By Ted Tyler
As reflected elsewhere in these reminisces of a T.P. childhood in the late 1930’s and the 1940’s, “safety” was not the operative word it has now become. I’m not sure the concept even existed. Seatbelts were unheard of: the back of a pick up sufficed for carting any of your kids considered old enough to hold on (which wasn’t that long after weaning). An uncle provided me with a .22 rifle – at age seven, as I recollect - which I was allowed to use unsupervised. Once out of kindergarten I don’t believe there was any supervision, and even before that, responsibility was delegated to siblings or cousins not much older (or more sensible) than you were. And it was a wonderful life! I remain a firm believer that just as farm kids don’t have allergies because their immune systems are constantly put to the test, you can’t learn how to protect or save yourself unless you get plenty of practice in survival skills from the get-go. So in addition to long swims in the lake without a life jacket, climbs to the tops of 60-foot trees – or along the cliffs (there’s more on the joys of those activities elsewhere), here’s in part how I and my companions amused ourselves:
Apple Sticks. Anyone who has been at the T.P. knows that there are scrub apple trees all over the place. From July until September these were used as projectiles, the smaller and harder the fruit, the better. First you needed to prepare your apple stick, lithe, approximately three feet long, thumb-size at the b
ase and progressively slimmer toward the point. Actually the new growth withes from the apple trees themselves were perfect for this purpose. Your always- present jack knife sharpened the end. Some theorists considered the stick unfinished until the point had been hardened briefly in fire. Next, you collected a bunch of apples and looked for a place out of sight (and out of reach of angry adults) for a launch pad. The roof of the old barn (where the outdoor pool is now located) was perfect for this – its great height was a benefit and you could disappear over the apex of the roof. (I’m not sure adults even knew how - or were slim or foolish enough – to access the roof through its cupola.)
You’d now survey the terrain for an appropriate target – perhaps a cluster of adults enjoying themselves at the waterfront. The next step was to impale an apple on the stick, not so hard it wouldn’t come off, but not so lightly that the apple would dislodge before the full force of your throw. The distance an apple properly flung could travel was amazing. And the distance provided protection from retribution: the bombarded adult (unless he’d grown up on a farm, too) would search only a radius of 200 feet or so for the miscreant – who by this time would be on the other side of the barn roof doubled up in evil laughter.
As reflected elsewhere in these reminisces of a T.P. childhood in the late 1930’s and the 1940’s, “safety” was not the operative word it has now become. I’m not sure the concept even existed. Seatbelts were unheard of: the back of a pick up sufficed for carting any of your kids considered old enough to hold on (which wasn’t that long after weaning). An uncle provided me with a .22 rifle – at age seven, as I recollect - which I was allowed to use unsupervised. Once out of kindergarten I don’t believe there was any supervision, and even before that, responsibility was delegated to siblings or cousins not much older (or more sensible) than you were. And it was a wonderful life! I remain a firm believer that just as farm kids don’t have allergies because their immune systems are constantly put to the test, you can’t learn how to protect or save yourself unless you get plenty of practice in survival skills from the get-go. So in addition to long swims in the lake without a life jacket, climbs to the tops of 60-foot trees – or along the cliffs (there’s more on the joys of those activities elsewhere), here’s in part how I and my companions amused ourselves:
Apple Sticks. Anyone who has been at the T.P. knows that there are scrub apple trees all over the place. From July until September these were used as projectiles, the smaller and harder the fruit, the better. First you needed to prepare your apple stick, lithe, approximately three feet long, thumb-size at the b
ase and progressively slimmer toward the point. Actually the new growth withes from the apple trees themselves were perfect for this purpose. Your always- present jack knife sharpened the end. Some theorists considered the stick unfinished until the point had been hardened briefly in fire. Next, you collected a bunch of apples and looked for a place out of sight (and out of reach of angry adults) for a launch pad. The roof of the old barn (where the outdoor pool is now located) was perfect for this – its great height was a benefit and you could disappear over the apex of the roof. (I’m not sure adults even knew how - or were slim or foolish enough – to access the roof through its cupola.)You’d now survey the terrain for an appropriate target – perhaps a cluster of adults enjoying themselves at the waterfront. The next step was to impale an apple on the stick, not so hard it wouldn’t come off, but not so lightly that the apple would dislodge before the full force of your throw. The distance an apple properly flung could travel was amazing. And the distance provided protection from retribution: the bombarded adult (unless he’d grown up on a farm, too) would search only a radius of 200 feet or so for the miscreant – who by this time would be on the other side of the barn roof doubled up in evil laughter.
To be continued.
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