Hobos 'n Other Adventures

Hobos and Other Adventures

The railroad track narrows in the distance and disappears around a bend. The sun beats down hot on our heads but the summer breeze is stiff in our faces and peels our hair back then whips it around to cover our eyes briefly. Laughter and happy chatter punctuates the afternoon silence as we scramble to see who can walk on the rail the farthest. School will soon recapture us to steal away our freedom but until then we will eat up as much as we can of what is left of summer.

Small towns have little to offer kids in the way of entertainment so we had to create our own but back in the '50's that never seemed hard to do. It didn't make any difference where we went or how often, that old imagination would kick in and open doors to new adventures. Walking the rails, we could be a hobo heading to far off lands for those tracks seemed to go on forever to spur visions of adventure just around the bend.

Or we could slide down the ditch on the seat of our pants to explore among the weeds that were taller than us to look for twisted pieces of glass in all shapes and colors where long before our time a glass factory stood. It was said that it blew up and we supposed it was so and there wasn't a one of us that didn't have a collection hidden in a box of these gnarled and shiny glass treasures.

Around the bend was the railroad bridge that made our nerves zing with the possibility of danger. No matter how many times we crossed it, it was always like the first time and the thrill of fear licked at our heels as we looked between the ties at the river bed far below.

When you were too far across to turn around someone would inevitably shout, "TRAIN!" and although you assumed they were kiddin’, the hair would rise on the back of your neck and panic would seize your gut because...what if they weren't?  With pounding heart you scurried on across and roll down the hill to safety with whoops of laughter and shouts of..."FOOLED YOU....ha ha ha!" ringing in your ears.

For awhile we’d sit in the shade and talk of things....just things. Hobos or bicycles or summer things and what it will be like going back to school. Then someone says..."Let's go...." and we climb the steep rocky hill back to the tracks. About a quarter of a mile on down we clamor down that hill again, cross the ditch and climb the wire fence into the Boy Scout woods. Years of kids’ feet have worn foot paths among the trees and brambles. We hit the ground runnin' and scatter like a startled flock of birds. Voices are muted among the trees and shouts and squeals can be heard from all directions.

Someone reaches the fallen tree and scrambles aboard to walk its trunk like a balance beam and once again we congregate to follow suit and let our imaginations soar. The afternoon is dawdled away in laughter and games as we play our way to the Boy Scout cabin then down the lane to the road leading back into town. Squabbles ensue as we decide…go left out of town to the big bridge and Craig's gravel pits or go back to the school yard? The school yard wins.

But on the way there we stop at the grain elevator to climb on top of boxcars and play in the coal bins...our mothers are gonna be real happy with us tonight! And speaking of mothers...the sun is sinking low and our bellies are rumbling so we all head home for supper. Plans are loosely made for later as some of us will wander back to the streets with our bellies full and ready to play.

We'll ride our bikes, bounce basketballs or toss a softball. We'll just goof around and when it's dark we'll play Gray Wolf and squeals and laughter will fill the night air like disembodied voices hidden in the shadows and seldom does our folks call us in. We play until we are worn out for the day then we drift our own way home to do it all again tomorrow.

We had a never-ending supply of things and places to explore and seldom did they grow old. Imaginations are a wonderful thing and sadly missing in today's children. But back in the '50's the world belonged to kids and we treated it respectfully. Our church doors were never locked and a few of us spent hours on hot summer days playing in the cool church basement or exploring the balcony and we often played the piano or organ. We knew where we were and we were never rowdy there but quiet and respectful of God's house.

There was the stockyard where occasionally there'd be a huge snorting bull to scare us out of our wits. We ran the inside when it was empty and played on its roof when it wasn't. There was the big barn down by the creek with the hayloft and rope to swing on. Empty buildings and houses sparked teasing of the younger kids. These places had ghost and only WE could talk to them and hear them.  And furthermore…they believed us!

Soon school would begin and new adventures lay ahead for the winter months. Weiner roast and hayrides, church Christmas plays, ice skating and....well maybe I'll tell you of those adventures another time.

Summer time, kids and the '50's....it was a time of enchantment and security and imaginations at their best. Those memories will warm my heart until I take my last breath. Oh to be a kid again........

Until next time…keep smilin’…

(copyright bldavid)