Growing Up in My Backyard

I came across come old pictures recently (you'll see some of them below).

They were from when I was a kid, mostly taken in the backyard of the home we lived in until I was 15. There were pictures of me and my sisters, my parents and grandparents. There were a few photos of the house and yard taken shortly before we moved away.

As I was converting the images from old Kodachrome slides to digital images a flood of memories came back.

The backyard is a lot smaller than I remember it. To me, back then, it was a whole world where I could explore, create, play and most of all build memories. I didn't know I was doing that at the time. Lately, I look back a lot more than I did then. Back then I was living, very much in the present moment.

If you came out the backdoor of the house, the first thing you'd see right in front of you, in the center of the yard was a maple tree. It had three trunks as it branched off in three directions from the ground. I would frequently try to climb up the tree bracing against all three trunks with my hands and feet and pushing myself up. The tree was very tall, you could see it well above the roofline if you were in the front yard. The G.I. Joe I got when I was about 7, would take his yellow rope with its copper wire hook, and climb the tree and hide in the rocks in the garden at the base of the tree.

One day while I had Joe's rope tied around him, I started swinging him propeller-like and threw him into the air. His rope and hook got caught high in the tree. So High in fact, that I couldn't see him among the leaves. He didn't come back down all that day.

In the autumn when the leaves fell, Joe could be seen from all around the neighborhood hanging from the branches about 25 feet up. There he would hang for about 3 more years. I think my dad eventually got him down. That or he eventually fell. If you follow me on Facebook you know I still have Joe and he makes periodic trips to events and places that I go.

Beyond the maple tree was a shed my dad built. I was very young when he built it, but I remember the day the cement truck came to pour the pad. I must have been 3 or 4 at the time. I always thought the shed was cool. It was like a small house, really. It held the garden tools and the camping gear. It had our bikes during the winter and my dad's motorcycle.

The shed was also where my dad kept a Frankenstein mask he made. A few times he came into our rooms late at night to terrorize wearing his army fatigues and that mask growling. We knew it was him but that didn't change the horror of it all. The mask kept me out of the shed until I asked my dad to cover it with a towel. I never moved that towel.

Behind the shed was a space about 2 feet wide between the shed and the red block wall. This was always a good place to hide. Behind the shed was always kept a ladder, some lengths of galvanized rain gutter, and an old TV antenna. They kind of got in the way of my adventuring, but I never questioned why we kept that stuff, it was just part of the yard.

Along the back of the yard was a fence made of red block that had been recovered from some building and used to build our fence and the fence of at least one other yard. The side borders of our yard were made of decorative cinder block fences my dad and one of our neighbors who was a brick mason, named "Brink" built. Brink built the fences in trade for an oil painting my dad made for him of a scene with some hunters and a red Jeep. I think each one of them believe they got the better end of the deal.

I could use the holes in the cinder block walls to get on top and then get onto the red block wall and walk along the top of it to get over the the shed. From the top of the red wall I could climb onto the top of the shed. On my way to the shed along the top of the wall, I might stop for grapes from the neighbors vine that grew on their side. They never seemed to pick them, so sometimes I would help myself.

The top of the shed was my secret domain. There were enough trees around that I could be up there and no one would know. I never really did anything up there but check out the world from a higher point of view. When the first space shuttle launched in April of 1981, and I heard that we would be able to see it going across the sky, I set my alarm and got up before the sun, climbed on to the wall and onto the shed to wait for it to come by. I don't remember seeing it. I probably didn't know what to look for.

On the north side of the shed was a little plot of dirt where some amazing things happened. The first thing I recall was that we planted a small vegetable garden there. I think we had carrots and peas. I was probably 4 at the time and I was amazed that I could actually plant a seed and sometime later on, pull a carrot from the ground, take it over to the hose and wash off the dirt and just eat it. I didn't have to buy it. I didn't have to ask anyone, I could just eat a carrot from the yard!

The next thing I remember on the north side of the shed was that my dad once tried to domesticate some magpies. I don't know how he caught them, but he built a cage and we had two magpies. Back in those days we didn't see magpies around there, so it was kind of cool in a way. Now they're all over the place and we can probably thank/blame my dad for messing with nature's delicate balance.

We had the magpies for a very short time, because it fell on my mom to go out and feed them during the day. I don't know what you feed a magpie, but one of them, upon seeing the door open decided to go for glory and make a run for it. I'm sure my mom ducked away in horror as it flew at her. She got the door closed trapping the other one inside, but the escapee, after making its break stood on the wire above the red brick wall and they called back and forth to each other. It took about one minute to realize why the caged bird sings with an annoying screech that can be heard 3 blocks away. The noise was horrible, no doubt as a ploy to get her to let the other one go, which of course she did. So, not too many days into magpie ranching, we had an empty cage on the north side of the shed.

Around the shed and all through the yard, I'd save old aluminum cans and place strategically so that I could sneak up on them with my BB gun. I'd creep up like a member of a SWAT team and take out each can as I made my way into the yard.

One day while on one of these "missions", I spotted a humming bird and watched it perch way up on the telephone wire above me between the shed and the telephone pole in the corner of the yard. I'm sure they little guy was just tired from all the flitting around. I'd never seen a humming bird land before. Without giving it much thought I raised the barrel of the gun with the stock still at my hip and pulled the trigger.

There was no motion, but I tiny feather flipped away and floated off to the side. About two seconds later the humming bird dropped like a tiny bag of wet cement.

It was a billion-to-one shot. I was horrified. I've tried to rationalize that there was a second BB gunman who was actually taking aim from another yard. But why would the CIA take out a hummingbird? He had to be 25 feet away and I shot from the hip. THAT WASN'T SUPPOSED TO HAPPEN. That was both the beginning and end of hunting for me.

Farther to the north, was another garden area retained by a meandering, low wall my dad made from left over fence block. When I was a little older, this is where the vegetable garden was moved. I was 9 or 10 then, and dad and I planted the garden. In the spring our garden was exciting, and I couldn't wait to see the stuff start coming up. Before long, our garden became my garden as dad was probably trying to teach me something - though I'm still not sure what. I give him the benefit of the doubt. I did often wonder back then, how come "I" was the one weeding "our" garden? Why was "I" the one to water "our" garden? Seemed odd and a little unfair. I think I always figured just being around was enough to earn my keep.

In that garden was a bird house on a tall pole. My dad made the birdhouse too. He was in inventor of many things. Just like farming, I was amazed that birds would actually come and live in it. You didn't have to lure them or anything. I'm not sure what the magpies' problem was.

Making your way around the yard, you'd head back toward the house where the patio was. On the patio, was a swing set frame that held a big bench swing. The frame was what I chained my bike to during the summer, so no one would swipe it. I've had a lot of issues with bikes getting stolen over the years, so I locked it there every night. The patio also had a picnic table. Another thing, my dad built. The patio was made of white and red 12 inch pavers that my dad had laid. In the cracks from time to time a helicopter seed from the maple tree, would fall on the patio and a baby maple would spring up.

On the other side of the back porch, was another planting bed walled in by another low wall made by dad from more leftover fence block. That garden contained my mom's Iris' that she's always love so much. I could also use that dirt to dig and play with my big Tonka trucks. One time while playing with some...peers (names withheld), while I was in the house retrieving some popsicles, they buried my red plastic firemen in the dirt. While I was wondering why they would do that, it was suddenly time for them to go. I dug and dug for days all around in that dirt and never found them. When I was in my mid 30's while remembering that day, it occurred to me for the first time that they never buried my firemen. They probably had them in their pockets when they left with the popsicles I'd just handed them. I don't know if there's a sucker born every minute, but there was definitely one born October 31, 1966.

The next place you came to in my backyard was the end of the carport. At the end of the carport hung a tire swing. Not just any tire swing but an inverted tire, tire swing. So it was sort of this cradle-shaped thing that you could never, ever, never fall out of. I loved the tire swing, especially when my dad would push me in it. He'd get me so high that I could almost touch the ceiling of the carport with my sneakers. The tummy tickle on this was INTENSE - every time!

The tire swing wasn't all fun though. It had a dark side.

How, you ask? I used to like to wear my dad's old army belt which was one of those brass buckle jobs with the little slidey thing that tightened the belt into place as you passed it through the buckle. Well, one day I thought I'd try and climb the south rope of the tire swing. Being one to always see the risk in any situation, I envisioned myself getting to the top of the rope and for some inexplicable reason just letting go. So as not to tumble backward to my death, I undid the army belt, put the rope from the swing up through it and tightened the belt around it.

I started to climb. One thing to note is that I've never been able to climb a rope, and that day was no different. I tried a few times, and in so doing, the little slidey thing on my belt buckle got tighter and tighter until I was trapped. I couldn't loosen the buckle and I couldn't get off the swing. This might have been the day I took up swearing, but those details are blurry. I did start calling for help. "Mom" "Mom!" "MOM!" "MOMMMMMMMMM!!!!" "CARMEN!!!"

Mom was in the house teaching piano lessons. Now, the thing you need to know about piano lessons is that no kid ever wanted to take them. She had a few students who caught the vision, and did really well, but for the most part it was week after week of horrible, lack-luster, eighth-hearted attempts to pass off "Old Uncle Bill", "Hot Cross Buns" and other winners from "John Thompson's Selections for Little Fingers" I know this because I was usually in the basement trying to watch "Gilligan's Island" to the worst soundtrack EVER! And it was on repeat.

On this day, when I was stuck on the rope, she couldn't hear me. Granted she was in the house and I was outside, but the kitchen window was open. She'd probably gone into a meditative state where she had tuned out not just the lousy version of "Twinkle Twinkle Little Star" that was playing, but all sound in general. I know I could be heard because passers-by were starting to notice, but they didn't seem to want to get involved. Some kid standing in the tire swing calling for his mom was just too odd to mess with. One of the neighbors eventually called my mom on the phone and she came out and saw my plight and it went like this:

Mom: "Well, what were you doing?"

Me: "I was trying to climb the rope."

Mom: "Why did you put your belt around it?"

By this time, I just wanted it all to be over.

If you're thinking that the belt incident was all me, and you're doubting my theory about the tire swing's dark side, I'll submit one more story for your consideration, that didn't even involve me. In fact, I wasn't even there.

In the carport, we had a Mercury Marquis, Colony Park station wagon, yellow with wood-paneled sides. One day my dad was doing some work on it. He could do stuff like that too. Anyway, he had the hood up and was adjusting something with the engine running. I'm not sure what he was doing but he was getting in and out of the car, going from engine compartment to drivers seat and back again. On one of his trips from the drivers seat back to the front of the car, he must have put it in "drive" because after he got out of the car and closed the door, it started to idle forward. As he scrambled to open the door and get back in to put it back in park, the dark-sided tire swing caught the corner of the hood of the car and started to do sort of a "can opener" number on it. He got it stopped but not before some damage was done.

"Gilligan's Island" ended and I came upstairs and outside. The hood of the car was closed, but the corner of it was dog-eared like a piece of stapled paper. I heard the story later.

It's okay dad. That swing had a dark side.

Continuing around the back yard, you'd come to the clothesline that ran along the south end of the yard a few feet out from the fence. On one of the poles of the line was a windmill. My dad made that too, from a broom handle that he fashioned some fins too and made a perfectly balanced propeller that would tell us the direction of the wind accurately at anytime.

When I was very young, I'd get all hopped up on the old Batman TV show and ask mom to safety pin a towel to my neck for a cape. I'd go out the the clothes line and "PUNCH" and "BOP" and "WHAM" my way through the "walls" that I imagined the sheets on the clothesline to be.

In the big lawn area is where I would do my sports as I got older. Dad and I would throw the football or a baseball. For about two weeks one summer we played badminton in the space to the side of the maple tree near the shed. We played every evening that he was home.

Most of my friends that lived in the area weren't as into football as I was, about the time I was 9 or 10. I could occasionally convince one of them to play Nerf football with me but sometimes it was just me. I remember those old Nerf footballs. I had several. I'd play with them until the finish wore off and it was just like a big sponge. Then if I left it out in the rain it would take on about a half gallon of water, weighed about 5 pounds and was no fun to catch. Then I'd have to step on it and spike it on the sidewalk and wait for it to dry out. Whenever I'd run out to the lawn to pick it up the question in my mind was always, "Is it dry?"

Since I couldn't always find someone interested in playing, I'd imagine whole games that I would play on my own. I was the quarterback, the receiver, the punter, the kicker, etc. I stopped short of being my own coach, mostly because I didn't want to go stand on the sideline (which was the sidewalk over by the garden where the firemen were buried).

I'd imagine an end of game scenario where it had to be a hail Mary pass from me, to me. I'd throw it high, to the other end of the yard and start my all-out run. I'd have to clear the power and phone lines coming in from the pole to the house, but if I did, I'd catch the ball just as I approached goal line (the imaginary line that went from the clothes line pole, with the windmill, over to the tire swing) to spike the ball and go into a victory pose. And once and for all, the Vikings would win the Super Bowl.

Life in my backyard was pretty great. I hated leaving that place. A good portion of my life was spent in that little corner of the world. At least, I've got the pictures.