ANT PYRAMIDS - Segment 2 (Scroll down for opening segment)

     
     Ernie had been comfortably snuggled down inside his sleeping bag. Unknowingly, Ernie had also snuggled his sleeping bag up against one of the ant pyramids.  Not being familiar with sleeping bags, the ants decided to do some exploring.  Marching across the bag, they discovered an opening and made their way inside.  This is when Ernie decided a quick exit was in order. He was now filling the still, night air with shrieks and flailing arms, not to mention great dance steps.

     To get a better look at the situation, I lit the lantern, which Ernie immediately kicked over while dancing under the stars, trying to shake off ants.  The lantern landed on the ant hill and fell apart, causing the ant hill to burst into flames.

     Meanwhile, Ernie had disappeared into the night.  Looking up, I could see the faint image of a distant figure, slapping himself and moving hurriedly along the outside of the vacant lot.  It was Ernie.  After a couple of nice laps around the lot, Ernie made a quick pit stop in camp.  From what I could see, the ants seemed to be enjoying the ride.

     “Get these ants off me!” he yelled. 

   
      “Not so loud,” I countered.  “You’ll wake up the neighbors.  Besides, you need to put out this fire.”

     Looking at the high, tinder-dry grass surrounding the ant hill, and extending as far as the eye could see, which was not far because of all the smoke, I considered my options if the fire got out of control.  I could say it was a control burn that included a couple of homes, but that wouldn’t appease the headhunters. Since it would be my head they were hunting, I knew my only other option would be a change of address.  That would be good.  I was certain all the neighbors would give me a going-away party, as long as I was going away for a long time.

     Just then, another idea flashed across my mind, almost blinding me.  “Hey, Ernie, “I said. “I’m thinking of applying for asylum in Slovakia.  You wanna tag along?”
 

     Ernie didn’t hear me.  He was too busy stomping up and down on the ant hill, trying to put out the fire.  Being the emotionally unbalanced insects that they are, this further agitated the ants.  Having to leave quickly, without their belongings, the ants decided to take the ‘‘Inside Passage”, the inside of Ernie’s pant legs.  

     This is when the clothes started flying...

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ANT PYRAMIDS - Opening segment (Scroll down for previous chapters)


      As a young boy, I found summers delightful. I had been released from the custody of my teachers, and thrilling adventures lay ahead, whether it was playing cowboys and Indians on Gramps’ ranch in the nearby hills, or practicing field maneuvers in vacant lots in town. 

     Field maneuvers primarily involved stomping out potential wildfires before they could engulf the neighborhood in flames.  Whatever the adventure, fire wanted to be a part of it.  It loved tagging along with the gang.  This may be why most of the neighbors sprayed their homes with fire retardant. 
  

     I will admit I found fires to be very helpful…if used to stay warm, roast marshmallows, or burn opposing mascots in effigy.  I even found it quite easy to start fires, although putting them out proved to be much more difficult. 

      

     One of my favorite stomping grounds during the summer was a vacant lot across the alley from where I lived.  It was populated with numerous, large ant hills, approximately the size of the Pyramids.  Although they left very little space for my friends and me to conduct our maneuvers, we didn’t let that hinder us. 

     One night, after a hard day in the field, I, along with my friend Ernie and a couple of cousins set up camp.  After dinner, and a lengthy discussion of world affairs, including who was the best looking girl in our class, we got comfortable in our sleeping bags and prepared to settle down for the night.  As I was about to doze off, I heard a strange sound.  That was one of the requirements for sleeping outside. You were never allowed to go to sleep without hearing strange sounds, like grizzlies rummaging through the nearby brush, a ravenous wolf pack circling your camp or, even worse, high school seniors lurking nearby.

     The sound quickly became a loud thrashing.  Fearing it was the entire senior class, I rolled over on my back, and held my breath, pretending I was already dead. I slowly opened one eye just in time to see Ernie shoot out of his bag, which I felt was quite a feat, considering he was lying down at the time. 

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TAKE MY ADVICE - Segment 4 (Scroll down for earlier segments)



     After dinner, Grams invited Lester and me to spend the night.  Although we loved spending thenight on the Ranch, you always had to be prepared for ‘‘The Call.” ‘‘The Call’’ meant cows were on the loose.  I never understood why Gramps didn’t have guard towers with strobe lights for the pasture. Cows standing together in a group aren’t posing for a group picture; they’re planning a big escape.  They may look content, standing there, but an escape is always in the back of their mind. And they never escape during the day…only at night, preferably in a driving rainstorm, when you’re playing checkers by the fire, or are sound asleep. 

    That night Gramps got “The Call.”  “You got some cows out,” Gramps’ distant neighbor, Mr. Franski, said. “It looks like the Great Cow Escape.” 

   

    “Wake up boys,” yelled Gramps.  “I’ve got some cows out.  And don’t forget your slickers. There’s a driving rainstorm.”

    We stumbled out of bed and put on our rain gear.  Then we jumped into Gramps’ pickup and rushed over to the scene of the crime.  

     

    As soon as Gramps issued the call to arms, we jumped out of the truck, and began waving our arms wildly, shouting at the cows to put down their luggage and line up along the fence.  Then I began giving Lester some advice, trying to get him in position, so no cows would get by us.  Just as I had Lester in position, and told him to hold his ground, a cow bolted from the group, apparently attempting a run for the border.  As the cow came barreling toward Lester, I feared Lester might attempt to outrun the cow to the border, so I yelled again, “Hold your ground!” In that instant, Lester dove out of the way as the cow romped past.  “I didn’t want to hold the ground that close,” he said.  Lester had just ignored my advice.  His dad would’ve been proud, and the cow was jubilant.

    After some lengthy negotiations and tough cow talk, the escapees returned.
  

    Lester and I walked the fence line on our way back to the house.  Along the way, we spotted a large opening; just large enough for a cow to walk through.  “Just what I suspected, “I said.  Not far from the opening was a pair of wire cutters.  “That just shows you,” said Lester.  “You can never let a cow get their hooves on a pair of wire cutters.” 

    “You’ve got that right,” I answered. 

         

    We spent the rest of the night mending the fence, and looking for other possible escape routes.  When we were finished, I said, “Lester, we need to go home and get some sleep before we spend another day on the Ranch.”

    “Good advice,” answered Lester.  

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TAKE MY ADVICE - Segment 3 (Scroll down for earlier segments)


     After soaking in a tub of Epsom salts for a couple of hours to heal his wounds, Lester joined me in the cherry tree.  I had some more advice for him, but I thought I’d better let him get some nourishment first.

     As we gorged ourselves on cherries, we kept an eye on the irrigation ditch that ran by the orchard.  Our parents, along with Gramps and Grams, had warned us about the Ditchwalker. They said he loved catching little kids who were playing in the ditch.  We thought playing in the ditch was worth the risk. 

    We had never seen a picture of the Ditchwalker, but we envisioned a Troll in waders.  Rumor had it that, if we were caught, the Ditchwalker would whisk us away to a remote, undisclosed location, where we would be held for hours and forced to recite our multiplication tables.  We thought forced multiplication tables were used only in war time, or after school detention.  We pictured ourselves on our knees, begging the Ditchwalker not to ask us the answer to seven times eight.  This caused us to be ever vigilant, lest we fall into the hands of the evil Troll in waders.   I suspect if the Ditchwalker had been a teacher with a homework assignment, we wouldn’t have gotten within five miles of the ditch. 

     

    When we had thrown up all the cherries we’d eaten, (according to our parents, this was a requirement for eating too many cherries) we climbed down to play in the ditch.  I suggested to Lester that he go upstream and keep a lookout for the Ditchwalker while I played.  Not long after, Lester came floating by.  “It’s a good thing you’re holding on to that branch”, I said, as I pulled him out.  “This is no time for a float trip.  Now cough up the rest of that water while you’re lying here on the bank.  Your dad would probably think it was my idea to send you up the ditch alone.”

    Suddenly, we heard squeals.  We were certain it was the Ditchwalker with a little kid under each arm.  We took off in search of new lands or, at least, a place to hide until we knew it was safe to come out.  We listened intently, as we peeked out from behind some bushes.  We thought we heard someone pleading, “No, No, not nine times six.  Please, can we do the two’s?”  Then we heard more squealing.  All of a sudden, Gramps crossed the ditch, carrying two squealing piglets that had run off.  We breathed a sigh of relief.  Once again we had escaped the Ditchwalker.  We could go back to playing in the ditch, maybe even float a couple of homework assignments.  We could always blame the dog.  

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TAKE MY ADVICE - Segment 2 (Scroll down for opening segment)

     After several weeks, Lester had fully recovered and was back to his old self--listening to my advice.

     "I would just cut across the field to Gramps,” I told Lester.  “It’s quicker.”

      “I don’t know,” said Les, squirming a bit.  “What about the bull?”

     “What bull?”

     “The bull that’s always in the field,” said Les.

     “Do you see the bull?”

     “No, but I still think I should go around.”

    “That will take you all day; well, at least ten minutes,” I said.  “Besides, I’m sure Gramps moved the bull to another pasture.”

     After wise counsel, and realizing he could save time, Lester climbed over the fence and stepped into the field of high grass.  It looked like elephant grass, but there weren’t any elephants, so we just called it bull grass because there were plenty of bulls…one to be exact, but that was plenty for us.  Fortunately, he was in another pasture.

     I told Lester to save me a spot in one of Gramps’ cherry trees.  I wouldn’t be far behind.  Lester was glad he had taken my advice.  Now he could beat me to the best cherries. 

     I watched him intently as he trekked across the field.  I was trailing him by some margin.  Actually I was sitting on the fence, peering over the grass.  From my vantage point I could see something in the distance.  It was the bull!  He was lying down in the tall grass.  I tried to get Lester’s attention.  I had some more advice---back slowly and exit quickly.  But it was too late.  Lester and the bull had just spotted each other.  Out of courtesy, the bull stood up to welcome Lester. 

     They stared at each other across the high grass.  Lester thought he heard the crowd roar, as he envisioned himself a matador in the ring with a mad bull.  The bull envisioned himself stomping Lester into feed grain. Suddenly, he lurched forward.  Lester forgot the roar of the crowd, along with any aspirations of becoming a matador.   Adrenaline shot through his body like water through a fire hose.  Lester vividly remembers it as the Great Adrenaline Rush.  He tried to back slowly, but he couldn’t back slowly fast enough, so he decided to skip that, and go directly to exit quickly.  I was immediately impressed by Lester’s jaw-dropping speed.  Racing across the field, with the bull in pursuit, Lester spotted the fence and jumped.  It was a great jump, but not far enough to reach the fence.  After a quick roll, he jumped up and rushed off across the field again, spraying the bull with adrenaline.

     As Lester reached the other side, he spotted the fence again.  This time he got close enough for the jump.  Again, it was a very good jump, but it was a very high fence.  Lester managed to get about three-quarters of the way up the fence.  He would have probably gotten higher if it hadn’t been barbed wire.  He finally pulled himself over the fence and stumbled to the porch, where he spotted me in the cherry tree.  

     “How did you get here so fast?” he asked.

     “I walked around,” I answered.  “I thought the exercise would do me good.”

     After soaking in a tub of Epsom salts for a couple of hours to heal his wounds, Lester joined me in the cherry tree.  I had some more advice for him, but I thought I’d better let him get some nourishment first.

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