Days of Sun and Laughter

THE SCAVENGERS

“Let’s go into the woods to just hunt and live off the land today,” suggested Avery as we gathered under Big Oak.  The summer heat was shimmering in waves on the road as Mr. Bosley was walking to his car, one hand in his pants pocket jingling his change and carrying the morning paper in the other.  Mrs. Bosley was standing inside her screen door wearing a bra and a pair of flouncy black shorts, fanning herself with a cardboard fan that read, “Jesus Loves You.”

“I can’t believe she’d use that religious fan while standing in her underwear,” said Betsy indignantly as she smoothed down her crisp pink dress.

“Mama says she’s going to make her some halters soon as she can get some material,” I added.

“Well it won’t be too soon if you ask me,” Betsy added with relief.

“Speaking of asking,” Avery interrupted as he whittled on the, ‘y’ in his name on Big Oak’s trunk with his pocket knife, “what about the woods?”

“Can we go the long way round,” asked Betsy, reaching back, pulling her long blond pony tail tighter in the pink ribbon.  “I want to see what the trash heap has in it.  I hear some of the other kids found pretty perfume bottles there last week.”

“What do you think, Jeanne?”  She asked, turning to me.

“Okie, Dokie by me, I want to look for some of those big band boxes of old hats.  We’ll need the hats for shade and to hold the plums we pick from the orchard on the other side of the trash heap.  Mama made me bigger pockets in this pinafore, but they won’t hold a lot of plums.”

“Them big hats will do fine for the blackberries too,” piped up Jamie, “Them berries ought to be plump with sweetness, and ready to pick by now.”

“Since we’ll be taking the big dirt path to the woods to get to the trash heap, let’s take our tadpole jars,” chimed in Shelbie.

“I betcha my ‘tiger-eye’ that my tadpole will win today,” challenged Randy to all present.

“Shoo, I’ll put up my ‘lucky steelie’ any day against your old ‘tiger-eye’ called back Cleve.

“Okay,” Avery said, “let’s go get some shoes on, and grab our jars.  We’ll head for the trash heap first, so we can be finished there before the big roller comes, and don’t forget the onion bags.”

Running home through the grass to avoid the hot sidewalk, we met back at Big Oak, with tennis shoes on, and carrying our jars in a string net onion bag.  Our mutts, Scrappy,

Ringo, and three legged Lucky, sniffing adventure, was hot on our heels wagging their tails and whining to go along with us.

It’s hot enough to fry an egg,” Shelbie said, as we left our block on Langley Blvd. and crossed over onto Norman Street.

“We’ll be on the beaten path that leads to the trash heap soon,” Avery offered for encouragement.  I can’t wait to cool my heels in the nearest creek we pass.”

“Here she comes.”