Whisper-wind! (Part 5)

 My little town had a population of only 2,500 in the 50’s and well into the 60’s. Even today, the latest census tally is slightly under 11,000; not a “lot” of people by “modern” standards.

The physical layout and design of our tiny “berg” was a fine “paradise” for a kid with a Wild imagination for adventure and a cavalier-attitude of “Damn the torpedoes, full speed ahead.” Plunging headlong into whatever the world offered, reward or challenge. Always, Appreciative!

In my 12^th year, ole friend Santa Claus brought me a brand new 26”, 3-speed Schwinn racer!

Oh! Thank you! God! I “owned” that town! “Hell-on-wheels”! Not destructive! Appreciative!

At long last---I had sacred-transportation!...I began countdown to “16” and a driver’s license.

Besides my town, I had benefit of the “Farm” and “Fox Lake” where I spent countless hours.

The farm was Grandpa Martin’s 160-acres of fun and constant adventure. I love watching westerns on television since back to before I can even remember. They were black-and-white on a small 7’ screen but I helped the Lone Ranger and Superman save the day, many-a time!

I entertained an obsession with cowboys indulging their Wild-west varied experiences and adventures; I honed an early Love for horses and guns and the shooting sports. We enjoyed many pets over the years but Grandpa’s farm held the treasure chest of ‘pets”; they had a newer John Deere “modern”-day tractor for the field chores by the early 50’s but old Tommy and Billy, the pre-tractor work horses were in “retirement”. They no longer labored pulling the burdensome plow; rather, they enjoyed a large stall in the warm barn across the interior aisle from the cow’s milking quarters. I liked to “sneak” a bright yellow corn cob to the trusty steeds whenever I could manage to be alone n the barn with the critters.

Somewhere is a faded black and white photograph of me dressed in western motif, at age five. I was fully outfitted with a blue-plaid western cut shirt, blue jeans, black cowboy boots with inset white embossing which my mother painstakingly kept spruced with liquid white shoe polish applied meticulously with a broken tooth pick to get into the tiny corners of the decoration, a   bas-relief “cowboy” belt, double holstered six-guns fully loaded with play caps, the entire ensemble donned on topside with a real cowboy hat, just to complete the proper effect. I am sitting stride a weathered board fence and holding a “lariat” while petting the “Wild” cayuses.

I am sometimes embarrassing reminded  and vaguely recall that I wore that ensemble to kindergarten for the first week, or so. (I was not at all embarrassed at the time of the incident; Good-guys cowboys wearing white hats never apologize for doing the “right” thing.)

Sister Sharon made “pets” out of all the animals; she has a knack of befriending our “silent” friends. Randell was her pet rooster at the farm. We got him and a few of his cousins at Easter on our annual trip to visit my Mom’s family in and around Nashville, Tennessee.

These southerners dyed baby chicks and ducks at Easter and sold them to celebrate the holiday; just a local colloquialism. Each year we brought home new pets which invariably ended up living at the farm after they grew too large for us to keep them n town, any longer.

Sharon taught Rooster-Randell to fly up on the yard fence and “crow” his heart out whenever she clapped her hands together and yelled, “Crow! Randell! Crow!”

He was a most obliging “King-of-the-chicken-yard”! We all loved that wise old bird.