Along the Back Roads of Yesterday

by Oris George

  A new shiny 1948 black Buick stopped in front of the theater and deposited three girls on the sidewalk. Henry and Ramon checked them over. (They acted like they had never seen girls before.) The blonde, a new girl in town, glanced at Henry. Right-there-on-the-spot, he fell in love and looked like someone had hit him in the head with a hammer. This was a normal reaction for Henry. If a pretty girl accidentally looked at him, he was convinced she couldn’t live without him. And, he ‘knew’ he couldn’t live without her.

  After the show let out, Ramon dropped us off at the crossroads. We were going to walk to Grandad’s from there. The night was warm. A full moon bathed the area in a brilliant silver light. As we walked along the road, Henry was unusually quiet. All of a sudden, he stopped and said, “That foxy blonde likes me.”

  “You gotta be out of your mind,” I said. “She never once looked at you. You’re so stupid you stink. Not every girl in this hick town is in love with you. Come to think about it, I don’t know of one single, solitary girl that even likes you.”

  “What do you know anyway?” Henry said. “You’re too ugly and bashful to even look at a girl.”

  We turned the corner. Elmer’s farm was on our right. We walked down the road, and Challenger, Elmer’s prize two-year-old Guernsey bull, followed along with us inside his pasture fence. Challenger stopped and said, “Where you men going on this warm summer night? You guys let me out. I’m bored and need to see something other than the inside of this pasture.”

  Henry looked at me. I looked at him. Neither of us said a word. I crawled through the fence. Removing my belt, I ran it through Challenger’s nose ring so I could lead him. Henry opened the gate. Challenger followed me out onto the road. Henry closed the gate and caught up with me and Challenger. One Guernsey bull and two teenage boys heading east enjoying the bright moon light and a warm summer night.

  “Oris, what we gonna do with this darn bull?”

  “Don’t know,” I said. “But we gotta do somethin’ with him to cause ol’ ferret-face Elmer a world of worry.”

  Henry laughed and said, “Sounds like a plan. I can see that old buzzard tomorrow morning when he finds his bull gone. What we gonna do if a car comes along? I don’t wanna get caught out here on this road with a stolen bull. We’d probably end up in jail for five hundred years.”

  “Don’t worry,” I said. “If we meet a car, we’ll turn the other way. If they ask what’s going on, I’ll tell ’em we found Elmer’s bull out and we’re takin’ ’im home.”

  “I’m glad it’s you and not me leading this dumb bull,” Henry said. “I don’t like the way he’s looking at us.”

  “He won’t hurt ya, ya little sissy.”

  “I don’t care. He’s a bull and they can be meaner ’n fresh cat crap.”

  Challenger, leading like a pet dog, didn’t give us a lick of trouble. He acted like strolling down a country road was something he did every night.

  “I got an idea,” I said. “Let’s put this guy in the old hay shed south of Leroy’s place. Grandad said Leroy and his family won’t be back for another week.” Leroy lived about a half mile east of Elmer. The shed was a good 500 feet from other farm buildings.

  Henry laughed and said, “Good idea. I shoulda thought of that myself.”

  “Man. You can’t think of anything. Your mind’s too cluttered thinking you’re God’s gift to women.”

  “Ya know somethin’, Oris? You’re a first-class horse’s rear end.”

  “You autta know. It takes one to know one.”

  The bull stopped, looked at Henry and said, “Are girls the only thing you can think about, and talk about, and dream about? I got news for you, kid. You’re still a little puppy. Those girls don’t even know you’re on the same planet. Forget about them. Get me off this road and out of sight and don’t take all night about it. Ya hear?” (Henry wasn’t used to a bull telling him the truth, let alone what to do.)

  We stopped at the watering trough to let Challenger drink. While he was drinking, Henry looked in the shop to see if he could find a tub or half-barrel to take to the shed.

  “Hey, Oris, I found a big ol’ tub. You take that bull down to the shed, and I’ll bring the tub. Then I’ll pack some water to it.”

  “Okay. I’ll see if I can find some hay for him.”

  I put three flakes of hay in the corner of the shed. Henry filled the tub with water. “That should keep this guy happy and quiet until we can get over here tomorrow night and feed him again,” I said.

  We scratched Challenger on the neck, turned him loose, and closed the gate. He looked at us and said, “Thanks, guys. I’ll be okay here until you get back tomorrow. I reckon ol’ Elmer will have a litter of kittens when he finds me gone come sunrise.”

  Pleased with the inspired prank we had pulled on Elmer, we shook hands and congratulated one another with a pat on the back.

  We opened the door to Grandma’s kitchen as the mantle clock in the living room struck 1:00 a.m.

  At breakfast, as Grandma put three fluffy buttermilk pancakes on Henry’s plate, she said to him, “Your Aunt Martha called while you boys were at the show last night. She will pick you up right after supper tonight and take you with her to visit your Grandad. You will stay with her so you can move some boxes in the garage. She will have you back here the next morning. I told her we would be finished with supper by 6:30.”

  Henry looked at Grandad and said, “Mr. Fletcher. I was looking forward to helping you. I hate to leave you in a lurch, but guess I’d better go with my aunt.”

  “That’s okay, Henry. Oris can help with what needs ta be done ’til ya get back. I ’preciate ya helpin’ out.”

  Henry and I were putting in place a new gate Grandad had built for the corral when we heard a car coming fast up the lane. Standing by the gate post with a hammer in his right hand, Grandad said, “Somethin’s chewin’ on Elmer. He’s drivin’ like the mill tails o’ hell are bite’n him where he sets. Hope he stops his ol’ clunker before he hits this here new gate.”

  Brakes squealed. Tires slid. Dust billowed. Elmer hopped out of the car leaving the door open and engine running. “Ben,” he said. “My bull’s gone! He ain’t in his pasture. Gate’s shut. No way could he git out! You seen ’im? I been lookin’ for ’im since daylight. None of the neighbors have seen him. No way could that bull jist fly over a fence. I tell ya! Somethin’ ain’t right here. Ya reckon somebody stole ‘im? There’s not a better bull anywhere. Lots o’ folks would like ta have ’im.”

  “Hold on there,” Grandad said. “Ain’t no one gone ’n stole yer bull, Elmer. Ya know as well as me, cows are always gitten out. They always show up. No cows been stole here since the depression. Yer bull’ll show up.”

  “I hope so. Keep yer eye out fer ’im and let me know if ya see ’im. I’m goin’ over by Earl’s ta see if he’s seen ’im. I got other things that need doin’ besides lookin’ fer a bull.”

  Henry and I leaned against the pole corral and listened to Grandad and Elmer. We turned and looked the other way before Elmer or Grandad saw the sparkle in our eyes and the smile on our lips. Seein’ Elmer all stewed up did us good.

  Grandad watched Elmer drive off down the road. “Don’t know as I ever seen Elmer so worked up. He shore sets store by Challenger. It’s kinda funny, that bull gittin’ out. Fence is horse-high, hog-tight, and bull-strong. Beats the tar outta me how he got hisself out.”

  The morning wore on. Grandad had a slew of things he needed us to do. (Just before noon, Grandad’s stomach asked him if his throat had been cut.) “Well, boys,” he said. “Let’s go ta the house and see what we can find ta eat. I don’t know ’bout you, but I’m hungry ’nough ta eat an old shoe that’s been boiled fer awhile.”

  Grandma had gone to town. She left a note on the kitchen table. “Dinner’s in the warming oven. Fresh apple pie in the pantry. Put your dirty dishes in the sink.”

  After dinner, Henry and I mucked out the calf pen, repaired some fence, split wood, hitched mules
to the wagon, and hauled two loads of trash and dumped it in the gully east of the barn. By then, it was time to do evening chores.

  Henry straddled a calf’s neck, trying to teach it to drink milk from a small bucket.

  “Oris,” Grandad said. “When you boys finish feedin’ them hungry calves, call itta day. I’m gonna check on ol’ Pansy and see if the stork has brung her a baby calf yet.”

  The calf Henry was feeding butted the bucket from his hand. Henry slipped and went sprawling across the floor ending up on his stomach in a pool of warm, sticky milk. He tried to stand up. The floor was slick. He slipped again and fell in warm milk. He wasn’t happy. After a couple of slippery tries, he got on his feet, kicked the bucket against the wall and stormed out the door, leaving me to finish feeding the calves. (Henry wasn’t use to wallowing in warm, wet milk.)

  By the time I had finished feeding calves and got to the house, Henry had washed up and was sitting on the back step. “Hey, Pantywaist,” I jeered. “What are you doing sitting there looking like a little baby who lost his sugar-tit.”

  “I’ll sugar-tit you, you horse’s butt!”

  “WOW! I’m so scared I’m shaking!”

  Grandma called us to come in and eat supper. “Come on, Henry,” I said. “Let’s eat.”

  “I don’t wanna eat. All I want to do is get off this darn farm and as far away from your sorry butt as I can get!”

  While we ate, Henry sat on the porch step and sulked like a spoiled brat. His aunt came to get him. She visited with Grandma. Henry sat in her car and continued to sulk. As they drove out of the driveway, he rolled down the window and hollered at me. “Sure as God made billy goats, I’ll get you, and you’ll be sorry, you ugly horse’s butt! Wait and see!”

  I stood in the yard and watched the taillights on the car until they disappeared around the bend. I went back in the house with a smile on my face. “What ya smilin’ ’bout, Oris?” Grandad asked.

  “You shoulda seen Henry sprawled on that floor in a puddle of milk. He was so mad smoke came out of his ears.” I laughed.

  Grandma gave me that what’s-wrong-with-you look. Then, she proceeded to tell me what a fine young man Henry was, and how lucky I was to have him for a friend. She went on for several minutes. (It was all I could do to keep from laughing right out loud.)

  The next morning at breakfast, as I was trying to get on the outside of a stack of fluffy buttermilk pancakes, Grandad said, “Oris, I want ya ta hitch Buck and Jack ta the small wagon and go over ta Earl’s and git twenty cedar posts. When ya git back, we’ll fix some fence along the ditch east of the barn.”

  “Okay,” I said.

  When I arrived at Earl’s, he opened the gate and told me to drive to the barn and load the fence posts while he changed the water in his wife’s vegetable garden. He said I would have them loaded by the time he’d finished changing the water.

  Every farm wife in the neighborhood had a vegetable garden. Earl’s wife raised a small productive garden and reigned supreme at the county fair. Her vegetables always placed first in the exhibits. Every year Grandma Fletcher entered her best pumpkin and butternut squash, only to have Earl’s wife walk off with the coveted blue ribbon. Her pumpkin always grew larger and the butternut squash had a better shape.

  I watched Earl change the water on the pumpkin rows. Now, I knew why Earl’s wife won the coveted blue ribbons. Earl wasn’t too good to do women’s work—he irrigated his wife’s garden. I decided I’d tease Grandad Fletcher by telling him the reason Earl’s wife won the blue ribbons. Grandad did a lot of chores to help Grandma, but he drew the line at irrigating her garden.

  Grandad was always teasing me. Now was my chance to get back at him.

  The day grew into a long one. By dinner time, I had dug nine post holes and set a new cedar post in each. Grandad figured a boy should keep busy and not sit around. I cleaned and straightened up the shop, hauled and spread 11 wheelbarrow loads of chicken manure on the garden, and helped Grandma pull weeds.

  “You wanna keep doin’ women’s work pullin’ weeds, or do ya wanna help me do chores?” Grandad asked, and he laughed.

  “Maybe if you did a little women’s work and watered Grandma’s garden her pumpkins and butternut squash would be as big and shapely as Mrs. Brooks’.” I looked up at Grandad waiting for an answer.

  Grandad, with a twinkle in his eyes, scratched his nose and said, “Boy. Are you tryin’ ta git me in trouble?”

  “Go on you two, and get out of my way,” Grandma said. “Wish I could go hide in the barn like you’re going to. But someone has to work around here.” She smiled.

  By the time chores were finished, night was chasing the last rays of sunlight behind the mountain.

  I slid into my chair at the supper table.

  “Are you hungry?” Grandma asked.

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “Wonder why Henry ain’t back yet?” Grandad said. “Thought he was comin’ back sometime this mornin’.”

  “Grandpa. When Henry pitches a snit-fit, it usually takes a couple of days for him to quit acting like a spoiled baby.”

  Grandma scowled at me over her glasses and said, “Now, Oris. That’s not a nice thing to say about Henry. He’s a very sensitive young man, and he’s your friend.”

  A car drove into the yard saving me from a lecture I knew was coming. Grandma’s attention turned to clearing the supper dishes off the table. Grandad winked at me as he pushed his chair back.

  Mom, with the fury of an Arkansas tornado, burst into the kitchen! Dad right behind her. From the look on her face, I knew I was in a ‘heap of trouble.’ (I’d seen that look before.) She stared at me for a few seconds while she found her voice. I looked to Dad for help. No help there.

  “Do you lay awake at night thinking of ways to embarrass your father and me? I don’t know what to do with you! Elmer came by late this afternoon. He was fit to be tied, and I don’t blame him! What on earth were you thinking? Again, you weren’t thinking. What possessed you to hide his bull? People in the neighborhood spent time looking for that bull. Time they didn’t have to spare. Elmer saw Henry at the hardware store. Henry told him you took that bull over to Leroy’s shed and left him there. Henry said he wanted nothing to do with the joke. He walked off and left you, and you pulled that sick prank!”

  Dad got into the picture. “Oris. You caused a lot of trouble and worry for Elmer and everyone in the neighborhood. After Elmer calmed down, I told him you’d work for him free one day a week for the rest of the summer. Now what da you have ta say for yourself?”

  I looked at the floor and said, “I don’t know.”

  Mom hit the roof. “If that kid says ‘I don’t know’ one more time, I’ll scream!”

  Grandma looked at me. Her sad eyes told me I’d disappointed her. Mom, still breathing fire, glared at me. It didn’t take a rocket scientist to know Dad wanted to skin me alive. Granddad scratched his nose and winked at me. The left corner of his mouth twitched a little.

  Those days working for Elmer were the worst days of my life. No matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t do a thing to please him and every five minutes he’d let me know it.

  Summer eased along. Henry got over his snit-fit. We were best friends again.

  From the Author

  This man by the side of the road influenced my whole life. I never forgot the fear of my first comprehension of war, or my understanding of the pain this man had experienced. At the tender age of 8 years old, I grew up, just enough to realize life wasn’t always about riding Red, driving the cart, and doing chores I didn’t want to do. I realized for the first time that life was about doing what was required even if I didn’t want to do it.

  The man by the side of the road is about a way of life dealing with the trials that come our way. It’s a kind of knowing that we must take the next step not because we have a place to go, but simply because the next step is what comes after all the places we’ve been.

  I learned that growing up really is not
optional.

  About Oris George—

  Oris George lives in Colorado, a little closer to the river than he’d probably like, with a few more birds than he wants to listen to, and more often than not, he would rather be working with mules, donkeys, dogs, or kids.

  His memories are peppered with enchanting stories picked up along the Back Roads through years of yesterday. His unique style of taking readers along the paths of boyhood adventures, days long past, and the gentler times we all wish we could once again experience, brings out the child in each of us. Capers only a young boy, a mule, a donkey, a dog, and friends could endure vanished along with the era of lemonade on the porch and Grandma’s home-baked cookies on Friday afternoon.

  The nostalgia that brings these summers back for a lingering glance, a memory, and a flash of experience appears in each of his short stories.

  These essays will be published in various forms, including occasional blog posts and on his website. You’ll want to read each and every story to be certain you don’t miss a lesson, an experience, or the grand humor of a boy growing up in a time when birds still chirped, clouds still drifted across clear blue skies, and the only thing that disrupted a young boy’s childhood was nightly chores and Mama calling.

  For more information about Oris George,

  visit his website at www.OrisGeorge.com.

  Afterward

  The heart never lies… and other fallacies of youth will come tumbling back to mind as you read these stories by one of the world’s simplest authors. You’ll choke back tears of recognition as you read through the Man at the Side of the Road. You’ll laugh when you read about Red the mule dumping Mule-Apples in the eggs and on Oris’ head. And… You will stare off in wonder at the innocence that has escaped us over the past 75 years of living.

  Fireflies dancing in the darkness, bumble bees flitting from flower to flower, and donkeys and mules meandering across the pasture, share no secrets with little boys playing at the treasure of living as want-to-be men full grown. Time does not stand still in the hills as boys attempt to learn the lessons life shared, through the experiences of growing up. Stories that reveal these details of adventures, had in the good days of yore and yesterday, don’t give away the secrets. They simply revel in the joy of living.