waved at me to come outside, and then directed me to a big cardboard box he had placed by the steps.  His words, “Be careful,” slowed my headlong approach, and I peeked cautiously over the edge of the box to see three small balls of black and white fur.  “Baby skunks! Where did you find them?”

“They were wandering around in the field looking for food,” Daddy said.  “They’re so thin and weak, they must have been without their mother for several days.”

I touched the box, and three tails went up, and I jumped back.  “Don’t worry,” Mom said as she picked one up and handed it to me.  “These guys are so young their ‘perfume’ glands haven’t developed yet, so they are safe for now.”  The baby skunk was as soft as satin as I stroked him.

“Maybe we could have their glands removed so we could keep them as pets?”  Mom just smiled and told me we couldn’t possibly keep three skunks as pets, and it wouldn’t be fair to them because removing their glands would leave them defenseless, whether in the wild or not.

Mom did suggest that if we handled the skunks a lot, maybe they’d get used to us and be tame and safe for a while.  We did handle them, and fed them Mom’s special milk and honey formula in a baby bottle, but every time we picked them up we could feel them squeezing their tummies in an effort to fire their odor defense artillery!  Three stubborn stinkers by instinct!

One Sunday morning as we turned in the driveway returning from church, we knew our baby trio had come of age, and that something had startled them.  The whole area around the drive and side of the house stunk with the scent of skunk!  “It’ll blow away,” I cried, “Can we keep them a little longer?”  My plea fell on deaf ears as Daddy said they had to go — “Now!”

When we were ready to take them, Mom carefully tucked their tails under and slipped the three skunks into a gunnysack.  Mom explained that skunks flick their perfume with their tails, as well as spray, so holding their tails down would prevent them from “firing.”  I knew from experience that with tails up, skunks can sure “flick!”

We drove seventy miles north to a large protected forest area, and down a utility road about a mile from a Boy Scout camp where I had been the previous summer.  I was told there were no skunks in that area, because the ground was sandy, and there wasn’t enough food for the skunks to eat.  Daddy thought with a lake and stream nearby, and the large forest reserve, they would be okay.  Daddy put the sack down and opened it, and the babies marched away in single file as though they knew exactly where they were going.

It was several years later when I was in my tent at that Boy Scout camp again, and just settling down on my bunk for the night, when the unmistakable fragrance of skunk drifted in to my nose.  “Wow!” I thought, “Our stubborn trio had survived in the wild, and something has startled them.”  Mom and Daddy were pleased to hear the news that our three stubborn stinkers, or their descendants, were alive and casting their scent in the woods, to live free and happy ever after.

TALE OF A TAIL

“Pick a skunk up by the tail,” they say,
‘cuz upside down he cannot spray.
Is it possible, without fail,
To pick a skunk up by the tail?

I bet it’s just a country joke,
To have some fun with city folk.
I’ll put this folklore to the test,
And any doubts I’ll put to rest!

I saw a skunk out in the field,
In knee-high grass I crept concealed.
I grabbed his tail up, yesser-eee!
But when I got him, he “got” me!

So friends, let common sense prevail,
And don’t pick skunks up by the tail!
I sure did prove this saying wrong,
I hope this smell won’t last too long.

118.  Ole

Daddy bought “me” a flock of sheep when I was ten years old.  There were about twenty ewes and a ram. They resided in the sheep shed, of course, and had the run of the barnyard and part of the grassy field north of the barn that Daddy had fenced for them.

I learned there is more to raising sheep than shepherding them and watching them eat grass.  A truck pulled in with a big sheep dip tank.  The sheep, who were filthy, were pushed up a ramp and into the dip tank to destroy parasites, and clean their wool.  They looked scared and were bleating as they swam to the end of the tank.  I could see why, because the sheep dip was black and smelled awful!

It was fascinating to watch the professional shearers who then came to cut the wool off the sheep.  They clipped fast and close!  The wool was cleaned, combed, and sold.  When lambs were born in the spring, I imagined growing rich as my flock multiplied and we had more wool to sell.  The lambs were so cute and fun to play with.

Then I discovered that the feisty ram of the flock would charge my fluttering red jacket when I waved it like a bullfighter.  I maneuvered him onto the barn floor, with the haylofts and lofty ceiling as my bullfight arena. “Olé!”  I shouted, imagining that I was a bullfighter, as the ram put his head down and charged through my waving jacket.  He charged unseeing with his head down, and ran into the barn door, breaking off one of his horns.  My “Olé” faded into “Oh no!”  Then I made a mistake.  I didn’t say anything to my parents.

A couple of days later, Mom said to me, “Daddy wants to know what happened to the ram’s horn.”  I explained my bullfight “game,” and nothing more was said.  A week later, when I came home from school, the sheep were gone.  I asked Mom, “What happened to the sheep?”  “Daddy thought you weren’t old enough to take responsibility for the sheep,” was her reply.  Nothing more was ever said.  Daddy’s discipline was never confronting, never punishment.  He simply corrected the situation in which I had made my “mistake.”

Looking back, I realize now that the sheep were really intended for me, and not a family venture.  I can’t imagine how Daddy must have felt after all the expense and work he invested to start the sheep business for me, and then I was too immature to care for the sheep.

Imagination is wonderful and exciting.  But it has to be balanced with common sense and consideration for safety for animals, and for people.

BAA BAA

“Baa Baa,” said the sheep,
“My fleece is white as snow,
I like to lie down in the dirt,
Everywhere I go.”

“I find the dirt around the barn,
And that is where I play.
I like to roll around in dust,
Until I’m dirty gray.”

“The boy would like me clean and white,
But I don’t think that way.
I’d rather lie in dust and dirt,
So this is what I say…”

“Baa — Bah!”