Buy the book Growing Up Itchy

The air crackled and a roar swept across the mountainside. It was not like normal wind, it was fierce and angry. Black soot flew, and bits of half-burnt plant matter blew everywhere. Birds screeched, wings beating hard as they fought their way into the tumultuous sky, breaking free of the brush before the flame reached them. A yellow wall of fire raced across the slopes, burning the dry grass – spurred on by the heat-whipped wind and late-summer’s lack of moisture.

Grey and Asher were charged with watching the house and the younger children. They stood close, stamping out small flames around the structure. The wind tried to set tiny fires everywhere. Mom and Dad were up on the hill, swinging wet blankets at the fire’s leading edge, trying to stop it from spreading too far. The sky grew dark, choked by billowing clouds of smoke.

When a person lives on a mountain, they don’t get many visitors. That’s the way they preferred it – otherwise they would live down in town, or in some distant city with millions of other people. Most mountain folks, if they were asked, would confess that they lived up there to get away from the rest of the human race. Three miles of steep, dirt road, bordered by precipitous cliffs, covered with three feet of snow in the winter, and rutted with mud in the spring tends to separate people from each other.

The distinct lack of company was not the only benefit. Living away from population had other perks as well. The air was clean – unless a car drove by, kicking up enormous clouds of dust. The night sky was dark and full of countless bright stars, spread out in a beautiful crystal tapestry. Of course the lack of electricity meant houses were always dark on the inside – everyone had to use dangerous fires for light and heat.

Grey, Ash, and their family weren’t the only people living on the mountain. Occasionally the boys would hear the distant echo of a rifle, the rumble of an engine, or the bark of a far-away dog. The wind would shift, and the sound would be lost again, replaced with the droning of the pines, branches forever swaying in the wind.

If Grey stood in the right spot, on top of just the right hill, he could see at least three tiny houses down below, perched on vast slopes. He knew from hearing Mom and Dad talk that they had plenty of neighbors, but none ever came to visit them.

Until today, with good reason.

Mountain people came running from every direction, leaping and bounding out of the woods, jumping logs and veering around trees. Urgency made them fly, this was no organized social call.

A massive flame now covered the entire slope upward from their house, and the smoke could be seen for miles in every direction.

Grey’s heart quaked at the sight and burning smell of it, and he was glad to see help come. One scraggly bearded man ran up the hill close to the house, and Grey pointed up the slope towards his parents. The man nodded, never slowing as he ran past; up the hill to help battle the fire. He was joined by others, and they all quickly fell to stamping out flames.

The fire was like nothing Grey had ever seen. Its enormity made his heart pound in fear. It was world-swallowing, and it commanded the very weather itself. The heat of the blaze sucked in the wind, and it seemed to him that a gale force conspired to blow on that fire until the mountain was reduced to cinders.

Grey didn’t know how that fire got started, but Mom told him later that it got away from Dad while he was burning trash.

The fire ran its course, burning an enormous patch of the mountainside. It was finally defeated with the help of neighbors.

The family met a lot of people that day, everyone black with soot and panting from exertion. Turns out they had neighbors in almost every direction. Old Man Klondike came from up slope, Bunny and Sunbean from out past the westerly woods, Fiorna and Henry from down-slope, and there was Jake the scraggly, bearded man.

“What’s your names boys?” Scraggly Jake asked Grey and Ash.

They told him.

“Far out!” Scraggly Jake said.

Grey and his brother hung around by the door and listened as the neighbors finished talking with Mom and Dad. Dad thanked them for their help, and one by one they all set out to hike across, up, or down the slopes to their own homes.

Occasionally, perhaps every other year or so, extra-special visitors would arrive. A large box would pull up the drive – an enormous RV, gleaming red and white underneath a layer of dust. Grey immediately knew who these visitors were, and his heartfelt smile could not be held back as he ran out to meet them.

They loved their Grandpa and Grandma. Everything became exciting when they stayed, and the boys never found enough time in the day to show them all of the places they hiked, the games they played, or the crafts they made. Grandpa and Grandma smiled at their antics with their crinkly smiles, and never seemed to tire of the endless chatter. Even the sun seemed to shine brighter when they were visiting.

Grandpa was quite the jokester. He would talk in funny accents like people from down in Mexico, and the boys would laugh at his strange stories. Grandma would smother them with hugs and her smile was something brilliant to behold. Dad was home almost all the time during the visit, and seemed more cheerful. Some of the edge was gone from his normal sternness.

That night after dinner, Grandma brought out ice cream! Ice cream was a rare treat, because they could not keep food frozen without electricity; and there was no power on the mountain. After the initial shock of seeing ice cream, Grey figured that Grandpa’s big RV must have a freezer inside. That was surely the only way ice cream could be moved all the way to their mountain house without melting.

The family sat around the table with Grandpa and Grandma, enjoying bite after bite of the delicious treat.

“Look out there, a deer!” Grandpa said, pointing out the window.

Ash turned to look, and Grandpa took a quick spoonful of Ash’s ice cream. Grey snickered.

“Where?” Ash said, not seeing the imaginary deer.

“Out there, behind the trees,” Grandpa replied.

Grey wasn’t sure why Ash even cared about some old deer. They saw deer almost every day, but Grandpa really made it seem like something new and exciting. To be honest, Grey looked too, until he saw Grandpa scoop the ice cream. Grandpa’s arm struck out as fast as a desert rattlesnake.

Ash looked again, and Grandpa helped himself to yet another spoonful. Grey laughed out loud this time, and Ash figured out the game. They tried it on Beth, but she was about done with her ice cream, and besides, she had seen the whole thing. She was just a little kid, but she was smart and almost as quick as Grandpa was.

Grandpa loved to hike, and the boys showed him all of their favorite places. They showed him the sights: the places where cow-chasing was best, abandoned mines, old forgotten roadbeds, and log cabin ruins. The boys explained to him how you could usually find rhubarb around these old homesteads. Grandpa dutifully tasted some, but he said that didn’t really care much for rhubarb, it must be an acquired taste. It was like sour, tangy celery with a red tint.

More than anything, Grandpa liked to go visit the neighbors, the mountain-people scattered on the slopes. The people who lived there to get away from humanity. They would hike, and Grandpa would talk about people growing “funny grass” as they roamed the mountain. “Hippies” lived here, he explained to the boys as they hiked. Grey didn’t know what a “hippie” was, but he learned that hippies were mountain-people that grew and perhaps ate certain kinds of grass.

Up ahead there was a small house, even smaller than the one Dad made – a genuine hut. Grey and Ash trailed behind Grandpa. He repeatedly said that he was in the prime of his life, and Grey believed it. Grandpa could hike almost as fast as the boys, who did it every single day. Grandpa wore good socks and shoes, so perhaps that helped him move faster than they expected.

As they neared the shack, Grandpa started clearing his throat. Loudly. Grey looked at him, puzzled. Is he having a heart attack? He saw Grandpa staring intently up the slope towards the small house. Grey looked, and there were Bunny and Sunbean, reading books out in the yard, as people sometimes do.

They were lying on a blanket in the grass, and they had no clothes on.

The last time Grey saw Bunny and Sunbean, they were helping Dad put out his hillside fire, their clothes most certainly on.

They didn’t seem to be embarrassed at all. They both said a polite hello to Grandpa and the boys, and calmly strolled into their little wood shack. When they came back out again, they were dressed and ready to entertain unexpected company. Grey thought they were odd people, they talked softly and a little slowly, and repeatedly said things like “far out.” But despite being a little odd, Bunny and Sunbean were friendly enough, and chatted with Grandpa while the boys explored the nearby woods to relieve their boredom. They never had the chance to explore this area before. Grey knew where all of the property lines were, and because this was someone else’s land, Dad had made it off-limits long ago.

When Grandpa was ready to make the hike back home, the boys were 30 feet up in two nearby fir trees. The branches of a fir tree were evenly spaced and perfect for climbing, as all boys in that area knew, and the really tall ones were too nice to pass up.

From his perch in the top of the green-scented fir, Grey heard Grandpa calling their names. The treetop swayed as the boys hung on. They were rocking the fir-tops back and forth to pass the time, trying to see how far they could get the trees to spring. That game required a strong grip and an empty stomach.

“We have to go,” Grey said, climbing down.

As Grey descended, carefully finding his footing on each lower branch, he heard Ash yell. Startled, Grey slipped and almost fell. He looked over to the next tree and saw Ash, already halfway down his tree, falling from limb to limb, hitting each branch as he descended. Grey climbed down as fast as he dared, listening to Ash’s grunts and crashes as he bounced off each branch. With one last big CRASH, Ash exited the tree and fell into a patch of gooseberry bushes at the bottom. By the time Grey reached the ground, Ash was carefully extracting himself from the brush.

“Are you OK?” Grey asked.

“Yeah” Ash said, casually.

Ash was a tough mountain boy; the springy branches and bushes at the bottom broke his fall just about as gently as a prickly quilt. The scratches and bruises would heal in no time. The boys knew this from experience. If Ash was feeling any pain, he’d certainly never admit it to anyone, except perhaps Mom.

Grandpa was waiting for them, impatiently pacing back and forth. He wasn’t the type of man who could sit or stand still for long. He was the most impatient man Grey ever knew. Once, when Grandpa went with them down into Canada, they arrived at the border before it was scheduled to open, and had to wait. Grandpa couldn’t believe that the border guard, who they could clearly see in the guardhouse, would not open the international gate early for them to get across.

As soon as the boys emerged from the copse of firs, Grandpa started off, quickly hiking across the slope. He didn’t feel the need to wait. He correctly knew the boys would catch up in no time, and they could not get lost.

That evening, as the family ate dinner, they all laughed at the strange neighbors. Grandpa told the tale well with some elaboration, and Grey noticed the twinkle in Grandpa’s eyes as Grandma gave him a stern look. No one bothered Asher about his new scratches and bruises – they were always a little roughed up from playing in the woods. Who had the time to fuss over such minor things?

The boys prayed that the visit would never end, but the sad day came when Grandma and Grandpa had to climb into their RV and drive away, back to California. Beth and Malachai cried as the big white box rumbled away into silence. Grey’s heart ached, and he wanted to cry, even though he was too old.

After they left, an emptiness settled down on the land, and Grey hiked away on his own. He sat on the hill, looking down into the valley, while the sun slowly set, and the wind whispered to him through the pines and mountain grass. He thought about his grandparents, remembering the fun, the ice cream, and the hugs. He missed them terribly and didn’t feel like playing, laughing, or even talking for two whole days.

Their absence was felt by all, and time passed with nothing interesting to break the mundane. The boys went to school, making halfhearted efforts to get good grades, avoid fights, and to do their chores without too much complaining. Day after day Grey glumly opened his lunchbox. The same old bag of popcorn and smashed peanut-butter and jam sandwiches made him dream about ice-cream. He missed Grandma and Grandpa, and wished that he lived in the city with them.

The children sometimes wrote letters. Grandma always wrote back, and receiving mail from her was a bright spot in a dull week.

***

A year passed, and one day Mom received a letter in the mail. She read it and smiled – it was good news. Her family would be coming to visit! It was Grey’s other set of grandparents – Granny, Pa, and the younger aunts and uncles. Grey barely remembered some of them from when they lived in California, and Ash and the younger siblings hadn’t met them at all.

Grey was excited – this was wonderful news, something to look forward to! But they had to wait. The days crept by slowly as they counted down the time. Grey carefully drew an “X” on the calendar for each day that passed, looking ahead to the day when his relatives would arrive. Time moves especially slow for boys who wait for something. Patience did not come naturally for them, but there was nothing that Grey could do but keep waiting.

That day finally came. The little house was full again – packed with people, and Grey and Ash happily entertained their visitors with tales of their mountain adventures. Grey’s favorite uncles were there too. Uncle Andrew, who was almost an adult; and Uncle Tim, who was only a few years older than Grey.

They hiked, climbed, and played on the mountain, and drove down into the valley to swim in the river. Fishing poles were made, and they all tried to catch rainbow trout from the banks and bridges of the Kettle. They made a fire on the shore and went camping one evening. Uncle Andrew brought a Frisbee with him.

“Do you guys want a Frisbee – to keep?” Uncle Andrew asked. “You can have this one.”

Uncle Andrew was extremely generous, but the boys were too polite and well-trained to accept extravagant gifts.

“Naw, we just use lids.” Grey told him politely.

The boys were no strangers to the Frisbee. They would play this game by taking the lid from a coffee can or canning jar. Thrown sideways, it would fly. It usually landed on its edge and rolled. Then, the next kid would chase it, pick it up and throw it back. Frisbee involved a lot of running. You had to take turns, unless you had two lids. Sometimes they threw dried cow pies like Frisbees, but that special variation was a game that other kids would not normally play – cow pies were tough to find in town.

Uncle Andrew showed Grey and Ash how to throw his Frisbee – it sailed a lot farther than their lids.

“It’s all in the wrist,” Uncle Andrew told them.

After a short bit of training, Grey and Asher could throw the Frisbee better and farther then the lids could possibly go. Grey would probably never be satisfied with a plain old lid again.

Uncle Tim, being a city kid, was duly impressed with Grey and Asher’s tough feet. Children back in the cities of southern California wore shoes unless they were on the beach, because sun-baked roads and sidewalks were scalding hot.

”Your feet would burn without shoes, down in California,” Uncle Tim told them.

Tim tried to run barefoot, but he said it hurt his feet too much. He had good shoes, it would be pointless to leave them inside.

The summer day was hot. Lunch was just finished when Grey decided to show Uncle Tim the new electric fence that Dad had built. It was supposed to keep the free-range cows out of the property. It didn’t work too well, being that tree limbs were always falling across it, breaking the electric current, but it could shock a boy’s arm something fierce, if he was foolish enough to touch it. There was a trick to it though. A neat trick that Grey planned on showing Uncle Tim.

They walked down the driveway, past the bubbling creek. Grey led them up through the trees a little way until they could all hear a faint noise ahead. It was something mechanical, and utterly out-of-place here in the woods.

“What’s that sound?” Uncle Tim asked.

They could hear it clearly now. It was the click, click of the electric fence control box. Like a tiny hammer, something inside of it tapped once each second. Grey pointed to the gray metal box, nailed to a tree, wires leading out of it. He explained how each time it clicked, an electrical pulse flowed into the wire, and anything touching the wire would get shocked.

“It’s exactly like getting punched real hard in the shoulder,” Grey informed them.

He knew that from experience. Even if you touched the fence with your finger, the punch would hit you in the shoulder. It was strange and unpleasant, to put it mildly.

“The trick,” Grey explained, “is simply to touch the fence between clicks.”

“How does it work?” Tim said. “You guys don’t have electricity.”

Asher shrugged.

“Dad said there’s a car battery in it,” said Grey.

Uncle Tim was somewhat of a daredevil, it didn’t take much convincing until he bravely touched the fence wire. Quickly, between clicks as Grey instructed. He looked puzzled, unsure the fence really worked, but he did not keep his hand on the wire during one of the clicks. Grey nodded, knowingly. No boy really believed in the power of the fence until he felt it. It was nothing more than a tapping sound until then.

“Is it really working?” Uncle Tim asked.

Grey assured him that it was. All Tim had to do was to touch it during a click, but neither he or anyone else wanted to do that. Grey was certainly not going to demonstrate the results.

But the funny thing was – deep down inside – boys really did want to see what the fence could do. They found it difficult to just walk away, and leave the mystery intact.

Uncle Tim touched the wire again, and picked up the rhythm of the tapping sound.

“Click… click… click,” the electric box tapped out a steady rhythm.

“Touch… touch… touch,” Uncle Tim said, between clicks.

Click – “touch” – click – “touch” – click…

They all walked up the drive, chanting “touch… touch… touch…” in time, trying not to lose the beat. They walked about 150 yards to the end, where the fence cornered at the property line. They could no longer see or hear the clicking of the control box, way back in the woods.

Uncle Tim mentally prepared himself to test the fence wire.

“Touch… touch… touch…” he chanted, and started to touch the wire with each word.

He was not getting shocked!

At first, Grey was impressed at Uncle Tim’s perfect timing, but suspicion soon set in.

He had a hunch. He reached out and grabbed the fence wire, and held it fast.

“Touch…” Uncle Tim said, but Grey did not let go.

“It’s not working,” Grey said. I figured as much.

Uncle Tim and Ash both verified this by reaching out and quickly touching the wire, then holding onto it as Grey was.

“It’s broken somewhere,” Ash stated matter-of-factly. This wasn’t the first time the fence had been broken. The fence would not work out past the break.

“We can find the break by walking back along the fence.” Grey said. “Sometimes a cow will break it, or a fallen tree branch. It can only shock you if it’s not broken. Dad will want to know where so he can fix it.”

At this point Uncle Tim was dubious about the whole thing. Subsiding danger left the electric fence adventure pale and hollow, like yesterday’s spaghetti squash scraped of its innards. It was nothing but a click now. A noise and an empty promise.

Grey and Asher would have gone to find the break, but Uncle Tim didn’t want to walk through the thick brush. The fence ran through the woods back towards the control box. Uncle Tim wore shorts and didn’t want to get his legs all scraped up.

They took the driveway back to the point where they could enter the woods and go directly to the control box. They arrived and listened to the steady tapping again. Uncle Tim verified the trick still worked by touching the wire in between clicks, getting braver and braver as he grew less convinced that the thing worked at all. It was just a sound!

Confidence building, Uncle Tim was a little slow releasing his hand between clicks, holding on one millisecond too long, just as Grey knew he eventually would.

BAM.

Uncle Tim was down, clawing the dirt. He massaged his shoulder, wearing a frightening grimace on his face.

“It IS like getting punched!” he gasped.

Grey and Ash laughed as Tim grunted away the pain.

Grey never did get around to showing his uncle the really safe way to touch an electric fence. It was an even better trick, where one could lay a long grass stem on the wire and slide it up the wire, hand moving closer and closer, until you could barely feel a slight tingle as the electricity flowed along the grass blade. It was the perfect way to verify the function of the fence, without all of the painful, unnecessary shoulder-punching and ground-rolling.

Uncle Tim told the story to the rest of family that night as they gathered around the dinner table.

“Tim, why you didn’t test the fence first with a blade of grass?” Dad said.

Uncle Tim stared at Dad for a minute, thinking this over. He looked over at Grey with accusing eyes. Grey could almost hear his thoughts: You knew!

He shrugged innocently, and stuffed food in his mouth to hide the smug smile that tried to escape. Uncle Tim was a city kid. If he didn’t know how to touch electric fences, that was his problem.