Land of Lincoln

LAND OF LINCOLN

 

Spent my youth in Decatur, Illinois, a town of about 20,000 souls, founded by the A. E. Stayly Manufacturing Co (“Sta-Flo Starch”).

 

My two best buddies in junior high school were both named Jack – Elam and Sherman. We went everywhere together – always on our “customized” bikes. We’d ride out of town to a wooded area with a tiny creek that was great for exploring and fantastic for wading.

 

The water was cold and, unlike today, pure enough to safely drink. We’d hunt for crayfish or “crawdaddies” as we called them, break off their tails and have a tasty, delectable treat. The two Jacks would suck on the heads, buy I never could get the courage.

 

From there we’d bike over to the Rowe farm and play guns in the corn fields. Corn grew to six feet and more, so no matter how hot it was, it was cool among the stalks.

 

We would then go out into the fields to chase the sheep and the cows. One day a cow we were pursuing turned out to be a bull who did not appreciate being chased. He turned the table on us and we ran for our lives! Sherman and I hopped a fence to safety. I ripped my pants on the way over.

 

 

 

We escaped, but poor Elam had to climb a tree. He spent the next half hour hanging on for dear life as the bull continually butted the tree while we laughed and laughed. Elam never did.

 

From there, it was another bike ride to one of our houses for a snack then running through the lawn sprinklers.

 

We never wore shoes until school started up in September – shorts and sneakers completed the ensemble (always Converse!). When schools commenced – that dreaded day – we had to wear long pants (always chinos), a collared shirt and real shoes (ich!). We were tanned and healthy, loathe to give up our freedom in exchange for the regimen of school.

 

Invariably the English teacher would have write a paper: “What I Did Last Summer”. I could have used one paper for each year!

 

My summers were always the highlight. I still look back on those times with much nostalgia.

 

P.S. We also rode to Ruth’s or Betty’s or Sandra’s, but that is a subject for another favorite rite of my childhood. Do the names “Spin-the-Bottle” or “Post Office” mean anything to you?