AN UDDERLY DEVINE ESCAPE

The boy ran over the dry grass. He ran over the dusty road. He ran in the oppressive heat. He ran against the dry wind. Knobby knees knocking together. Scraped shins stinging. Dirt smudges covering his arms and legs. He ran to forget this abandoned place he found himself in. The cluttered farmhouse his parents had taken him to. A long lost relative that had died of some horrible virus sweeping the country. He ran to escape the adults fighting over money and personal belongings. He ran to erase the feelings of not fitting in at school.

Suddenly, he tripped over something in the dirt. He went flying through the air, landing with a thud and the gritty taste of dirt in his mouth. He looked over his shoulder to see what he had tripped over. Just a rusty tin can. Figures, he thought dismally. He kicked at it in frustration. Wait, it wasn't a can at all. Too sturdy. He looked around for a rock to dig the object out. It took some effort, but finally the cylinder-like object broke free. Murky glass, dull metal, some sort of braided cloth stared up at him. It was an old-fashioned lantern! It was similar to the ones he had read about in books that sheepherders used long ago. The boy dusted off the dirt and grime, shining it the glass with his shirt.

The boy closed his eyes and tried to imagine the lonely life of a sheepherder. What must he have thought about on those hot, dusty days where he could see grassy fields for miles with no water in sight? What must he have felt guarding those sheep against the dangers of coyotes and the elements? How did he light this lantern at night? Did he have kerosene oil with him? What did he cook over the campfire? Beans, jackrabbit, prairie dog?

He came out of his reverie to the sighting of the old barn just up ahead. Was this quite possibly where the old sheepherder stayed at night? From the books he had read, he imagined an old, run down shack with empty tin cans of food and rats scurrying across the floor. But an old barn would provide much better shelter. The boy must explore this treasure further! As he approached the decrepit barn, he noticed two different building materials; sod and lumber. Both were falling off with age. Red paint was peeling from years of weather. But it was the anticipation of what discoveries lay inside that drove the boy further.

The air smelled musty with years of disuse. The scent of straw had long since lost it's strong fragrance. A back door barely hanging from it's hinges led to empty stalls with holes from cows kicking in protest. A ladder with broken wooden steps led to a hay loft up above. There wasn't much else to explore down below; an old milking stool, an overturned pail with a sour milk residue. Time to bravely tackle the ladder. Who knew if it would hold his weight what with the broken steps and possibly rotting wood.

With slow, tentative steps he made it! And boy was the journey worth every minute! In one corner was a mama cat and her three baby kittens. The boy went over to introduce himself, but all but one scurried away. A tiny white female approached him cautiously becoming glued to his side within minutes. In another corner was a pile of rocks. However, upon further inspection, they were actually Native American arrowheads!! This was the coolest find ever! But how did they get here, he wondered? He looked around for the next treasure and saw a small leather pouch against a wall. Opening it he discovered a stone attached to a wooden handle with leather straps. Could this be a Native American axe or tomahawk of some sort?

It was then that he realized that this was no nightly shelter for a lonely, old sheepherder. This run down, musty old barn must have belonged to a farmer at one time. Perhaps a homesteader, with a young boy of his own, who had collected these ancient artifacts and hidden them cleverly in the loft of this barn. Had this boy gone to school, or were the chores and history of the land his only education? Did his parents fight over money too? Maybe they didn't have much of it to fight over. How had his ancestors died? Perhaps from viruses no doctors at that time knew how to treat?

The boy must have fallen asleep because he awoke to sandpaper rubbing his chin and a barn swallow calling his name. The sandpaper turned out to be the white kitten licking him. The barn swallow turned out to be his dad's familiar voice calling his name. He gathered his treasures while wiping the sleep from his eyes as the dream he was having about a Native American child running in the fields faded away.

After admonishing his son for running off and giving them quite a scare, the dad sat with the son and listened to his story about the things he had found from a long ago life. He listened about the kitten he wanted to keep, and about how the boy didn't feel he fit in with friends he tried to make at school. The dad patiently explained the trials and tribulations of being an adult, about conflict and money, and fighting. Life's realities, he called them. He explained the raw emotions death and belongings brought out in people. Mostly, he explained that this great aunt would be pleased at his discoveries and making a new friend. The boy spent the rest of his time on his great aunt's farm feeling a new sense of compassion for her, and gratefulness at the modern day life he lived. An added bonus was feeling pretty cool during show and tell in his history class the following week!