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Trip Across the Road
Jeff D. Marsh
Momma wouldn't miss me for a couple of hours. After all I was just one kid out of five and another one on the way. Waking up that perfect summer morning I had already made up my mind to explore the woods and hills across the road, which I was for- bidden to cross. I would take my butt whopping like a man; after all I had turned thirteen that May.
I got dressed in an old pair of jeans, torn tee-shirt, and my worn out Keds and headed to the kitchen hoping there was some breakfast left. I got lucky. Lying in a plate on the stove were two biscuits and three strips of bacon. This was left from Daddy's breakfast; Momma would cook breakfast for us kids later. Grabbing the bacon and biscuits and looking over my shoulder, I headed for the door, fearing that any moment Momma would walk in and catch me and want to know why I was up so early. Talk about your luck! I had breakfast in my hand and was out the door, not being spotted by Momma, or a pesky little brother or sister. I knew I would pay for it later, but the hills and woods had been calling for me all summer. I just couldn't ignore the calls any longer. By the time I had eaten my biscuits and bacon, I had reached the end of our driveway, Momma's rule not to cross the road forgotten. Standing at the end of the driveway, looking up and down the road for run away dump trucks and not seeing any, I sprinted across the road. No turning back now.
By the time I reached the woods I had not only forgotten about Momma's rules, but Momma too. The woods were full of sounds, birds, squirrels and rabbits. I seemed to be engulfed by the woods. Time does not exist to a boy of thirteen when he's on an adventure and breaking Momma's rules. The only thing that existed to me that perfect summer morning were the woods that had engulfed me and the feeling that these woods must go on forever in these majestic Tennessee hills. That's when I saw it, a little rock shed.
Walking toward the rock shed, I was trying to figure out what it was and why it was here. Walking closer and cautiously to the shed, I heard a trickle of water running. Reaching the shed, I saw water flowing from under the north wall of the shed. What the heck was this? As I walked around to the front of the shed I saw a door, or what was left of a door. I still had no idea why a stream of water was running out of this rock shed. Opening the rotted, and crumbling door, I had no idea what I would find, but then like the sunlight that streamed into the shed, I knew what the little rock shed was and what its purpose was—a spring house. I had heard my grandfather talk about the time before electricity and how people used springhouses or root cellars to preserve food. So this was a springhouse. Opening the door wider, I let more sunlight burst in and saw there were still fruit jars sitting on the earthen shelves, but the contents had long since morphed into unknown substances. To the right of the door hanging on an ancient, rusting square nail was an aluminum dipper. A clear running spring and a thirsty kid of course I reached up and took the dipper, rinsed it out to my satisfaction, reached down, dipped up a dipper of clear cold spring water, and drank deeply.
It's been thirty years since I drank that dipper of cold crisp spring water from that old forgotten springhouse. Yes, Momma was waiting for me when I got home. Thinking back to that summer day in the woods and hills, the whipping I got was worth every lick Momma gave me.
Literary Club Essay Contest Winner
Jeff D. Marsh
Momma wouldn't miss me for a couple of hours. After all I was just one kid out of five and another one on the way. Waking up that perfect summer morning I had already made up my mind to explore the woods and hills across the road, which I was for- bidden to cross. I would take my butt whopping like a man; after all I had turned thirteen that May.
I got dressed in an old pair of jeans, torn tee-shirt, and my worn out Keds and headed to the kitchen hoping there was some breakfast left. I got lucky. Lying in a plate on the stove were two biscuits and three strips of bacon. This was left from Daddy's breakfast; Momma would cook breakfast for us kids later. Grabbing the bacon and biscuits and looking over my shoulder, I headed for the door, fearing that any moment Momma would walk in and catch me and want to know why I was up so early. Talk about your luck! I had breakfast in my hand and was out the door, not being spotted by Momma, or a pesky little brother or sister. I knew I would pay for it later, but the hills and woods had been calling for me all summer. I just couldn't ignore the calls any longer. By the time I had eaten my biscuits and bacon, I had reached the end of our driveway, Momma's rule not to cross the road forgotten. Standing at the end of the driveway, looking up and down the road for run away dump trucks and not seeing any, I sprinted across the road. No turning back now.
By the time I reached the woods I had not only forgotten about Momma's rules, but Momma too. The woods were full of sounds, birds, squirrels and rabbits. I seemed to be engulfed by the woods. Time does not exist to a boy of thirteen when he's on an adventure and breaking Momma's rules. The only thing that existed to me that perfect summer morning were the woods that had engulfed me and the feeling that these woods must go on forever in these majestic Tennessee hills. That's when I saw it, a little rock shed.
Walking toward the rock shed, I was trying to figure out what it was and why it was here. Walking closer and cautiously to the shed, I heard a trickle of water running. Reaching the shed, I saw water flowing from under the north wall of the shed. What the heck was this? As I walked around to the front of the shed I saw a door, or what was left of a door. I still had no idea why a stream of water was running out of this rock shed. Opening the rotted, and crumbling door, I had no idea what I would find, but then like the sunlight that streamed into the shed, I knew what the little rock shed was and what its purpose was—a spring house. I had heard my grandfather talk about the time before electricity and how people used springhouses or root cellars to preserve food. So this was a springhouse. Opening the door wider, I let more sunlight burst in and saw there were still fruit jars sitting on the earthen shelves, but the contents had long since morphed into unknown substances. To the right of the door hanging on an ancient, rusting square nail was an aluminum dipper. A clear running spring and a thirsty kid of course I reached up and took the dipper, rinsed it out to my satisfaction, reached down, dipped up a dipper of clear cold spring water, and drank deeply.
It's been thirty years since I drank that dipper of cold crisp spring water from that old forgotten springhouse. Yes, Momma was waiting for me when I got home. Thinking back to that summer day in the woods and hills, the whipping I got was worth every lick Momma gave me.
Literary Club Essay Contest Winner