My Childhood

I usually try to entertain you with a fiction story, but today, this is no fiction, I’m visiting my childhood.

WordPress Daily Prompt said to go to my favorite blog and write a companion piece to one of their posts.

As I was cursing several of my favorite blogs, I came across a post by VastlyCurious.

VastlyCurious is a photographer. I’m unsure why, but she posted something about barbed wirer fences. This will sound strange to you, but her post brought me back to my childhood.

I’m from the very deep south of Louisiana. We lived 68 miles from the Gulf of Mexico, as the crow’s fly, almost two hours by car.

I grew up on the leftover parts of my grandfather’s plantation. We still grew cotton on the land across the street. That land is now a subdivision.

Mom and I lived on 7 archers.  My four cousins lived next door on a small farm with cows and chickens. The barbed wire kept the livestock in, but not us.

I got along with all four of my cousins, but I mostly played with the two younger ones, Penny and John.

Our great aunt lived on the property to the north of us. There were friends all around us. We built forts in the barn hayloft. There was a natural drainage ditch that ran for miles and stretch across my cousins’ and my homeland. Most of the time it was dry, but when it did have water in it, we went swimming.

There were fields to run and play in, softball games, and trees to climb. And along the way to our adventures and visiting of friends and family, there were barbed wire fences to cross.

You can read the history of barbed wire fences from VastlyCurious’ blog. (Also … Check out her photos while you’re there.)

Here you’ll learn the fine art of safely crossing a barbed wire fence.

There are three strands of wire that are held in place by fence posts. Each strand had sharply pointed bits of wire knotted into it. Barbs can prick skin and tear at cloths.

When there was a group of us, someone would stand in the middle of the fence poles, step on the bottom strand, and pull the middle strand up, creating a space large enough to safely pass through.

If alone, we’d bend over with a flat back, place one foot though the fence to the other side, and carefully slide our body through the two bottom strands, without ruining our clothes or getting a bloody scratched.

If we were in too much of a hurry to be careful, we’d grab hold of the fence pole and climb up the three wires one strand at a time. Once both feet were on the top wire, we’d jump down and hit the ground running.

There were hard times, there usually is, but I mostly remember those years as play time with my cousins.

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