Mosquito Man

This happened in August 1965? at Hillsboro Camp on the west side of the lake.

Some of us went for a walk one evening after supper.  Mom, (a.k.a. Aunt Tootie to our cousins, the Crims), Aunt Helen, Richie, Jimmy, Jane, and me (Freddy).  Our idea was to walk out to the 'lean-to' on the far side of the lake.  We walked up the dirt road next to the lake.  The sun, low in the western sky, illuminated the canoe dock and the Mess Hall with golden light.  The tall pines on the western shore extended their shadows across the still surface of the water.  A frog croaked and a turtle splashed off his log as we walked past.

I'm about 10, Jane is 8, is 6, Harry is 4.  Wendell is about 13, Vivian is 11, and Richie is 9?

We left the lake behind and came to the path to the 'lean-to.'  It was marked by a big hemlock on the right side of the road.  We step up on to the bank of the road and single file, walk around the hemlock and down the hill through the woods.  We step carefully across the  bridge of logs and boards. On our right is the small inlet from the lake that we crossed the upper part of. We walk on the springy, pine needle covered ground toward the lean-to.  In a hundred yards or so we come to the lean-to.

The lean-to is the name of a small camp ground on the west side of the lake that is the destination of cook outs and overnight hikes canoes trips by campers.  It is also the location of campcraft work; tables, fire circles, bridge building and brush clearing.  At night during dinner the campers at the lean-to would echo songs back across the lake to the Mess Hall.

I poked at the charred sticks in one of the small stone fire places.  Jim sat by the sticks tied together with baling twine.  Campers had built it as part of camp craft activities at the "lean-to".  It was supported between the trunks of two small beech trees.  

"Hey, Richie," I call, "look at this!"  I skip a small pebble from the narrow shore between the bushes at the canoe landing point.  The pebble skips about 5 times in ever smaller hops and sinks into the  water.

Aunt Helen, Mom and Jane  talking.  Aunt Helen , "Let's walk up through the woods along the creek.  I haven't done that since I was a camp counselor."

"You used to be a camp counselor?" Jane.

"Yes,  and your mother was one of my campers when I was the counselor for Doggie House.  Tootie was one of my best campers."  Aunt Helen .

"Richie, Freddy, Jimmy," Mom calls, "We're going to walk up along the creek."

Walk up the creek?  I didn't know it could be done. We, follow parallel to the top of a large granite rock, covered with bushes and pine needles.  We look down into the dark, deep, water of the creek.

"How deep do you think it is here?" asked Richie.

"Its probably about nine feet deep here at this rock," said Mom.

"Hush,... listen." said Aunt Helen.  "I heard a paddle."

We all stood quietly listening.  A red canoe glided around the curve coming into the mouth of the creek from the lake.  Vivian was sitting in the bow with a paddle across her lap.

"Look out Wendy!  There's a rock just to the left."  Vivian pointed out with her paddle.  She reversed the paddle quickly and pushed away from the invisible rock beneath the still surface of the creek.  Wendell in the stern, skillfully backed the canoe away from the rock.

I was surprised to see Wendell and Vivian in a canoe by themselves.  We weren't allowed to be in canoes by ourselves yet.

"Wendell, Vivian," called Aunt Helen. "You're not supposed to take wood canoes up the creek.!  Only aluminum canoes can come up the creek!"

"OK, Mom.  We were just coming up to the entrance to the creek.  We wanted to catch you guys at the lean-to so that Viv could walk with you," Wendell said.

"Where can I get off Wendy?" Vivian said to Wendell.

"Do you see that tree laying down along side that rock?" Wendell pointed south with his paddle. "Maybe you can climb off there?"

I turned back into the bushes and worked my way down and around to where Wendell had pointed.  I pushed through the bushes and found my self on a small animal trail.  I leaned over and pushed my way to the water.  I could hear Richie following me.  Behind Richie, I heard Jimmy crashing through the brush.

"Hold onto your branches Richie, they keep hitting me in the face!"  Jimmy said.

I came to a tree leaning out over the water.  It was a small hemlock, it's trunk about as big around as my leg.  The lakeside roots have lost their grip as the water eroded the bank.  The landward roots , clung precariously to the rocky shore and buried themselves in the dirt and needles between the rocks.  Part of the reason the tree fell over was that it was growing on a granite rock that dipped into the water.  It  didn't have a firm grip on the soil.

"I'll nose the canoe right up there alongside the tree trunk.  Viv, you grab a branch, put your foot on that rock and you're on shore," said Wendell.

Vivian slid her paddle between the thwarts and set it gently in the bottom of the canoe.  She put a hand on each gunwale and leaned forward.

"Wendy, nose the canoe in." She said in her southern drawl.

"Don't let me hit that rock Viv," said Wendell.

"I'll grab the tree and put a foot on the rock," said Vivian.

I watched in awe as Vivian grabbed a branch with her left hand, extended her left foot out onto the tree trunk, pulled herself up out of the canoe, grabbed another branch with her right hand, lifted her right foot  out of the canoe and swung it forward onto the rock to recover her weight before the tree sagged into the water under her weight.

Wendell slid the canoe backwards with a deep, powerful, back stroke. 

Vivian stepped lightly onto the path.

"I'll see you guys back at camp," Wendell's voice carried clearly over the evening water.

"Wendell, be careful paddling back," said Aunt Helen.  She could barely see him through the bushes from where she was standing.

"Oh Mom," said Vivian, "Wendell passed his tippy test a long time ago."

The tippy test was a test everyone at camp had to pass before they could take canoes out on the lake by themselves.  In the tippy test, you paddle out, tip the canoe over, climb back in, and paddle to shore.  

"I just don't want him to get wet is all," said Aunt Helen.

We threaded our way through the trees and rocks, staying as close to the edge of the creek as we could.  At times we were single file, at other times the kids scouted out unusual trees and rocks.  Mosquitoes began to bite us.  We'd all put on bug repellent, 6-12 brand,  before our hike.  The repellent was weakening and the mosquitos in the damp woods of the upper creek were getting thirsty.  Thirsty for our blood!

We continued to explore our way up the creek by land.  Slapping at mosquitos, pushing through occasional barriers of shrubs and bushes, standing on the shore and watching the minnows swim upstream against the slow current, sharing past times in conversation.  Near the banks of the creek the shade of the forest was speckled with golden patches of illumination from the setting sun shining through the tops of the trees.

"Hey kids, these are all blue berry bushes!" said Aunt Helen.

I looked back and saw her examining the leaves and small berries on a branch she had pushed aside.

"Richie, we could come back in a couple of weeks and pick a lot blue berries," said Aunt Helen.

"Can we pick them?" said Richie.  We was struggling past some bushes a few feet behind his mother.

"They're not ripe yet,"  said Aunt Helen.  "We could come back in about 10 days and pick them.  No one knows about these blueberries but us."

Richie was swatting his ankle.   Mosquitos were biting through  his socks.

As I looked back at the group, I could see everyone's hands in constant motion, swatting mosquitos away from their faces and pushing branches aside at the same time as they stepped carefully across fallen branches and over moss covered  rocks.  

Richie pulled his sweater up over his head.  It was a button up the front sweater.  He was looking through a small gap between the buttons in the front.  He had his walking stick poking from this gap, holding it like a probe in front of him.  His fingers held the probe and expanded the space between the buttons so that he could see his way.  The empty sleeves of his sweater flopped around as he walked.

"Richie, you look like a giant mosquito!" said Jane.

"That's right, he does," said Aunt Helen.

"Richie's the MOSQUITO MAN!" said Jimmy.

Richie responded with a loud humming sound and poked at Jimmy with his stick.  

"I've got you now Jimmy!" said the Mosquito Man.

The Sand Pit at Hillsboro Camp

    In the summer of 1960 we had just moved to Hillsboro Camp from Illinois. Near the end of the summer our cousins, the Crims, came to visit. I was about 7, Wendell would’ve been 10? Richie 6? Jimmy 3, and Harry 11 months old.

   “Mom, can we go play in a sand pit?” says Wendell to his mother, my Aunt Helen. She is washing breakfast dishes with Vivian and Janie in the Manor House kitchen.
    “Who’s the ‘we’ that’s going to play in a sand pit Wendell?”
    “Freddy and I are going,” says Wendell.
    “Be careful about cave-ins. Some of that sand may be real loose.” Aunt Helen warns.
    “That’s OK, I’ll check them out and we’ll be real careful.” says Wendell.

    Wendell and I leave the Manor House through the side door, and cross the lawn to the East Washington road. Our sneakers get wet with the dew sparkling in the August sun. We walk up the paved road toward Johnny Crane’s farm and turn into the logging road that leads to Monkey House. Just to the right a small spring fed stream pools and flows quietly toward the brook. It is a deeply shaded fairy chapel of hemlocks, moss covered rocks, and quiet cold water. As young boys, we don’t notice.
    Just off the paved road to the left is the first sandpit. It is a small pit in the side of the hill. Hemlocks, maples, and birches almost hide it from view. Tractor tracks lead up to it. We walk up.

    “Freddy, stay here. I’ll test this for cave-in danger,” says Wendell.

    Wendell steps into the closet sized depression of smooth sand dug into in the side of the hill.     He jogs in place in the sand. It is cool and damp. Then he reaches overhead and pokes at the ceiling with his finger. A thimbleful of sand falls down in front of him.

   “Ummmm, this could be a cave-in danger. We better look for another sand pit to play in,” says Wendell.
    “Where is the next sand pit?” I ask.
    “There’s lot’s of them, just follow me,” Wendell says.

    Wendell starts trotting off down the logging trail toward Monkey House. Just before we reach the turn to the softball field, a large sunlit pit is on the left. It is a steep sandy slope with many pebbles and smooth rocks mixed into the sand. Most of it is covered with a rough brown carpet of fallen pine needles and pine cones. In the center part of the pit, the sand is clear of pine needles. This pit is big. Its about 10 times as wide and 3 times a high as the last one we looked at. It has a gentle slope that looks climbable instead of a vertical wall.

    On the left side of the pit, the trunk of a large pine lays down the slope. The branches had all been cleared off with a chain saw. The trunk was cut in half leaving it in two large sections, each about 12 to 15 feet long. The rooted section was up hill, some of it roots still clinging to the hillside at the point where it toppled into the pit. The down hill section was one big log, higher than my knees as it lay on its side. A few away from the edge of the logging trail, it was sawed off. The branches and smaller logs had all been hauled away. At the time I thought nothing of it; it was just a big log on the edge of the sandpit.

    “This looks good,” says Wendell, “real good. Follow me.”

    Wendell ducked into the bushes at the right hand side of the pit. I follow him up the hill back in the woods. Tree branches pushed aside by Wendell whip back at me. I hold my arms up in front of my face and watch the ground to keep from getting scratched.

    At the top of the pit, Wendell is waiting for me. “OK, Freddy, here’s how we slide in a sand pit!”

    Wendell jumps off the edge, out past the tree roots sticking out of the hill. He lands on the sloping sand with his feet and legs stretched out in front of him. I watch him slide down the pit. A rush of sand wraps around his legs and waist. I fear that he will be buried in the moving sand.
At the bottom he stands up and looks back at me.

    “OK, Freddy, you try it.”

    I jump out and land on the sun warm sand. The pebbles fly down hill away from me. The sand fills my pockets and crawls into my waist band. I’m glad I’m wearing tough blue jeans. Part way down the hill I lose some momentum and I have to pull with my heels to keep sliding. I end up at Wendell’s feet.

    “Wendell, you’re only wearing shorts. Doesn’t it scratch your legs? “ I ask.
    “I’m superman tough,” says Wendell.

    We spend some time sliding. Soon we hear Richie and Jimmy calling for us. We run around the side of the pit and up hill. We hide in the woods at the top of the hill. We creep to the edge of the pit. Laying on our bellies, we look carefully over the edge. Jimmy and Richie’s voices become clearer as they come up the logging trail. Pretty soon I begin to see through the tree branches the golden white gleam of the sun shining off Richie’s crew cut blonde head.

    “There they are, Wendell,” I say.
    “Get down, Tonto,” whispers Wendell.

    I slap a black fly on my forearm. Wendell motions me to be quiet with a finger to his lips. Richie stops on the logging road, looking at the freshly turned up sand and gravel.

    “It looks like Wendell and Freddy were sliding on this pit. Let’s try it out Jimmy!” Richie says.

    They start trying to climb up the steep slope of loose sand. Richie is leading the way and making pretty good progress. Jimmy struggles and tumbles back to the bottom.

    “Come on Jimmy,” says Richie, “You can do it, watch me!” Richie pushes up the slope, his jaw clenched and fists pumping. With each step forward he slides half a step back, sometimes a full step.

    Wendell pokes me lightly. “They don’t know that it’s easier to come around through the woods.” He chuckles quietly.

    We watch Richie and Jimmy continue to struggle.

    “Let’s jump them,” says Wendell.

    We whoop like Indians. We leap out of the shadows and into the sunlight at the top of the pit. Jimmy and Richie stare up at us, eyes wide, mouths open with shock and amazement.
Wendell hits the sand. I’m right behind him. As Wendell slides past Richie he grabs his waist and yanks him down with him. I try to grab Jimmy as I slide past him. He hasn’t made it too far up the pit. I miss his waist but I grab the leg of his blue jeans near the ankle. It is enough to topple him backwards. We all end up in a jumble of laughter and whining on the warm pine needles and sand at the bottom of the hill.

    “That’s cool!” says Richie, “Let’s do it some more.”
    “How’d you guys get up there?” says Jimmy.
    “Follow us,” I shout.

    Wendell leads the way through the trees and bushes, up and around to the top of the sand pit.

    “Wow,” says Richie, “It’s a long ways down.”
    “I don’t want to go down this way.” says Jimmy.
    “That’s OK, Jimmy, I’ll take you back down through the woods,” I say to him.

    Mom, Wendell and Richie’s Aunt Tootie, comes along. She is carrying the my youngest brother, Harry, in her arms. Mom sits down in the sun on the pine log and watches us play in the sand.

    Jimmy tries to climb up on the log. Mom gives him a boost with one hand. Jimmy stands on the log next to her and steadies himself on her shoulder. He starts walking up the log and quickly crouches down to crawl on his hands on knees. Wendell, Richie and I are showing off various stunts of sand sliding to my mom.

    Jimmy made it up to where the log had been sawed in half and he begins to try the next step. He stands up carefully. He wobbles, and tumbles stiffly like a toy doll off the log.

    “Waaaaaa---aaaaa---waaa,” cries Jimmy.

    We look down from the top of the pit. Jimmy is lying on the ground up hill from Mom. Mom has Harry in her arms and the needle covered sand it too soft for her to move up quickly to Jimmy’s aide. It looks like Jimmy’s beginning to roll down hill to disaster.

    “Lone Ranger to the rescue!” Wendell shouts.
    “And Tonto!” I shout.
    “Hi ho Silver!” Richie yells. We charge, slipping and sliding down the slope.
    “Jimmy, we got you!” Wendell picks up Jimmy to his feet.
    “Jimmy, you OK?” asks Richie.
    “Waaaaaa---waaaaaa,” cries Jimmy.

    We crowd around and help Jimmy return to Mom.
    

    Jimmy stops crying.

The Lone Ranger