Day 10. Weeding the field.

You know that scene at the end of "Terminator" - the original - when Linda Hamilton's character, Sarah Connor, looks out at the horizon after a young photographer has taken her picture and warns her of a storm coming? 

I'm always envious of that scene. Not that a huge apocalypse is looming in the distance, but the fact that this strong woman is heading out on an adventure, on her own, with no one to take care of but herself and her dog.

Ok - that is totally simplifying her significance to the story. But it's that simplistic view that I'm going to use to start today's story.

When I was younger I was a free spirit. I only needed to take care of myself, to dream big, and to look out over that horizon not exactly knowing what was ahead.

At that point I would have found it difficult to go to a secluded space and be alone. I had eleven brothers and sisters so unless you were in the bathroom you rarely had a place to relax and disengage.

For me that spot was the creek (pronounced crick). When my parents moved us to Oak Creek (pronounced to rhyme with speak) we didn't know what to expect. We had moved from Cudahy where the houses were so close together that you could reach out your window and touch the house next door, to an area where our backyard was a field. No, really, a full-on field. One summer my mother actually made Judy, Mike, Laurie and me go weed the field as punishment for sitting inside and watching television too much.

Judy and Mike cleared a large portion. I did my part, but Laurie, who was a bit smaller and not as strong as the rest of us sat on the ground pulling at one weed for almost the entire afternoon. 

One.

Weed.

We agreed - she was a good actress.

After that Judy made sure she had other placed to be, or she would hide in her bedroom and read books. Mike, Laurie and I escaped further manual labor punishment by heading to the creek and exploring the paths within. Weird that we never worried about ticks back then, now a days you wouldn't find me anywhere near trees without a chemical bath of deet and skin-so-soft (check it out - it's a great mosquito repellent).

Anyway, the three of us spent many hours clearing brush away and making forts. Some were very elaborate with fireplaces complete with a rock chimney. We made bedrooms, kitchens, living areas. Most of the required clearing away brush and twigs from the area. We needed to make sure that the floor of the fort was as clean as possible.

We would spend hours walking along the banks of the creek looking for crawdads. Not to eat, but to race. Did you know that crawfish (pronounced cray-fish) actually swam backwards? Sometimes we would catch fish - but would always let them go, especially since none of us were fond of fish as food. Probably a good thing, too, because I found out years later that I was allergic to fish.

There were a number of trees with long thorns and every now and then one would pierce through the bottom of your shoe an into your heel. That would result in staying out of the forts for a few days while your foot healed. When we returned we would always find them demolished by other kids who also wanted to avoid weeding the field. The demolition of one spot never seemed to keep us from building more. 

One time we decided to have a cook out. My dad was a meat inspector and we always seemed to have a freezer full of meat. Did you know that it takes a real long time for hamburger to thaw out after it's been in a deep freeze for months? Neither did we. We took the full pound of burger and plopped it into a fire we had made. We left it in there maybe 10 minutes and pulled it out. 

The outside was cooked, but the majority was frozen. We pulled the cooked stuff off and put it on a plate on the ground. Then put the large chunk into the fire. We did this enough times that we had a nice plate of cooked ground beef for each of us, and one large frozen piece of hamburger that had been torn so much that it looked like a murder scene from CSI. 

We ate the cooked burger - I am positive it was delicious - and tossed the rest into the creek. I'm positive that if my mom found out we would be back in the field pulling weeds.

Even when Laurie and Mike didn't want to go to the creek I would go by myself. I loved just sitting there, listening to the wind in the trees, waiting for someone to come along to trash our fort and scare them away. I would wade in the water - but not too long because it was home to blood suckers (leeches) and many, many pieces of broken glass. I still have scars on my hand from pushing down in the mud and cutting my hand on the bottom of a bottle.

There are times when I miss that solitude. Not worrying about anyone but myself. I used to go to conferences for that reason, traveling for work was something you couldn't avoid and was a way to get away from responsibilities of home. I miss those days and hope they return again.

Not too long ago, in the fall I decided to take a walk through the woods of Oak Creek Parkway with my dog, Lyra. The hike took us along the overgrown brush and to narrow paths that lead into those spikey trees. I remembered the pain and decided not to travel too far so that Lyra didn't get hurt.

After a short cut I did find the creek. It didn't look as wide as I remembered and I didn't find any forts - at least none I could see. 

I guess breaking a trail is easier when you are young, on a bike, and hiding from your parents. Or perhaps these trails no longer call to kids who have little league or video games to keep them busy.

Or maybe they were hiding in the trees ready to scare me away from their forts. 

Maybe next time I'll bring Mike and Laurie along and see if they want to race crawfish or look for snails.