The bear went over the mountain, the bear went over the mountain, the bear went over the mountain, and what do you think he saw?
We spent summers in the country when I was a child. Before my parents bought our little bungalow, we'd go out and visit family friends, who were really as close to us as family. Between the two families there was an awful lot of kids running around, and of course Daddy and our "Uncle Doc" were the center of the universe to all of us.
There were little country roads out there, narrow and winding, with all kinds of hills and valleys. The men would load all of us into the back of one of the station wagons (the back seats folded down, of course) and drive around, all up and down those roads, making sure that every bump was a thriller. Of course we loved it, screaming and laughing and bouncing around like a pack of puppies.
There were also railroad tracks that ran through the town. A great, big, heavy, filthy diesel locomotive would roll on in twice a day. This was in the 1960's, in a little hick town, so there were virtually no safety features other than a half-hearted set of warning gates. Well, Daddy & Doc would sometimes drive us all up there right before the train came by, and let us put pennies on the tracks. We would run up, put our pennies down, and run right back to safety until the train passed. When the coast was clear, we'd run back to the track and retrieve our pennies, now all smooshed into thin, misshapen copper disks. This was a huge deal to us!
Now for the clams.......and why I won't eat them to this day. I remember the men clamming in the creek during the day, always with several children tagging along. They would return triumphant, with bushels of clams. At night, I remember my parents, and Doc & our aunt all sitting on their patio, having a cocktail or two, laughing, singing, and eating clams on the half shell. I remember Dad and Doc calling me over, and showing me what happens when you squeeze lemon juice on a live clam. They twitch, in case you're interested. It was, and still is, one of the grossest things I have ever seen. Bleah.
There were little country roads out there, narrow and winding, with all kinds of hills and valleys. The men would load all of us into the back of one of the station wagons (the back seats folded down, of course) and drive around, all up and down those roads, making sure that every bump was a thriller. Of course we loved it, screaming and laughing and bouncing around like a pack of puppies.
There were also railroad tracks that ran through the town. A great, big, heavy, filthy diesel locomotive would roll on in twice a day. This was in the 1960's, in a little hick town, so there were virtually no safety features other than a half-hearted set of warning gates. Well, Daddy & Doc would sometimes drive us all up there right before the train came by, and let us put pennies on the tracks. We would run up, put our pennies down, and run right back to safety until the train passed. When the coast was clear, we'd run back to the track and retrieve our pennies, now all smooshed into thin, misshapen copper disks. This was a huge deal to us!
Now for the clams.......and why I won't eat them to this day. I remember the men clamming in the creek during the day, always with several children tagging along. They would return triumphant, with bushels of clams. At night, I remember my parents, and Doc & our aunt all sitting on their patio, having a cocktail or two, laughing, singing, and eating clams on the half shell. I remember Dad and Doc calling me over, and showing me what happens when you squeeze lemon juice on a live clam. They twitch, in case you're interested. It was, and still is, one of the grossest things I have ever seen. Bleah.
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