Short Stories Read online

It was a long trip. Brad normally didn’t get up very early in the morning but today he rolled out by seven, got dressed, had some breakfast and by eight we were on our way. That was especially surprising since he had been on the road for about four hours yesterday going up state to get the package. I was anxious to get started and appreciated the early departure. I always enjoyed traveling west across the state through the mountains. Today the scenery was beautiful with wooded vistas that extended for miles. I always liked to imagine that there might be a mountain stream, a rock outcrop or a small cave that had never been viewed by anyone.

  Today we’d only made one pit stop and by noon we had traversed the interstates and gone through the small town where I had attended high school. The rural countryside we were now passing through was very familiar. However, the names of families that had lived along the way there did not all come easy. Some refused to be dredged up out of my memory bank.

  The village of Fairview looked pretty much unchanged. However, the old school building was gone and I wondered when that had happened. A few miles beyond that we came to an intersection that momentarily baffled Brad but he consulted the GPS and nodded his head as he took the road to the left. We proceeded along and to the right was the Township Park including one of the old one room schools houses and the warehouse from the old narrow gauge railroad station both of which had been relocated to this spot and refurbished. I always think it’s nice that some localities make the effort to preserve elements of their past.

  In the next mile or so there were some small residences that appeared to date from the latter years of the Twentieth Century, in contrast to larger farm houses from a much earlier era. It was interesting that the older houses showed signs of poor maintenance and it was clear that very little farming was being done. Very different from my boyhood years in that fields that I recalled devoted to crops and hay were now in pasture or growing into brush. There seemed to be very few livestock.

  Soon we approached the first bridge crossing the stream which we kids had called the Big Creek. Back in those days it was a covered bridge and the first of three such structures over the meandering stream to be crossed on the way home. All three had been replaced in the years after the World War II probably because the route was a state funded roadway. Too bad that they were gone but I’d been told that there were several others in the County that had been saved and restored.

  It wasn’t long until we came to the village of Tenmile. At this point the roadway parallels the stream at a distance of about a couple hundred feet. The village didn’t seem to have changed to the better as far as I could recall. I seemed to remember a fair sized farmhouse and barn on the creek side of the road near the center of the village which were now missing. This was at about the location where the old covered bridge had been and on the other side of the stream where the roadway snaked up the hill. These were gone now, too and replaced by a newer crossing further ahead where we turned right. Our destination was only about two miles further on.

  This final leg of the trip was somewhat depressing. The roadway was on the west side of the narrow valley and on the other side was where the railroad had been. In my recollection there had been some trees but for the most part the valley area had been generally open pasture land. Now it was like driving through a forest. There had been two houses and accompanying out buildings along the way. One had vanished and the other was a picture of deferred maintenance along with junked cars and other litter.

  In a few minutes we were at the home place. There were lots of changes from my childhood days. Looking across the way was where the old train station which housed the general store and post office and served as the village social center was located. All gone, now and there was no evidence of the railroad trestle where we kids climbed around. Likewise, in the adjacent area there was no sign or remnants of the baseball field that had occupied the attention of teenagers and returning World War Two veterans for a few years and was about the only source of local excitement. Other homes and structures that I remembered in the area were gone.

  Brad pulled the car into the lane and drove up along the house. Overall it hadn’t changed much but it was obvious that it was being well maintained. There were undoubtedly interior upgrades and I was certain it was much more livable that when I grew up there. Straight ahead was the structure that served as a garage and we always called the wagon shed. Brad shut off the engine, got out of the car and looked at the house for a few seconds. I guess he was wondering if he should make himself known. It wasn’t really necessary since he’d called a few days ago and let them know about the mission.

  Brad reached back into the car, retrieved the package and we started out through the barnyard. The barn was showing the ravages of time and I suspect its demise is not too far in the future. We proceeded ahead around the upper side of the barn on up into the orchard area. I hadn’t been there in years and it was a real shocker. There were no fruit trees of any kind in evidence. That really shouldn’t have been a surprise because even when I was growing up most of them weren’t really well maintained. We continued on around to the right where the two Transparent apple trees, now long gone, had stood. This was my special spot.

  I would come here when I was a youngster, even up into my early teenage years. I would sit here and let my mind wonder as I surveyed the countryside. As a little guy during the war years, I surely daydreamed about performing heroic acts in protecting my family. Later on as puberty took hold I probably fantasized about encounters with female classmates. It was a good spot to see a lot of the surrounding area, including the two-thirds of our farm to the south that was mainly pasture and woodland as well as the railroad line, trestle, and the station. From this high spot one could see most of the half dozen or so houses that were in the general area. For the most part, now it was mainly just woodland. I wonder if it was really as pastoral and bucolic as my mind has recorded it.

  Brad sat there for a few minute just as I used to do. I wonder what was going through his mind. At length he rose to his feet. He opened the package, took out the urn and removed the lid. With the urn in one hand, he rubbed his chin with the other and looked skyward. Then remembering my letter he scattered the ashes over a small area.

  Good job, Brad. Now when you get back to your home don’t forget to call the monument company to have them put an end date on the grave stone and, by the way, thanks for bringing me home.