Dedcated to my brother
Byline June Bridger
As a kid I
didn't know we were poor. We made due with what we had and on a winter day when
my brother was given the responsibility of watching his little sister we didn't
dare return to the house for fear of being told we couldn't go back out or worse,
getting in trouble for what we found to keep us busy.
I remember
dragging the little red sleigh over to grandpa's, where the animals were, right
on my brother's heals. Well, it started
out that way, his legs were a lot longer than mine so I kinda, sorta just
followed his tracks in the snow. When I finally caught up to him, he was busy
shoveling rotting potatoes to the pigs. I hung back knowing the one sow had
been wild and also being warned that she would eat me if given the chance. Not
sure whether that was true or not.
While
waiting for him to finish his job, I decided the hill nearby that had once been
the river bank looked good for sledding. Red sled runners sink in fresh snow.
It didn't go well.
I don't know
if my brother found my dismal flop at sledding the hill humorous or not. I do
recall following him to the spud cellar for the next load of pig fodder. The
old spud cellar was built in the old river bed and nearby I noticed smooth
slick looking tracks on the old river bank. When I asked my brother about it,
he admitted that his "chore" was taking much longer because well--he
was using his shovel as a sled. I obviously wanted to see him do it. So, with
me standing in the river bed, he scampered up the far side a few yards away
carrying his shovel. Now let me explain that this is no garden shovel. This is
a shovel used to move loose coal and fill coal furnace hoppers. It could also
be used to carry fifteen to twenty pounds of rotting spuds from the cellar to
the pigs. Imagine it big enough for a
grown man to place his feet on without touching any other surface. My brother
stepped onto the shovel and gracefully rode it down the bank and to about three
feet from me.
He made it
look so easy! I begged for him to let me try it. I must have begged him the
whole time he carried another shovel full of rotting potatoes to the pigs and
you know I wanted it bad 'cause rotting spuds stink. At last he agreed to teach
me how to ride the shovel. Mind you there is a trick involved in riding a
shovel down a one hundred and twenty degree angle. A trick he didn't bother to
share with me until I had performed a somersault face plant.
The trick is
a combination of standing on the balls of your feet, in snow boots, and
balancing as the shovel moves down the slope at enough speed to give the rider
a thrill. It took me most of the afternoon to master even once but on that day
my big brother was no longer one of the teasing goonies but my hero and very
best friend.
I went back
to do more sledding a few days later when my brother couldn't go with me. The
shovel had disappeared. The sled runs were still present but the shovel wasn't
in the cellar as my brother had left it. Leaves one to wonder if Dad or Grandpa
saw the snow runs and face plant prints and didn't like the idea of a six-year-old
girl learning to shovel sled.
