Tales from the Dorkside Episode VI: "Over the River and Through the Woods"

Some of my fondest childhood memories revolve around my grandparent’s house and the woods behind that house. Built in the mid 50’s, my father and his siblings had grown up in that house and they played in those same woods some 30 years before me. The house itself was a modest, single level ranch with a rather large yard and vegetable garden. I remember that my aunts had horses in the barn and there was a large fenced off pasture.

My brother, my cousins, and I would go there nearly every summer for a couple weeks. We would raid the black raspberry bushes, the sweet peas and cucumbers, but it never seemed to make a dent in the fertile garden. We would also help my grandmother with the weeding and mowing work, which never seemed to have an end. But when we were finished our reward was waiting, a nice slice of Grandma’s black raspberry pie. My mouth waters even now just thinking about that.

There were old logger trails in those woods, which were great for orientation. We always knew how far in we could go and still be back to the house on time for lunch. We would spend the afternoons making bows and arrows, hunting for Indian arrowheads, and building little camouflaged blinds in the brush. The smell of fresh cut sassafras was thick in the air. 

We’d climb the trees and scout forward looking to find a new adventure. Though the woods were thick, we never had much concern about any dangers. We were careful though around rock piles and stacks of tree trunks the loggers left to be picked up later, the rattlesnakes liked to nest in those places. At night we sometimes heard bobcats screaming, but there were no wolves or bear there at the time, but I have heard that there are now.

On one of our grand adventures, my cousin and I discovered an old tree house, it wasn’t really much of a tree house, more of a deer stand. There was a makeshift latter of short planks nailed into the side of a tree. A coupled of the planks were missing so we had to pull ourselves up over the gap. The stand was only about 15 feet from the ground, but at that age I could have sworn it was 50, and I was afraid of heights.

My cousin, who is a couple of years older than me, talked me through it. He started up the latter to show me it was safe, so I reluctantly followed. When I finally reached the floor of the stand where my cousin was waiting, I was relieved and started to feel better about the heights. The deer stand was on the edge of the woods overlooking a large wheat field. From the other side of the tree stand you could see deep into the woods, down to the creek. The stand had apparently been there for a while now, and I was surprised when I found my dad and his cousin’s initials carved in the side of the tree with the year ’64.

After realizing the apparent age of this construct, I got scared and started to complain that I wanted to get out of there. But he tried to assure me, it was stable and safe. To prove his point, he started jumping up and down. Thud, thud, but then it came CRACK! I sprang as fast as I could for the nearest tree and hung on for dear life. My cousin was not so lucky, he and a large portion of the tree stand crashed to the ground. I managed to crane my head around to see where he had landed. He lie there motionless on top of the rubble heap. “Luke? Are you dead??” But he groaned and started moving. “Luke?” I called again. “How the heck am I supposed to get out of this tree?”

Shortly before my grandmother passed, she sold the house to Luke who lives there now with his family. I am glad to see when I drive by the house at the end of the drive way, the mail box still bears our family’s name. I hope that it will continue to do so until Judgement Day and beyond.

I hope you've enjoyed this episode of "Tales from the Dorkside".

Be sure to recommend, if you did.

Thank you