A Free Range

I grew up in a house of round rooms, seven of them, set close to each other and joined by hallways and passages. We called them “rondavels,” traditional circular African dwellings with conical thatched roofs. Around them, three acres with a garden and orchard provided me with a free range for adventure, imagination and mischief.

A Painting Job

I remember the square storage building, set back from the house. It was a large structure, large enough to house some incubators for chicks, for one thing, and a workshop. You see, Denis, my Dad, was a farmer in an accountant’s clothing. He dabbled in eggs, fruit and sheep. I wonder if it was the time he spent in a prisoner-of-war camp in Northern Italy, working on the farms, tending to the vegetables, under the guards wary eyes that instilled in him a love for the outdoors and agriculture.

One day I retrieved a previously opened can of paint for Dad from that storeroom. I hoisted it onto my head holding it with my arms stretched up in a yoga-like pose, not realizing it was upside down. As I lifted the can off my head the lid came off leaving me covered in white paint. This is where my distressed mother, Betty, took over, filling the bathtub with a mixture of water and Turpentine, a paint thinner. The label warned, “Avoid contact with skin,” and “Don’t get in eyes.” Me wriggling and yelling and Mom shouting, “Stay still!” is a memory etched in my mind. Oh! – and the explanation to school friends of why I had white eyebrows was drowned by their mirth.

Sand Experiments

Denis must have been building something because a large mound of sand had been dumped in the driveway. This was an ideal prop for an inseparable friend of mine, Geoff, and I to explore the physics of sand piles. We decided that the best approach would be to place a swimming pool leaf rake into the summit of the sand pile. Its net had been removed. The first one to climb up the pole and stick their finger into the top of the pole would be the winner. After several attempts, we got the hang of it, clambering up that pole like monkeys. I was close to the top when the sand gave way, sending the pole earthwards. I let go, and once again gravity won the day. The multitude of names on the cast covering my entire arm became the trophy.

Barrels and Barbs

There was a small orchard on our property with peach, apricot and plum trees I remember a huge iron corrugated barrel lying on its side in the orchard. It was big enough for me to stand inside and make it roll around, pretending to save the world. I have no recollection of fruit trees or dogs being trampled in that rampage. It was a barrel of fun.

A truss or framework of iron poles had been constructed at the entrance to the orchard to allow vines to grow. The urge to be Tarzan sent me swinging all over the structure, until a rusted joint gave way. Once again gravity changed the game. It was the barbed wire that caught my little finger. Stitches became another little trophy like a tattoo on the finger, making it curl up in protest. The daily rub of a lotion straightened things out. My mom’s shock of black hair was rapidly turning silver white, skipping any shades of grey.

Jello

Jello was a favorite treat of mine. When set, it jiggled, setting me off. It came in a powder form, in little packets with different colors and flavors. The best thing was pouring some of the powder from the packet onto the palm of my hand and licking it up, coloring my tongue red or blue or green.

Now, the dog always got washed in a big iron tub filled with water from the hosepipe. To chase the ticks and fleas away a special powder, its name ending in “tox,” was mixed into the water. It came in little packets…

In the hospital emergency room I was given liquid licorice as an antidote. My tongue was black and the flavor scrunched up my face.

The Hellion

My two sisters, Judy and Thirza, were nine and twelve years older than me. How they put up with me is a mystery, and surely a testament to the human spirit. They suffered through playing games with me, always letting me win, because the consequences were just not worth it. I caught frogs holding them in both hands and chased after my sisters relishing their screams of disgust. They ran, fast. At times, I patiently hid behind the couch knowing that a sister and boyfriend would soon be listening to the gramophone playing The Beatles. I could not understand their dismay when they found me. There were times when, in front of a boyfriend, I would casually announce, “Remember don’t pick your nose.” They seemed so happy catching the train back to boarding school.

Unbridled fun and mischief came to an end when I too had to board a train bound for boarding school, following the tracks of my father and grandfather, where rules and rulers ruled the day.