Recalling summer days on the Nelson farm

We just cannot sustain a constant Mad Hatter-style dashing about and the eternal engagement is nothing less than the pithiest issues. Every now and again a reprieve is necessary to the maintenance of at least a semblance of sanity. And so, I pause, reminisce, relive and report on those moments in my day-to-day life be they current or simply the fondest of memories.

In the childhood life of a Nelson living on the Reva farm, there was little opportunity of boredom or trouble for that matter, at least not any serious trouble. The occasional individual misbehavior resulting in no TV, no dessert or being grounded will have to be a story for another day.

With school out and summer upon us, I have been drawn to thoughts of the summers spent with my siblings at the farm. I have mentioned before that my father adamantly believed in child labor.

The truth is he believed that everyone should labor and children were no exception. Knowing full well that no one in their right mind would pay us for our efforts before the age of 12 or 13, he designed a work plan that would include even the youngest at the tender age of six. There was always a job and we were compensated financially for our endeavors.

Hard at it by 6:30 a.m., we would work until about noon. I think he began to feel sorry for us when it got really hot and would change the schedule of activities after lunch. The mornings were spent in fruitful tasks that varied with the season. It may have been walking behind a wagon clearing the fields of loose rocks, chopping thistles and “skunk” cabbage, burning creek banks, repairing fences or worming the sheep. During hay making my size limited my ability to contribute; I was assigned the job of driving the tractor while the bigger children picked up the bales. No matter how hard I tried, I invariably threw someone off with my consistent clutch popping. Dad would get pretty upset, but the boys would just laugh.

Weekends brought a welcome afternoon of free time, much of it being spent in the woods on the top of Bruce’s Mtn., building forts, flying off into space in the most fantastic rocket ship or saving the world from all the bad guys with our six shooters.

Today the rocket ship has disappeared, but a few newly fallen trees have become the latest fantasy. Oh, but for the presence of children with a limitless imagination.

We often bemoan the fact that the seldom-used imagination has atrophied giving way to satisfaction derived only from instant electronic stimuli, but that is not the only handicap. One tends to relish those precious opportunities for self designed adventure when the recipient recognizes it as a reward for a job well done.

The mountaintop remains a source of simple, exciting, unsupervised and boundless fun. Stay tuned for more reports from the top of the mountain.

Until next week, be well.