Tag Archives: Evening Shade

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Playing with Fire(works); a Lifetime of Adventures

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Playing with Fire(works); a Lifetime of Adventures

Warning: Do not try this at home!

James R. Aist

I have had a long-standing fascination with fireworks, especially the do-it-yourself variety. Playing with fireworks offers opportunities to blow things up without getting in trouble for it. It also invites the application of creative juices when one begins to get bored by mindless repetition. Finally, the ever-present threat of bodily harm adds a certain excitement to the entertainment value, perhaps not unlike that experienced by rock climbers and bungee jumpers. Here, I have elected to share with you some of the more interesting or bizarre experiences I have had with fireworks during the course of my lifetime. I hope you enjoy them; I know I did.

Roman Candle Peekaboo

When I was about nine years old and living in very rural Arkansas, we lived on a dirt road off of a dirt road, about half a city block from the small, Methodist church in Cypress Valley. It was Sunday evening, and the Fourth of July was coming up in a few days. But some of the more patriotic young locals had already stocked up on fireworks early, and they came to the Sunday Evening Service with mischief in mind. It was already dark when the congregation was dismissed, and these patriots made a bee-line for their automobiles. There they armed themselves with Roman Candles, touched them off, and began shooting them at whoever was shooting at them from behind the parked cars. It was all I could do to negotiate the parking lot without being shot down myself! And I marveled at the skill these combatants displayed at dodging the fiery darts after first seeing the flash from the candles aimed right at them. Obviously, this was not their first Roman Candle “rodeo.” It was truly a wonder that no one was hurt that night. I was frightened.

Blind Man Standoff

That same night, after the Roman Candles had all been used up, another fireworks battle took place, this time on the road in front of our house. And this time I was able to participate. A group of about 12 willing participants assembled, fireworks (mostly firecrackers, but some cherry bombs and block busters to make it more interesting) were distributed, two sides of six each were chosen, and the two sides stood in a row and then took about five steps back from each other. Since we were now well away from any source of light, it was pitch black on that dirt, country road, and we could barely see anything. I thought it incredulous that they (we) were really going to do what it was obvious they (we) were going to do. And they (we) did. Fireworks were lit by both sides and flung at the other side. You could see them being lit and thrown, and there were explosions all around us. We dodged as best we could while lighting and throwing our own ammunition in retaliation. I soon wished I had sat this one out, but it was too late! Oddly enough, though, no one was hurt in this battle either. But I swore never to do that again!

Arrow Rockets Rock!

Right around that same time, also in Cypress Valley, I invented my first fire cracker weapon. Here’s what happened. I had some firecrackers left over and was wondering how I might set them off creatively. I had a crude bow that I had fashioned out of the trunk of a persimmon bush and strung with bailing twine. A local weed left dry, straight stalks after flowering, and I had crafted these stalks into crude, but suitable, arrows for launching from my bow. “Hmmm,” I thought to myself, “I wonder what would happen if I were to fasten one of those firecrackers to the end of one of those arrows, light the fuse, and then, at just the right moment, fire it into the clear afternoon sky with my bow so as to explode the firecracker at the pinnacle of the flight of the arrow. (OK, OK, at only nine years of age, I wasn’t using advanced, three-syllable words like “pinnacle”, but that’s what I had in mind, I’ll swear it!) Anyway, that’s what I did. It took some practice to get the firecracker to explode at just the right time, but, after a few tries, I had the timing down pat. I would load, light and fire, and the explosion would give off, not only a loud bang high up in the sky, but also a puff of smoke would emerge and drift off slowly, carried by the wind. I had invented the “arrow rocket!” But I didn’t anticipate what would happen with my next launch. Up went the arrow, bang went the firecracker, and puff went the smoke, as before. “But wait, what’s that I’m seeing? Is that a perfectly formed smoke ring? Why yes, yes it is!”, I thought to myself. My arrow rocket had just produced a perfect smoke ring that drifted off slowly, carried by the wind! Was that cool or what!

Firecracker Time Bomb

In an earlier short story, I published a more complete account of my application of this ingenious time bomb (click HERE). So here, I will just relate essential details of its construction and use.

This invention took place when I was about 12 years old and living in Evening Shade, a small town in rural, north-central Arkansas. Now, the key to making a Fire Cracker Time Bomb is to first make a homemade fuse that will produce a delayed explosion of the firecracker, a “timer fuse” as it were, and then insert one end of the timer fuse into the free end of the fuse of a firecracker. As it turns out, the perfect, convenient raw material for a timer fuse is thin, white, cotton string, such as used to be employed to bind a flour sack or a bag of charcoal briquettes. When you light the end of the string with a match and then blow out the flame, the string will continue to smolder and burn shorter and shorter, much like a lighted cigarette left sitting in an ashtray. So, I did some test runs to determine how long the string needed to be to give about a two-minute delay, just long enough for me to make my getaway and appear completely innocent if there was an unexpected “incident.” The action plan was to mosey innocently down to the center of town (about one block), stop at the big maple tree next to the telephone operator’s house on the left; you know, the tree with a huge hole, about waste high, that was facing the sidewalk. Then, I would turn and face the big hole in the tree, reach in and assemble the “bomb” inside the hole so that no one could see what I was doing, light the timer fuse, turn back toward home and mosey innocently up the hill, waiting to see if anyone would be startled by the “bang” so I could watch (i.e., be entertained by) their reaction. And so I did. But, as it turned out, there was no one but me in the area at that moment to hear the explosion, so my prank was a bust (pun intended). Technologically though, it was a huge success. Woo-hoo!

Mater Grenades

This final caper with fireworks has had many variations throughout the years, but I think you might enjoy reading about this one in particular. It happened about 14 years ago at my home in Knoxville, TN. My wife’s daughter and her family were visiting, and the Fourth of July was coming up. The grandson and I were plotting to blow off a few firecrackers and wanted to add some kind of twist to it, just for kicks. Why not blow something up this time, besides the firecrackers, we reckoned.

Now, we were somewhat of a couple of cheapskates at that time, and I began to wonder how we could blow something up without spending too much money on it. As it turns out, a few days earlier, when I was shopping for vegetables at the supermarket, I noticed that some of the Italian tomatoes (you know, the ones shaped like shmoos) were perfectly sized and firm for this adventure, and several were rotting from fungal infections. No one would buy these tomatoes anyway, I surmised. So off we went to the supermarket to buy tomatoes to blow up. Well, sure enough they agreed to give us the rotting tomatoes for free. Now this little trick may not be as simple as you might think. To pull this off successfully, one must first create a clean hole in the tomato just the right size and depth to hold a lit firecracker while flying through the air at high speeds (the tomato, not me, silly!). Aha, a drill is “just what the doctor ordered” I thought. So I got out my electric drill and selected a drill bit of the same diameter as a firecracker.

When the time came for our little entertainment gig, we all went out on the deck (which, by the way, is ten feet off the ground) to enjoy this homemade spectacle. I drilled a hole in the first rotten tomato, and we inserted a firecracker; it fit perfectly.  So, we lit the fuse, waited a couple of seconds, and then flung it violently into the air, away from the deck. When it was about 20 feet from the deck, the firecracker exploded in mid-air, and instantly there was tomato juice, pulp and seeds flying everywhere…BAM…poof! That was awesome, and so we high-fived each other. Then we repeated the process 5-6 times before getting bored. And that’s when we noticed tomato seeds where we didn’t expect them: on the deck, on the deck rail and even on my van, which was parked a good 25 feet or more from the explosions. Now THAT was well worth the trouble!

(To read more of my short stories, click HERE)

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Lazy Day Destinations: The Ball Field

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Lazy Day Destinations: The Ball Field

James R. Aist

Growing up in rural Arkansas left me with many fond memories of favorite places, especially when it was summer vacation, and I could just pick up and go by myself, or with a friend or two, on a hot, lazy summer afternoon.

The Ball Field

When I was around 12 years old and my family lived in Evening Shade (the real one, population 315 at the time, not the fictional one on the TV sit-com), one of my favorite destinations was the ball field. I loved baseball more than any other sport, even hunting. Fortunately for me, little Evening Shade had a fairly well-developed ball field (see photo at upper right) that served mainly as the venue for the men’s softball team. Most of the time, however, it was available for me to spend quality time alone on a hot summer’s day, secretly imagining myself as a big league baseball player when I grew up. To get to the ball park, I turned right toward town, walked straight through town, kept going until “town” turned into “country”, and I was there, in only about 10-15 minutes.  Watching the local team compete against nearby teams under the lights was only one of several ways I made memories there.

Bobby Johnson

One day I happened to be at the ball field when our team was having practice, in preparation for an upcoming night game against Ash Flat. As I began to watch, I was hoping that Bobby Johnson would be there. Bobby was a really big man, about six feet four inches tall and weighing 240 pounds, all muscle and bones. A few weeks before, at a home game, I had seen Bobby hit a ball harder than anything I had ever seen before. Bam! It was a sizzling line drive that sailed right over the center fielder’s head before it even began to sink to the ground. I wanted to be able to hit a ball like that when I grew up. And he could throw the ball so hard that no one wanted to catch it.

Anyway, back to the practice session. The guys decided to take a break and just have some fun for a few minutes. Bobby usually played first base, but he decided to take the mound and show off some of his “stuff” by pitching overhand to anyone who would dare to step up to the plate. He would buy anyone a large Coke if they could hit one of his pitches. What happened next was almost beyond belief. Bobby began to throw “roundhouse” curve balls. These pitches were coming so fast and curved so much that it was as if the ball was coming right at the batters from third base, at 90 miles an hour, audibly hissing (I kid you not!) all the way to the plate. That was enough to make them all bail out of the batters box before the pitch even got to home plate.

Needless to say, Bobby was the only one to enjoy a large Coke that day!

Toss-n-Hit

Most of the time though, the ball field was deserted, so I would bring along a baseball and bat to play toss-n-hit for a while. I would stand at home plate, hold the bat on my shoulder with my right hand, toss the ball high into the air with my left hand, grab the bat with both hands and then swing at the descending ball with all my might. I tried my best to hit a liner like the one I saw Bobby hit, but I just didn’t have the physique to take it to that level…yet. Nevertheless, I did hit some very impressive (to me) liners and got to experience that indescribable feeling when bat meets ball solidly with a loud “CRACK”! I’m sure some of you know, from personal experience, exactly what I’m talking about. Hitting the ball like this was fun, and I’m sure it improved my “ball-bat” coordination, but there is an obvious down side to playing ball this way: you always have to retrieve the ball yourself, and that dilutes the fun and gets boring pretty fast.

Good memories, though.

One in a Million?

But there was a memory I made at this ball field that was not so good. One late afternoon as I was on my way home from visiting a friend who lived just beyond the ball field, I decided to pause and “while away” some time; there really wasn’t anything better to do in sleepy little Evening Shade anyway. But, without my ball and bat, I thought, “What can I dream up to do for a few minutes on a vacant ball field? Oh, I know, I’ll practice throwing…rocks. That should be innocent enough to keep this preacher’s kid from getting into any kind of trouble, right?” So I collected a handful of stones and began chucking them, one at a time, at the wooden light posts that supported the light banks used for night games. I must admit that my aim was pretty good that day, and it wasn’t long before I got bored with the light posts and wanted a greater challenge, one that better suited my superior throwing ability. Just then my gaze rose all the way up to the light bank in right field. “No, you wouldn’t dare”, I thought, “What if I actually hit one of the lamps and broke it; then what? I would really be in big trouble, if anyone found out that the preacher’s kid did it!” After a brief pause, I swear I heard from the devil himself, “Hey, don’t sweat it. You’re good, but you’re not that good. The likelihood of your actually hitting a lamp is probably one in a million. Just chuck a rock or two at the light bank, and go on home knowing that you learned your limits today.” Well, with that seemingly solid advice in mind, I took a stone, wound up, and hurled it hard at the light bank, confident that I wouldn’t hit a lamp. But, alas and alack, this wasn’t my lucky day. The stone took off from my hand and headed straight for the light bank, and one in a million soon became one in one! The stone went straight into one of the lamps, which exploded with a loud pop, sending millions of glass shards raining down to the ground.  Suddenly, I was gripped with fear, and terrifying thoughts went racing through my mind, “Is anyone out and about?”, “Did anyone see what I did?”, “Did they recognize me?”, “Will they tell Daddy what I did?” But, thankfully, there was no one in sight that day. After all, this was lazy, little Evening Shade on a lazy summer day. “Besides, those lamps are always getting mysteriously busted, are they not?”, I reasoned, “So, I’ll just slip quietly away, and no one will suspect that this innocent little preacher’s kid broke this one.”

And I did, and, to my knowledge, they didn’t. But from then on, every time I went to the ball field and saw this very same broken lamp, I was reminded of my dirty little secret. Hey, you’re not going to tell on me, are you? Didn’t think so.

(To read more of my short stories, click HERE)

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Lazy Day Destinations – “White Silver Sands Bluff”

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Lazy Day Destinations – “White Silver Sands Bluff”

 James R. Aist

Growing up in rural Arkansas left me with many fond memories of favorite places, especially when it was summer vacation and I could just pick up and go by myself, or with a friend or two, on a hot, lazy summer afternoon.

When I was around 12 years old and my family lived in Evening Shade (the real one, population 315, not the fictional one on the TV sit-com), one of my favorite places was “Joe Rock.” Just across Highway 11 from Evening Shade, and about a ten minute walk down a winding farm road (see photo at upper right), was Piney Creek, which ran clear in the summer until the dog days of August set in. If you made a right turn when you reached Piney Creek and followed along the creek bank for maybe 150 yards or so, you came to Joe Rock. Now Joe Rock was usually the target destination whenever we followed that path to Piney Creek, because it was a nice, private swimming hole (click HERE). But there were a couple of other favorite places to visit farther down the creek. I have already recounted the story about Mill Creek and “Bubbling Springs”(click HERE).

So, now let’s start where Mill Creek flows into Piney Creek, past Joe Rock about 150 yards or so. From there, you could see another “natural wonder”, a pristine place just a little farther down the creek that I will call “White Silver Sands Bluff.” This was where Piney Creek made a broad, sweeping turn to the left. Just beyond the outer bank of that turn in the creek, on the right, was a beautiful, solid, rock bluff about 20 feet high. And on the inner bank, to the left, was a sand bar and beach of fine, white sand, dotted here and there with little tufts of vegetation (OK, weeds) and small rocks. It was a beautiful site to see, very peaceful, serene and quiet, and I was always amazed that such a wonderful place could exist that close to civilization and yet remain unknown to all but a very few who chanced upon it. It was a perfect lazy day destination, where you could be alone with your thoughts while sitting on the beach resting your feet in the warm, clear soothing water as it passed silently by.

But, White Silver Sands Bluff was also a place that could afford an adventuresome interlude now and then. One day while ambling along this pristine beach without a care in this world, I noticed that there was a tiny (baby) snake wriggling its way toward the water. Now, I had a history of playing with (harmless) green snakes on the family dairy farm, when we lived miles away in Cypress Valley. So, I walked over to this little snake to see if it was poisonous or not. Turns out, it looked like it might be a baby water moccasin, but its poison glands did not appear to be well developed yet. Then I (foolishly) decided it would be a good idea to find out if it was a water moccasin by sticking my bare foot in front of it to see if it would bite me and leave fang marks. So, I did, and it did! Suddenly I became worried that maybe I had underestimated the maturity of its poison sacks, because the cute little fang marks on the end of my “test” toe were becoming more and more conspicuous. So, having no other recourse, I headed straight for home, anxiously keeping an eye on my poor toe all the way.

Fortunately, there was no swelling of my “test” toe when I got home, so there was really no reason to tell anyone what I had done…right? But I did promise myself I would never do that again. Now before you’re too hard on me for doing such a foolish thing in the first place, let me remind you that I was right, after all…the snake was too young to be poisonous. So there!

(For more TRUE TALES, click HERE)

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Lazy Day Destinations – Mill Creek to “Bubbling Springs”

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Lazy Day Destinations – Mill Creek to “Bubbling Springs”

 James R. Aist

Growing up in rural Arkansas left me with many fond memories of favorite places, especially when it was summer vacation and I could just pick up and go by myself, or with a friend or two, on a hot, lazy summer afternoon.

When I was around 12 years old and my family lived in Evening Shade (the real one, population 315, not the fictional one on the TV sit-com), one of my favorite places was “Joe Rock.” Just across Highway 11 from Evening Shade, and about a ten minute walk down a winding farm road, was Piney Creek, which ran clear in the summer until the dog days of August set in. If you made a right turn when you reached Piney Creek and followed along the creek bank for maybe 150 yards or so, you came to Joe Rock. Now Joe Rock was usually the target destination whenever we followed that path to Piney Creek, because it was a nice, private swimming hole (click HERE). But there were a couple of other favorite places to visit farther down the creek.

If you went down Piney Creek past Joe Rock for another 150 yards or so, then you came to the place where Mill Creek flowed into Piney Creek from the right. Now, Mill Creek was a really, really cold creek, which in the heat of summer felt great, if you darted into its path and then, just as quickly, darted back into the warm waters of Piney Creek. For the longest time we wondered why Mill Creek was so cold; nobody seemed to know. That is, until one day we decided to explore Mill Creek upstream to see if we could find where it came from. To do that, it was necessary to walk along beside the creek, because, after about 30 seconds in that cold water, one’s bare feet began to feel numb! Well, we must have walked a mile or two when we came upon an unexpected, but familiar, sight that explained why the waters of Mill Creek were so cold: A natural wonder that I call “Bubbling Springs” (presently “Evening Shade Town Spring”, now with a spring house – see photo at upper right).

We were already familiar with “Bubbling Springs”, having visited there several times by bicycle or automobile; it was off of Highway 11, just a little south of Evening Shade. But this was the first time that we had connected “Bubbling Springs” with Mill Creek. Now, “Bubbling Springs” was a minor tourist attraction in the immediate area and a favorite place to fill water jugs with naturally chilled drinking water. It was also a fascinating place to play and collect pretty, polished stones. You see, this was no ordinary artesian spring. No, this spring emerged from the ground, over a large area, as dozens of bubbling, crystal-clear springs that shot up 4-8 inches above the water level, pushing up beautiful, highly polished stones along with the water. The stones were kept in a continuous cycle of bubbling up and then falling back into the springs, and then bubbling up again, etc. The sound of all of those stones crashing into one another as they rose and fell in the springs was impressive, to put it mildly. This was nature’s “stone polisher” on steroids! The “floor” of the entire spring area was covered with these very colorful polished stones, and I still have a few of them from my personal collection.

“Bubbling Springs” was always a fascinating place to visit, especially on a hot summer afternoon, when we could enjoy wading around in the chilly, churning “spring field” until our feet were numb. And from that time on, every time we walked down Piney Creek to Mill Creek, we were reminded of “Bubbling Springs”, the amazing — but no longer mysterious — source of its frigid waters.

(For more TRUE TALES, click HERE)

Evening Shade Town Spring

Evening Shade Town Spring

Caption – The photo to the right shows a spring house built by the town of Evening Shade to house some of the “bubbling springs” and provide safe drinking water for the residents.  The water runs out of a grating at the bottom of a set of cement steps. Of course, this developed facility was not there when I was. At that time, there was only a level, mowed field bordering the field of springs, which is located to the left of this photograph.