Short Stories From 10 Years Ago – April 5, 2004
Spring Time Soakers
Short Stories From 10 Years Ago – April 5, 2004 – Growing up in the country outside a small town in Ontario, my brothers and I walked or rode our bicycles almost everywhere. On a really nasty weather day we sometimes got a ride from one of the moms along the highway – but when we were young, we mostly walked.
We lived in the snow belt, so winters were usually very cold, with lots of snow. I remember snow banks so high that we’d slide down them into the ditches along the highway. No wonder it took us so long to get to and from school – we played all the way. Spring time was an especially exciting time of year. As the days grew milder, we got to shed our heavy parkas, winter boots, scarves and hats. These were replaced with our with spring jackets and rubber boots.
We all had black rubber boots with clay coloured soles and a matching rim around the top. We called them farmer boots, and we couldn’t wait to get them out when the snow started to melt. It was time to wade in the water. Both sides of the road along our country highway had a ditch, and every laneway that led to one of our houses had a culvert so the water run off from melting snow would continue to flow along the ditches and not dam up to create deep ponds. Those would have proved unbelievably tempting but potentially dangerous to small kids.
When I think back to my childhood, I realize what an innocent time it was. We walked the mile to and from school every day for years, sometimes alone, but mostly with a group of other kids. As we got older, we rode our bikes in the fall and spring. But when we were smaller and didn’t yet own our second hand bikes, we loved to play in the puddles and ditches along the road as we walked to school.
My brothers were both older, and because they were boys, they got to turn their farmer boots over at the top and rolled them down one fold, so the red rim around the top of the boot was just above their ankles. This was considered very cool. Girls didn’t do that (there must have been some unwritten boot rule), so my boot tops were always just under my knees. We wore thin socks under our farmer boots because the weather was warmer – heavy wool socks were for winter wear.
In April, when the snow had melted sufficiently to produce the first puddles, play time began in earnest. The first great puddles on the way to school, were right at the foot of our laneway, near the highway. There were two major ruts in the lane that filled with water. They were probably three or four inches deep. My father faithfully filled them with gravel every fall, for a number of years, but by spring the stones were always scattered and he finally gave up.
As kids we knew that to really enjoy a puddle, you had to have a stick. The stick was used to poke and prod the puddle, just in case there was anything dangerous hiding there. The next step was to crouch down, sit on our heels and skim the stick across the top of the puddle to create a wave. It worked best when one of was on either side of the puddled, and we alternately skimmed the water back and forth until it overflowed the edges of the rut. Then we had to wait and watch it flow back into place. My mother often opened the front door and called to us to get going or we would be late for school. This interruption of puddle reverie usually sent us on our way, but just imagine how many puddles there were on the way to school – dozens!
As April showers melted off the remaining snow, the water in the roadside ditches got deeper. This was when the rivalry for ‘soakers’ really heated up. It was easier for the boys to get the requisite soaker because their boots were usually rolled down. I’m not sure why the girls never figured this out, because we were just as intent on getting a soaker as the boys were. So what exactly is a soaker?
Well a soaker happens when you’re walking along the road, playing as you go, poking at stuff with your stick and you come upon a puddle in the ditch. Someone has to see how deep the puddle is, making it necessary to climb down from the road into the ditch and step into the puddle. We took turns, testing the puddles on the way to and from school. When a puddle was particularly deep, we all watched as the water crept up to the puddle tester’s boot and either stopped at ankle, shin or knee height, as the tester sank into the mud at the bottom of the puddle.
This ritual was always accompanied by shrieks of delight, when the puddle tester sank way down and the water flowed down the top of his or her boot. “Eric’s got a soaker or Mike’s got a soaker” was chanted the rest of the way to our destination, which was either school or home. It was a badge of honour if you could slosh along without poring the water out of your boot. Upon arrival, the offending boot was removed, the damp sock rung out and then put right back on and shoved back into the wet boot.
It was unthinkable to complain when you got a soaker. When you managed to get a double soaker on the way to school, and then sat all day with wet feet, you were a highway hero. It’s a wonder we didn’t all have foot fungus!
I remember so many nights in the springtime, when our family would be sitting around the kitchen table having supper, and Eric, Mike and I would regale our parents with dazzling tales of puddle adventures. They always listened intently to our tales of soaker glory, as if they were really interested. When I think of all the worries they had, with three little kids, double jobs and not much money – I bless them both!
One of these days, I’m going to go out and buy a pair of farmer boots, roll down the tops and go in search of a springtime puddle. My singular aim is going to be the pursuit of a double soaker! If I did this more often, I wouldn’t take myself so seriously, I’d worry less and laugh more. What could possibly be wrong with that formula for fun?
