Tommy & Mary Stories

Tommy and Mary Stories

Installment #1

Much of our play time was spent out of doors. We loved crawling around on our hands and knees making trails and mazes in the timothy hay and alfalfa which Jim McCalligan, the farmer next door, planted in the fields behind our house. We lived in a 2-story 100-year-old house in Water Valley. (Water Valley is in Hamburg, New York.) Those fields occupied us for many happy hours.

One rainy winter the fields flooded then froze over forming a super-duper ice rink! Tommy and I each nailed one of Dad's great homemade skis (uh oh!) to our sleds-flipped-upside down. Sitting inside the sled-on-skis and using an old stick for a "pusher" we could glide our gondola boats streaking across our icy lake. Whoosh. Skidding crazily. Finding fun things to do was never a problem for Tommy and me.

Snow Ponies

That old field had a few fenced-in pastures filled with snow drifts and sometimes the nice wet stuff great for building snowmen, igloos and ponies. First we rolled giant snow balls. You remember how they leave that zigzag path of fresh green grass underneath? It takes about 2 biggies side by side and a smaller oblong one on top. With mittens on hands, sculpt a horse's head, mussel, two ears and eyes. It takes a bit of patience to attach a nice long horse head. If his head falls off you can make repairs pretty easily. Better give him a tail too. Oh these faithful mounts were quite rideable after a blanket from the house was fitted for a saddle to keep our bottoms a little warmer. We rode many a twilight evening on those old snow ponies off to distant foreign lands. I can still hear the blunted sound of winter's flakey air.

Cousins visit

It was such great fun that Thanksgiving when we were snowed in, company and all! Remember the sound of the cars crunching and spinning in the deep snow out there on Gowanda State Road as folks crept up and down the steep Water Valley hill. The electricity was out and so were all the kids--cousins. Our annual 7-foot backyard snowdrift had arrived along with a great snow squall just in time to assure a sleepover. Yippee! Dad showed us how to cut snow blocks and created a "real" igloo with rounded top just like in Alaska. We found that we could also dig a great "rabbit hole" and tunnel under the drift and, if it froze just right, we could walk on top of the tunnels. I don't think Mom really knew about that. Just be really careful if you make a snow tunnel. You could squish somebody down there. After hours of digging and once thoroughly frozen, we cousins trudged into the house with snow pearls attached to our stringy wet hair. As soon as the old wooden drying rack was layered in our soggy snow pants, mittens, hats and stuff, we played games and worked on some Christmas crafts the Moms had ready for us. Thanks to a gas stove the Moms managed to bake the turkey and prepared the classic feast. The cousins eventually had to go home when the roads cleared a few days later. Such unexpected fun we had together.

Castle Wars

That is no ordinary old farmyard driveway in the winter. Quiet Mr. McCalligan plowed the best no-man’s land between the castle walls you ever saw. His good ole horse team--Tom and Jerry--could plow snow deeper than their heads! Where IS that great picture of Tommy riding Jerry all bundled up in his snow pants, boots, mittens and coonskin cap? Tommy I mean.

In a good season the snow would be piled at least 100 feet high, or maybe it was 10. Walking between the snow piles might have seemed something like the Israelites walking between the red sea walls of water rising high above their heads. Anyway, up on top of our snow piles, we formed paths and walkways. You know the old fashioned kind of castle walls with turrets and protected walks above the courtyards. That kind. Better get stocked up with cannonballs! Hurry! War is about to be declared! Snowballs freckle the air back and forth from turret to turret. The sun has melted and twilight puddles on the landscape around our citadel. The war cries echo in the evening stillness, but hark! (That is a word my Gramma Markham often used which meant “children, listen up” please.) Hark. The back door of our house opens and all too well I know the interruption of that sound. From the door the inside lights cast their warm glow on the blue bank of snow. "Supper time" she calls. Aw, darn! War postponed. Mom's wonderful roast and potatoes and homemade custard pudding--rich smells pouring out the door coaxing the warrior children home. Okay, we’re coming.

To be continued . . . Well, what are you still doing here? Go eat your supper.