In today’s world of technological games, and sophisticated toys, one might well wonder how kids could possibly entertain themselves in the environment that I have described.  We enjoyed ourselves greatly, and the games may have stimulated imagination just as much—maybe even more–than today’s gadgetry.

Playing cars was one of the biggies.  In the sand, in the brush-broomed yard beside the Little House, there were, at times, extensive roads for “cars.”  Right after Christmas, we might have had a toy car or truck, but for the most part, we improvised.  Sardine cans, cut just right, made excellent trucks.  If the top remained intact on one of the short sides, the rest of the top could be folded to make a wonderful windshield.  Blue milk of magnesia bottles were luxury cars.  Vanilla extract bottles, up on their sides, with indentations, would pass for motorcycles.  Spam cans were the bulldozers that built and repaired the roads.  The list could go on and on.  And there were cows, mules, houses, barns and other imaginary representations, to support much simulated adult discussion of the entire operation.  The conversations, of course, were in the vernacular of the day, and involved make believe visits to neighbors, building projects and the like.

Cowboys and outlaws and Indians were standard fare.  Sticks, like the ones used to make brush-brooms, made excellent stick horses.  The reins, made of string, went around the big end, and the little end just tapered off.  The “horse” went between the legs, and our legs did the galloping.  In retrospect, it probably looked more like riding a snake than riding a horse, but that was no obstacle to our ready imaginations!  The tails of the horses would wear off smooth from dragging the ground.  And at night, the horses were hitched to the front porch.  Great battles occurred, often with imaginary opponents.  The Christmas cap pistols would last a while, and then be replaced by wooden weapons fashioned by Uncle Earl.  The discussion of clothes pens is yet to come—that fits in with wash day—but the spring loaded clothes pens, tied to the back of the handle of the wooden pistols, made a fine way to hold rubber bands, and fire them, after stretching them from the front end of the barrel.

Usually, there would be worn-out tires around the house, even though we had no vehicle.  They were great for rolling.  It was a bit messy when it rained and water got in the tire, and I never quite understood how it got in there, but it did.  Some of the tires were tall and then, not much like the short fat tires today.  I had a big tall firestone, and have no idea where it came from.

Automobile tires were not the only things that rolled.  We didn’t roll wagon wheels, but once the wagon tore up, there were wonderful parts.  The hub of the wheel that received the axle was made of wooden pieces that were bound together on the outer edge of the rim with a band of steel.  Perfectly round.  You could take a stiff piece of wire, make a crook on the end of the wire, bend it to a right angle with the rest of the wire, and push the band with it.  Once it got started, it was easy.  Now I know that it operated on the principle of a gyroscope, and that made it stand up as it rolled, and by tilting it you could turn it.  The faster you went, the better it worked.

Then if some of the cousins around, there were games you could play together.  Like Hellover, where you threw the ball over the house and the kids on the other side tried to catch it.  And bum bum bum, here we come.  Kids in one line said that, the opposing team s “What’s your trade” and the response was “Sweet lemonade” and then “What’s your initials” and then “Well get to work.”  Then the other side would start pantomiming things like picking cotton, chopping cotton, cutting wood, or whatever.  Once the challenging team guessed what it was there was a big melee.  I may be forgetting a few details!  This was usually under the direction of Montez and/or Zenoma and/or another cousin, Joyce, some of the bigger kids.

Franklin, Uncle Bud’s son, lived about a half mile away through the woods, and would come over and play baseball.  Well, it wasn’t exactly baseball.  We didn’t have a baseball, so we used a tin can.  And we didn’t have a bat, but a stick would do.  After a few licks, the tin can baseball could be sort of rough on the hands, and the bat became pretty ragged, but nevertheless the game went on.  Franklin was actually the left-handed pitcher for the Shorter High School team.

We played tin can ball in the pasture, in an opening just north of the pine thicket.  The pine thicket itself was a wonderful place to play.  I can still remember the odor the pine trees and pine straw.  The pine straw could be piled up, and you could turn flips in it.  Or if the girl cousins were around, we could play playhouse.  Playing house didn’t involve a real playhouse.  The walls of the “house” were outlined in rows of pine straw.  If you needed a door, all you had to do was leave off the pine straw.  If there were dolls around, and sometimes there were, they were the babies.

The pine thicket was also the location of my tree house.  The tree house was just a platform secured on two limbs that left the tree in the same general direction the same distance from the ground.  Getting the boards up there was the problem.  I would try pulling them up with a rope.  Wade wasn’t interested.  But by the time Chan was about three years old, he got interested.  So, he was on the ground, pushing the board upward and I was in the tree pulling.  After it got higher than he could reach, I had a problem.  I couldn’t pull it any farther, and he couldn’t push.  And I couldn’t drop it, because he was still there!  I said, “move!” and he said “Huh?”  It got him right between the eyes.  But somehow, we got enough boards up there to complete the house, such as it was.  The boards for the floor were actually “slabs”—the outer portion of a tree that went through a sawmill, and had one round side—but we put the flat side up.

We built an interesting “playground” contraption.  I think that Daddy must have built the first one at the little house, but we built our on after we moved to the house that Uncle Jody built.  We called this thing a “flying jenny.”  It involved sawing off a tree about three or four feet above the ground.  Then we cut a long pole—maybe the top of that tree—and somehow drilled a hole through it midway its length, so that half the pole was on one side of the hole and half on the other.  Then we got a long metal bolt, or spike.  The spike went through the hole, and into the top of the stump.  It took at least three people to play on the flying jenny.  One got on each end, and the other pushed so that it went round and round!  Sometimes, pretty fast! There were mishaps, like cousin Betty Jean flying off the end of the pole and sailing through the air, fetal position, to a landing that occurred with no serious injury.  It’s a wonder any of us survived!

And at night, we might play “fire ball.”  That was properly done in a plowed field, for reasons that will become obvious.  The fireball was made from rags or strings, or maybe even a coverless baseball.  It was soaked in kerosene.  When lit, it was exciting to toss it around in the field, but you had to get rid of it pretty fast.

Did I mention corncob fights?  They didn’t hurt all that much unless they had been soaked in a syrup bucket in water for a few days, but after soaking, they threw better and more accurately, and hurt worse when they hit.