The twins might have been in fifth grade, which would mean I was in fourth, but I’m not real sure about that. I am sure it was summertime though, and that we were still living next to my cousins. That is, our farm was located next to my aunt’s. I think I mentioned before in a previous “Tales” post that there was a big disgusting pond next to the main canal where we swam. My brother was the first to call it Lake Malaria, or Swamp Malaria, but it really wasn’t a swamp but a big drainage pond that bred mosquitoes, bullfrogs, water snakes, and who knows what else thrived in those murky waters. We tended to stay away from it, and out of it, of course, but there were times we had to trudge through it but we always kept close to the edge. A few times, like when we were liberating watermelons from the farm across the way and got shot at, we didn’t care where the heck we entered Lake Malaria. We were fleeing for our lives…so we believed at the time. Fear is a great motivator.
I don’t know if it still exist but just before you reached the main canal there was a nice downhill slope that met up with Lake Malaria. It wasn’t too steep but steep enough to get a tire going and to keep it rolling. A natural dirt bank, fortified with cattails and other water plants, formed a lip at the end of the slope. That bank usually stopped moving objects before they went sailing into the swamp. But, one time it did not.
The evaporative cooler was worthless. All it did was stir the hot air in the house around. We were bored, sweaty, and complaining but what could Mama do about it? She was just as miserable as we were, Finally, though, she had enough of our bellyaching and ordered us out of the house. So we went trudging around the farm looking for something to entertain ourselves with. We found that something propped up against our rickety chicken coop. [Side note. The chicken coop was so pathetic, barely holding together that my brother made a sign that read “Coyotes, help yourselves.” He nailed the sign to the front of that structure.] Anyway, since we intended on going swimming, we decided to roll the huge Ferguson tire all the way to the slope and there have some fun with it. We had rolled down the slope before in smaller tires and figured the bigger the tire, the greater the fun. So down the dirt road we went, three skinny kids fighting to keep this big-ass tire upright and moving along.
My brother got inside the tire first and made the trip down the slope. Once he hit the dirt bank, the tire wobbled a bit, then crashed down to a stop. My brother declared it the best tire ride ever. After we hauled the tire back to the top, it was his twin’s turn. After she got in and all situated, we shoved on her way. Right off the tire picked up speed, gaining more speed than when my brother was in it, and it kept gaining speed as she zoomed down the hill. When it hit the small bank and its curtain of cattails, it did not stop, but instead flew like a rocket right into the swamp. Her ride ended with a humongous splash. My brother and I were momentarily stunned, but when she came up gasping and covered in weeds and other yucky things, we broke in to loud laughter. She was okay, just furious with us because, of course, it was all our fault. When we finally stopped laughing, my brother and I had to enter Lake Malaria to drag the tire out. We managed to get the tire to the weeds and there left it. The thing was full of water and too darn heavy for us to get it to the top.
On our way to the canal to wash Malaria’s stink and crude off, we got to thinking about consequences. What if the tire was still good and not a discarded one? What if Daddy started looking for it and asking about it? What would we do? Well, our first decision was to stay mum about the entire thing but if that didn’t work, well shoot we’d blame it on our cousins. Yup, sometimes we were awful kids. But the day my sister took her first flight in a huge tractor tire was AWESOME!
