Modern Hill Woman

I believe in free range grandparenting. So did my mom, but my grandkids aren’t quite as free range as her’s were.

We have a really big family, so at any given time in the summer there might be as many as a dozen kids at our house. They were my nieces and nephews but were more like siblings or cousins to me.

We played in the woods from early morning, coming in for lunch, then back out until dusk.

In the spring we’d take tree branches and rake out our path we travelled on, starting near the house and meandering around the woods until it came back to the washed-out gravel road where we walked to catch the bus during school. We’d have work days spent dragging brush to rebuild our woodland rooms and forts.

Across the gravel road was an old broke down black truck. We’d pretend to drive it to church or town with a load of kids in the back all jumping and bouncing around to make it feel real.

Near the truck was a grove of hickory saplings. We’d each choose a tree, climb as near to the top as possible, then sway and rock to bend it as close to the ground as we could. That was probably quite a sight to see, a dozen kids being flung around in treetops.

We had a special place we called Paradise Island. It was a large, beautiful, emerald green moss covered mound. We only made that trek a couple of times each summer because it was “so far”, maybe a quarter of a mile away. We were sure it was a magical place and fairies may have lived there.

We learned a lot about nature, especially about ticks, seed ticks, and chiggers, and to not mess with snakes.

Lightning bugs were fun to catch and put in a jar, but stunk if you tried to mash their tails and make jewelry from them. June bugs could entertain for hours when you tied a string to their back leg and let them fly around and around. Cicada shells, we called them locusts, were fascinating and creepy. We couldn’t understand why people in the Bible ate them. We had an outhouse so you’d see the occasional tumble bug. They were disgusting but interesting to watch as they rolled their ball of dung to who knows where. And, yes, some bugs were injured during this time. There were a lot of three legged June bugs on our farm.

We picked and played with mom’s flowers. When you placed your thumb and forefinger in a Snapdragon head it was a miniature puppet. If you took a Hollyhock bloom and attached an unopened bud to it with a straight pin it became a lady in a ball gown. We’d always check the clock to make sure the Four O’Clocks bloomed at the correct time. We exploded hundreds of Touch-me-not seed pods with a slight touch of a finger. Dried Day Lily stems became swords, there were many sword fights in the front yard.

Not unlike mom’s free-range chickens, we learned about pecking order. If mom wasn’t in sight the older kids were in charge and would police and occasionally dole out punishment to the younger kids. We really did not want mom involved in any disagreement because it might be ended by her cutting a peach tree switch. My sister Marylin was the primary enforcer, mainly beating up my nephew Billy for tormenting the younger kids. She had a history of beating up boys in grade school, either to take their marbles or to make them be her boyfriend.

I planted a lot of mom’s favorites this year, Hollyhocks, Snapdragons, Bells of Ireland, Cocks Comb, and Batchelor Buttons. After the Hollyhocks bloom I think I’ll show the grandkids how to create something magical.