When I was a young boy of about 7 years, my Dad surprised me and asked if I wanted to sleep in the backyard in his hammock. He brought that hammock home with him from the Navy in WWII and in the summer when the weather was nice, he hung it between two sturdy trees.
Our yard was pretty big. The house faced Elm Street and Grandpa Oscar’s house was way in the back facing East North Street. An old apple orchard lay between them and some other things such as a chicken coop, a clothes line, Grandpa’s barn and Grandma’s garden. A limestone wall ran the length of the combined properties with a corn field and drive adjacent it. On the other property line was an empty lot and then another neighbor’s yard.
Being in the hammock in the shade, one could take a nap and feel pretty much away from everything until hunger came around.
Anyway, I told my Dad that I would love to sleep in the yard at night, and he arranged that with Mom. They brought out a sleeping bag and my pillow. I had my coonskin cap and a flashlight. Mom packed a piece of cheese and some crackers in case I got hungry, and she provided a thermos of water too. A boy with a flashlight lead to mischief, but I wasn’t motivated to play around because sleeping in the yard was serious business.
I was in the yard at about 8:30 at night when Mom, Dad, and brother said “Goodnight”. I laid in the hammock and wasn’t sleepy. I looked at the stars in the sky and tried to find the moon. All was very quiet.
I could hear crickets chirping. As the sun disappeared deeply, it just got very dark out there and in those days people didn’t leave lights on. Grandpa’s lights went out and it was black in the southerly direction. My folks and brother went to bed and it was pitch black in their direction.
I was hanging with my head to the north, so to my right was Mr. Garverick’s old barn and the water tower. Mr. Garverick kept traps in his barn and it was spooky over there. Foxes lived in that direction and racoons too.
In fact, foxes could be about anywhere out there as there were lots of rabbits. Racoons would climb trees near our kitchen and we could see them at night with a flashlight. I thought about flashing the trees to see what was out there with me, but did I truly want to know?
I gave it a try and I saw something rustling in the trees. What if that thing wanted to visit the hammock? I wouldn’t like that. I put the flashlight out and began to dream about all of the animals that were probably out there with me. The woods wasn’t that far away, so deer and opossums and just about anything could be there.
I went into a dream state and thought about the “Indians” that used to live here in my backyard. I remembered the stories about wolves killing my great ancestor’s pigs not far from here. “The wolves are all gone, right,” I asked myself? That was a scary thought, but scary thoughts are what put me to sleep sometimes. I dreamt that I was outrunning a varmint as I fell into deep sleep.
Then, there was a very loud sound, something that I hear all of the time, but alone in the dark in a deep sleep the town clock chiming nine times was “alarming.” I sprang awake, counting the chimes, and realizing that this was going to happen again all night long.
I had another scary thought, “What if I need to get back into the house at night?” How would I find my way? I have my flashlight, but there is no pathway. I could take the alleyway to the street and then find my house. Right. I figured it out so I could fall asleep again.
I dreamt about using the flashlight to find my way back to the house to escape from varmints that I knew had me surrounded.
I fell asleep until the town clock began striking 10 times. How’s a fellow supposed to sleep with that clock going off all of the time? I anticipated with some excitement about counting the clock twelve times at midnight. That was something to look forward to. After that, it would only strike once, twice, and three times. I could sleep through that.
In fact, I arose for the midnight chimes and after that I went into a deep sleep again. The next thing that I remember was the warmth of the sun shining on the hammock. Mom stood at my head and asked gently, “Do you want to get up, Jimmy? Would you like some breakfast?”
I was reluctant to get out of the hammock, but after a hard night’s work defending the yard from varmints and counting the town clock, I was surely hungry.
Now, I dream about the day when I might help my grandsons campout in their yard someplace. I would suggest that they leave a string trail to their kitchen door in case they need to come in at night to escape the varmints.
Camping in the backyard
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