Ah, to be young again...

I woke up early this morning, around 5:30, and I couldn’t go back to sleep. It is Monday, September 1, 2008, which makes it Labor Day, so I didn’t have to go into the office today. I decided to get up, brew some coffee, and head outside to sit on my bench and watch the sunrise. It was pretty warm and muggy this morning. The bushes are growing out of control in front of my bench, making it hard to see, so I took a short walk through the yard, across the road to the cow pasture. The sun was just coming up in the east, beside House Mountain. A few hundred yards off, I could hear a Mourning Dove, crying for his long lost love. All around me crickets were chirping in the still dark of the morning. Off in the distance I could faintly make out the sound of a train rumbling down the railroad tracks. I closed my eyes and imagined that I was 10-years old again.

Back in 1976, Kevin and I would have camped out on a night like last night. We would have stayed up half of the night, sitting around a campfire telling stories, planning new adventures, and spitting in the fire. Eventually we would give in and settle into our sleeping bags for the night. We would wake up to the same exact sounds that I was hearing this morning. I can imagine our conversation as it would have been; “Hey Kev.” “Yeah Barn.” “What do you reckon we orta do today?” “I don’t know, whatda you wanna do?” “I don’t know, don’t matter to me.” “Wanna play in Bill Knight’s barn?” “Naw, we better not, Mike Ball got caught in there last week and old Knight was pretty mad.” “Well shoot, guess we better not do that then. Wanna go fish in Doc Simons’ pond?” “I don’t know, remember he chased us out of there with a shotgun last time.” “Yeah, I know, but maybe he won’t catch us this time.” “Well, alright, I guess, if you wanna, we can.” “Well, we can at least walk over there and see how it looks.” “Okay, let’s go.” So, we would strike out either on foot or on our bicycles to some semi-planned destination. Sometimes we would end up there; sometimes we would get distracted and end up somewhere else. It didn’t really matter any; we were just happy and free. Two country boys without a care in the world.

While I was still standing there this morning, I heard what sounded like a huge oak tree falling. I could hear branches splintering as it forced its way through the surrounding trees. I was wishing I were 10 again. Kevin and I would have run lickety split through the woods to see where the tree had fallen. We would have spent hours exploring the place where it fell, and would have talked about it for a week afterwards. This morning all I could do was stand there with my eyes closed, wishing.

As the sun slowly began to climb, the cows decided to make their entrance. One by one they made their way up a small rise and into the flat land of the pasture. The larger, more mature cows approached me with caution. One decided to stand and stare at me from a distance while the others slowly meandered closer. The younger calves kept pretty close to their mothers but looked at me with curiosity as the bright flash of my camera split the air between us. Eventually the cows tired of me and went about their business. Again, I closed my eyes and listened to the slow munching sound of the cows as the chewed the fresh green Timothy grass in front of me. It brought back a memory of the time Kevin and I pitched my dad’s tent in old man Krueger’s field. We thought we would be “smart” and steal a couple of hay bales out of his barn and use it as padding beneath our tent. We drifted off to sleep that night so proud of our brilliant idea.

The next morning we were startled awake by the sounds of loud grunting, chewing, and snorting. Our tent was shaking. We both sprang straight up in our sleeping bags and looked at each other with eyes full of terror. I screamed at Kevin – “what in the Samhill is that?” “I dddddon’t know.” Kevin uttered through quivering lips. It was one of those moments where you have to decide whether or not you are going to be brave and face the giant head on, or curl up in the fetal position and wait for impending doom. We chose bravery. I slowly crawled to the entrance of the tent, gingerly grasped the large zipper, and ever so slightly began unzipping the tent door. I was lying on my stomach with my left eye fixed on the opening as it unzipped. “Zzzzzziiiiiiiiiippppppppp.” I just knew that I was going to be the first to die. I finally raised the zipper enough to poke my large noggin out. I slowly slid my head through the opening and looked to the right. You can’t imagine the relief I felt when I saw a manure-covered, fly-swatting, brown tail and hind-end sticking out beside the tent. “It’s a bunch of dadgum cows!” I hollered back at Kevin. Those cows had found the fresh hay that was protruding out from underneath our tent and they were going at it like a Baptist preacher in front of a plate of fried chicken! Kevin and I laid back down on our sleeping bags and laughed until our ribs hurt. I haven't laughed like that in years.

Sadly, the sun came up all of the way, the roar of car engines began drowning out the sounds of nature, and I went back into the house. I’ve stayed kind of depressed all day today since then.

Ah, to be young again….