There used to be a small herd of Buffalo somewhere outside of Palmyra when I was a kid. They didn’t run wild – somebody had them fenced in. I remember being taken to see them, but they were so far away they appeared a little brown lumps off in the distance that moved occasionally. I honestly didn’t see what the hubbub was about when my parents got all excited that we were “going to see the buffalos, oboy!”
I guess that’s part of being a kid – mystified as to why the adults got excited about certain things and they scratching their heads about what we kids found interesting.
Cicada Killers
Sphecius speciosus, often referred to as the Cicada Killer, is a large digger wasp species. Downright huge, by wasp standards.
We saw them occasionally and would scream and run from them, as we thought they were extremely dangerous. Turns out (I learned recently) they are nigh unto harmless. They just appear menacing. It’s possible we were seeing the Giant Horntail – Urocerus Gigas – which looks like a giant wasp but isn’t a wasp at all and is harmless to humans.
Kids, being kids, are often afraid of things that are harmless and not afraid of things they ought to be afraid of.
We saw them occasionally and would scream and run from them, as we thought they were extremely dangerous. Turns out (I learned recently) they are nigh unto harmless. They just appear menacing. It’s possible we were seeing the Giant Horntail – Urocerus Gigas – which looks like a giant wasp but isn’t a wasp at all and is harmless to humans.
Kids, being kids, are often afraid of things that are harmless and not afraid of things they ought to be afraid of.
Into the Night
We often had sleepovers at each other’s houses – with parent’s permission and not a school night (when school was in session the following day). We rarely did a group sleepover, just one at a time, usually. I stayed over at Larry’s / Scott’s house the most, mainly because they were the closest. Bob was a quarter mile or so up the road and required a bike ride or parent transport via car. I always enjoyed staying over somebody else’s house, simply because it wasn’t my own house. Scott/Larry’s house had a particular smell to it. I can’t describe it in words. Bob’s house, as well, but not as much. Both Larry and Scott carried that odor with them, bodily. It was not unpleasant, it just was. Perhaps it was the laundry soap their mom used, or cleaning products, or some aspect of their house, I dunno. I wonder (now) if my house (and me, by extension) had a particular “smell” to it that was only apparent to outsiders.
Anyway, there was one negative aspect to sleeping over at the Scott/Larry house – there was no light at night. At all – zero, zippo, nada. I was always used to sleeping with some ambient light, however dim, so I could get my bearings when I opened my eyes. In their bedroom it was the same darkness whether my eyes were opened or closed. I found it disconcerting.
Anyway, there was one negative aspect to sleeping over at the Scott/Larry house – there was no light at night. At all – zero, zippo, nada. I was always used to sleeping with some ambient light, however dim, so I could get my bearings when I opened my eyes. In their bedroom it was the same darkness whether my eyes were opened or closed. I found it disconcerting.
Love and Fisticuffs
Dennis and I often fought, physically, as well as verbally. The older we got the worse it got. I don’t think we hated each other. Perhaps it was a natural thing between brothers growing up. In any case, we did, though we didn’t actually attempt to physically harm one another – more like testing each other’s defenses.
My group of close friends fought each other occasionally – Bob, Larry, and Scott. Reggie (Bob’s younger brother) was a few years younger and smaller, so he was exempt. Larry and Scott fought the most because they were brothers. No one (except myself) dared to fight with Dennis because he was older and bigger than all of us. I dared to because Dennis would get into serious trouble for beating up on his younger and smaller brother.
None of us intended to seriously harm anyone – it was more for show than anything. Occasionally someone would get injured, though nobody died or ended up in the hospital as a result.
We would have never described our relationship as friends using the word “love”, but in retrospect I would say that we loved each other a lot. We shared a significant portion of our growing-up years with each other, and trusted each other deeply.
None of us intended to seriously harm anyone – it was more for show than anything. Occasionally someone would get injured, though nobody died or ended up in the hospital as a result.
We would have never described our relationship as friends using the word “love”, but in retrospect I would say that we loved each other a lot. We shared a significant portion of our growing-up years with each other, and trusted each other deeply.
Mom’s Car
Mom didn’t learn how to drive until she was in her 40’s (I think). Dad taught her which, as I’ve heard, was not a pleasant experience for either of them. Neither had patience as a virtue. Somehow they got through it and Mom got her driver’s license. Since we had 1 car for the family (which was the relative norm in those days), Dad began the search for something Mom could drive. He landed on an old 1961 Ford Falcon. I found a picture of one of those, too:
It definitely wasn’t new. In fact, Dad found an engine for a 1963 Falcon that he and Dennis rebuilt in the garage. Dad wasn’t a mechanic (he did commercial art for a living), but he had street smarts, a keen mind, and was attentive to detail. So, between himself and automotive repair manuals available to him (along with Dennis’s assistance), he successfully rebuilt the ’63 engine, put it into the 61’s engine compartment, and the silly thing worked! Of course with all that power from a rebuilt engine, the rear transaxle blew apart while he and Dennis were taking it for a test run. Never to be conquered, they found an old transaxle on an abandon vehicle up by the gravel pit, extracted it, rebuilt it, and then Mom’s car was ready for Mom. She ended up driving it for a number of years until she eventually assumed control of the family car, which was a Chevy Biscayne, as I recall, and larger than the Falcon by quite a bit.
Mom was a good driver. I never felt unsafe as a passenger.
It definitely wasn’t new. In fact, Dad found an engine for a 1963 Falcon that he and Dennis rebuilt in the garage. Dad wasn’t a mechanic (he did commercial art for a living), but he had street smarts, a keen mind, and was attentive to detail. So, between himself and automotive repair manuals available to him (along with Dennis’s assistance), he successfully rebuilt the ’63 engine, put it into the 61’s engine compartment, and the silly thing worked! Of course with all that power from a rebuilt engine, the rear transaxle blew apart while he and Dennis were taking it for a test run. Never to be conquered, they found an old transaxle on an abandon vehicle up by the gravel pit, extracted it, rebuilt it, and then Mom’s car was ready for Mom. She ended up driving it for a number of years until she eventually assumed control of the family car, which was a Chevy Biscayne, as I recall, and larger than the Falcon by quite a bit.
Mom was a good driver. I never felt unsafe as a passenger.
Bel Air
The only brand new car we had, at least that I know of, was a 1970 Chevrolet Bel Air; some version of green. It’s MSRP at the time was $2,988, which is about $21,000 is today’s money. I found a picture of one on the internet:
Due to a combination of the salt used on Western NY roads in the winter, plus some inferior quality of the sheet metal used to make the body of the car, it was a veritable rust-bucket within a few years. I felt bad for Dad – his 1st brand new car rusts out in just a few years.
Due to a combination of the salt used on Western NY roads in the winter, plus some inferior quality of the sheet metal used to make the body of the car, it was a veritable rust-bucket within a few years. I felt bad for Dad – his 1st brand new car rusts out in just a few years.
Pumpkin Hook
Pumpkin Hook is a hamlet in Farmington NY. Here is a brief history:
https://farmingtonfd.org/history/history-of-pumpkin-hook/
Until recently, Pumpkin Hook was only a childhood concept to me – a place mentioned by my older brothers and sisters. Regardless of what it is today, or was way back then, the impression I had as a child is that it was a very cool place to be. On occasion my elder siblings would talk about heading to Pumpkin Hook for some form of merriment. I’ve never been there. I suppose I should venture there at some point to see what all the hubbub was about. I have a feeling I won’t find what I’m looking for.
In the same vein, on the way from Palmyra to Newark on State Route 31 there is an offramp of sorts that, as a child, I always wondered what was there (if one took that road instead of staying on Route 31). Well, recently I was on my way to my Dad’s place in Lyons and decided to find out to solve the 50-ish year old mystery. Turns out there’s the hamlet of Port Gibson and nothing else of importance. Well, now I know.
https://farmingtonfd.org/history/history-of-pumpkin-hook/
Until recently, Pumpkin Hook was only a childhood concept to me – a place mentioned by my older brothers and sisters. Regardless of what it is today, or was way back then, the impression I had as a child is that it was a very cool place to be. On occasion my elder siblings would talk about heading to Pumpkin Hook for some form of merriment. I’ve never been there. I suppose I should venture there at some point to see what all the hubbub was about. I have a feeling I won’t find what I’m looking for.
In the same vein, on the way from Palmyra to Newark on State Route 31 there is an offramp of sorts that, as a child, I always wondered what was there (if one took that road instead of staying on Route 31). Well, recently I was on my way to my Dad’s place in Lyons and decided to find out to solve the 50-ish year old mystery. Turns out there’s the hamlet of Port Gibson and nothing else of importance. Well, now I know.
Swimmingly
I was deathly afraid of being underwater, though I intensely enjoyed being in the water. I could hang out in a bathtub full of water for hours, much to the consternation of other household members who wanted to use the bathroom. When we had a swimming pool I loved being in it (in summer weather, of course). I remember being dunked (sometimes on accident, sometimes because someone decided to be mean to me) and really hating the experience of water closing up around my head. Eventually I grew tired of hanging around the edges of the pool while everybody else enjoyed use of the entire thing, so I decided to teach myself to swim underwater. It took some time, patience, and courage on my part, but over the course of a summer I had done it. Not only that, I discovered (by accident) that I could open my eyes underwater and thus enjoy it so much more. I was quite proud of myself, and rightly so. A whole new underwater world had opened up to me, and I was no longer an “outsider” in the pool.
JB
I was called “JB” (short for Jon Bryan) for a bunch of years until I decided that I’d had enough and people must then call me “Jon”. I don’t rightly recall, but it was probably because it was my moniker as a child and I didn’t care to be thought of as a child anymore. Plus Dennis occasionally calling me “JB Baby” helped me reach that conclusion. It took time to get my family to make the switch, but eventually they all came around, except for my sister Rita who still calls me JB to this day. Dennis’s friends took to calling me “The Jib” (“jib” being an alternate pronunciation of JB) which I did not mind. It wasn’t “J B” and I got attention from the big kids. My friends had always referred to me as Jon, so there was no problem there.
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