Mattydale

Its as though I am in a time machine going back again to the happy days of my childhood and since my prior blog, Judson Place, I have advanced now to approximately 12 years of age. My grandparents had moved to a town on the outskirts of Syracuse and it was more in the country than they had lived before. Why did they move? I was too young to realize this was probably tramatic for them but what did a 12 year old know about such things? I was just happy to be out in the country where my Uncle Chuck had planted a fairly large garden and there was a real swimming hole on their property. Both of those things were a part of the 3 years or so in which I got to know how to hoe and how to enjoy the summer warmth. There was a golf course up the road and I discovered I could be a caddy. Most days when the hoeing was completed or the weeds were eliminated I was free to walk to the golf course. There I would hang around the pro shop hoping to carry some one's golf bag and earn .75 for 18 holes or if I was really lucky, I was given a whole buck for my efforts. Lordy me things were fine as wine --as we used to say. Mondays has been, universally, a day in which all golf courses honor their caddies by allowing them to play free as long as they wanted and so the Thornton brothers and I, two boys about my age, would carry 3 golf clubs and some broken tees and maybe a ball or two and get in at least 54 holes before darkness shut us down. They became good friends and asked me to play on their high school baseball team, where I was assigned to be the catcher. (I think it was Junior High School) I had never caught before but it was a great experience and they were very excited to see that I could throw to 2nd base and prevent the other team from stealing. I know a lot of this may sound strange to you but ask a male friend to explain some of these things. It was here where I also, through very hard work and long hours, learned to play Rachmaninoff' Prelude in C# minor--no mean accomplishment and that I reported to you in a previous blog. The swimming hole became almost a nightly visit and there was a rope hanging from the branch of an overhanging tree where you could sit on a large knot and be carried out over the water to do a flip as you released the rope--fun stuff for young boys. I grew up while I lived there I think, because my Uncle Chuck would take me to faraway places to fish, dig potatoes, or maybe pick mushrooms. I got to know how to bait a hook, care for a garden, select the correct mushrooms, and many other things that occupied my times in Mattydale. Although we were in the depths of a depression during those years, I had no understanding of the meaning of that problem. It was not a part of my life and my freedom there was unihibited. I remember those days and there are too many happy boyhood memories to tell all that I recall. Here again, were happy vacation times with grandparents and other relatives that loved me and cared about my well being. What else can a young boy have than to be surrounded by circumstances of happiness and joy. I can only wish the same for those that might read this short story of the meanderings of part of my childhood.