Submitted May 31, 2007 by Martha Stevens-David
As children, us Stevens kids, living off the land the way we did in "the county," were exposed to all aspects of life and nature that we never gave a second thought about. There were always wondrous and interesting things to do and places to explore. We'd get up each day and as soon as we could, we'd take off to see what trouble we could get into and we could usually find trouble without even half trying.
If we weren't down to Uncle Hal's island causing him problems, then we were down on Mr. Beaulier's land interfering with his farming. Or, if Mother's back was turned we'd be rummaging through Dad's stuff every chance we got. We'd borrow, appropriate or just plain steal any tools, food or items that we could find and take off for the woods. Once there, we commenced a flurry of activity that would have put the drones of a beehive to shame.
We'd cut down trees and build "camps" all over the place and some parts of them, these fifty years later, are still standing. It didn't matter that the land and the trees didn't belong to us, we felt as though they did and the owner's of the land, when they'd run into our newest creation, would tell Dad about it and that was that. Dad didn't have the time nor the energy to chase eight kids all over to heck and gone.
Once school was out, we'd wander the roads and woods with abandon. Mother, happy to have some peace and quiet, would give us a lunch of cold biscuits slathered with margarine or molasses and off we'd go, hither and thither, like dandelion seeds caught in the wind.
We never thought about catching diseases or anything like that. When we got thirsty, we'd walk until we found a tiny, running stream or just a hole in the ground that cool, clear water was burbling out of and then we'd drink our fill and be off again. I can't imagine all the miles we must have walked in our childhood and growing up years.
If we weren't building camps, we were digging up Uncle Hal's potatoes or we were fishing. If we heard Dad saying that someone had caught a nice mess of trout up to Squa Pan Stream, off we'd go, to try our luck to see if any trout were still there. Or, if the fishing hole was along the Aroostook River, we'd run down to Uncle Hal's island, steal Dad's canoe and strike out into the slowly moving Aroostook River to catch the big ones.
Sometimes, we'd walk along the dirt road for miles, picking up cans and beer bottles that we'd turn in for soda or candy after we'd walked to McKay's Store or up to Squa Pan to Casey's Country Store and then trudge the long, dusty dirt road home again. Folks would pass us by and recognizing us as Bill Steven's kids, they'd toot and wave and later on when they'd run into Dad or Mother, they'd tell of having seen us in one place or another, which was usually quite far from home. Then, we'd have to explain where we'd been and why. But usually, as long as we weren't bothering folks, or tearing up someone's potato fields, we were left pretty much to our own devices.
There were always a million and one things to do in the county. One day, it might be fishing and the next day we might be looking for frogs so that Jake could have a mess of frog's legs to eat. Another day, we'd be swimming in the Aroostook River and another we might be roaming through the forests that edged the river, looking spruce gum.
We'd dig the resin off the trees with whatever tool that was handy which was usually a twig or a sharp rock and spend the rest of the afternoon chewing the hard lumps of gum until our jaws were sore, our teeth were loose and our stomachs were rebelling. As soon as our intestines had recovered in a couple of days or so, we'd be right back looking for more gum.
When fall wound its way into the county, we could most often be found out walking about the neighboring farms looking for the hazelnut bushes that grew in profusion along the old, rock walls. We'd pick every last furry, green nut that we could find and then hurry home with our bags overflowing to pound the burlap bags on the rocks so that we could hull them more easily. By the time we were done our fingers would be stained brown from the juice and filled with the burrs from the hulls. We'd rush inside to give the nuts to mother so that she could make her wonderful hazelnut fudge for us.
By the time winter arrived, we were ready for all sorts of new adventures. If we weren't ice skating on the frozen dirt roads, we were sledding on them or we were making Eskimo houses or playing ice hockey on the frozen surface of the Aroostook River. We'd skate on the blue ribbon of ice for miles until we were nearly down to the Ashland Bridge and then we'd turn around and skate back home again.
Jake, ever the instigator cajoled and harangued Uncle Pete until he'd wrangled an old, beat-up toboggan out of him. He sanded and varnished that toboggan until it was so shiny that a shaft of wan sunlight glancing off the polished surface bored into our eyes like a laser. Now he was ready! His plan was to take it down to the top of the long hill behind Mr. Beaulier's house and try it out.
We were so excited that morning. We were going to have the ride of our lives and little did we know that there was more truth to that than poetry! The four of us, Jake, Bub, me and Helen skittered across the crusty, wind-packed snow until we reached the top of the long hill. As we looked down the vast expanse of frozen blue ice, I felt a little niggle of fear in my belly and I turned to Jake and said, "Are you sure that this thing will stop before we get to the railroad tracks?" Jake turned his bright blue eyes on me like I was the world's oldest fool and said. "You don't have to go if you're so scared, Toots." "I'm not scared Jake." I blustered and dropped the subject. Then we set to arguing about who was going to sit where.
Finally, Jake has us all arranged. He made me get on first with Bub right behind me and then poor, little Helen. Jake was going to be the last one on. When I protested this seating arrangement, Jake said that since he was the strongest, he needed to sit in the back because he was going to be the one to push us off and steer us in the right direction. His explanation made sense to me so I stifled my other concerns and climbed into the front and sat down.
I braced my feet against the turned up front and then I turned to Jake. "How do we steer this thing anyway?" Jake gave an exasperated snort and said, "Don't you know anything Toots? All we have to do is hold on to that rope and then we lean in one direction or the other and the toboggan will go any way we want it to." "But Jake." I started to say and he screamed at me. "Toots, shut tha friggin' up or get off!" Seeing my ride evaporating right before my eyes, I capitulated. "Okay, okay." I mumbled. Jake grunted as he pulled the toboggan back and forth a couple of times to loosen it from the crusty snow and then he gave the sled a long running push and hopped on the back.
The old toboggan picked up speed as it began its descent over the frozen ground and with every little bump in the snow, the toboggan became airborne and we were flying! The small shrubs and bushes didn't impede our journey one dite; we mowed them down or drove right through them. Our hearts were in our throats and suddenly, something we hadn't even thought about, loomed up ahead of us in the frozen ground. Mr. Beaulier's old wooden fence! Seeing the fence, Jake stuck his feet out to try and guide the toboggan away from the stumps but we were going too fast. "Jump!" "Jump!" he screamed at the rest of us as he dove headfirst off into the crusty snow.
I quickly stuck my left leg out to try and push the toboggan away from the barbed wire of the fence but my boot covered foot skittered across the top of the crusty snow and did nothing to impede our journey. But my leg was the first thing to encounter the rusty barbed wire fence and the wire, still attached to the rotten fence posts, impaled itself in my leg, and was drug along with us as we made our way through the fallen down section of fence. We finally came to rest up against the side of a large boulder just short of the Bangor and Aroostook railroad tracks!
The next thing I remember, Bub, Helen and I were all tangled up in the barbed wire and old wooden fence poles. Bub was swearing, Helen was crying and I was dying. Since I was in the front, I caught the worst of it.
Jake came skittering down the hill of frozen snow and crawled up to where I lay. My chin was bleeding, my hat was gone and I had a big splinter of wood stuck in my hair. One of my boots was missing and down around my ankle blood was seeping through my wool pants leg into the snow. I tried to sit up but the barbed wire entangled in my ankle and coat held me where I was.
Thinking that Jake was going to extricate me, I looked up at him and waited. His eyes were shining and his face glowed from the cold and the excitement of the ride. "Jayus Toots!" He exclaimed. "Wasn't that one heck-of-ah ride!" I looked up at him and said, "Yah Jake, It was one heck-of-ah ride alright!" I replied sarcastically. Now I knew why he'd insisted that he be the one to sit on the back!
It was a much different bunch of kids who came straggling home that afternoon and Jake never did take that old toboggan out for another ride. Mother, seeing that our enthusiasm for toboggan riding had waned, commented to Dad that night that kids just didn't seem to have fun like they used to when she was a kid. Dad looked at her and shook his bald head. Then he said, "If these kids have anymore fun, it'll be the death of them!"
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