Tales+from+the+Backyard

The giant tractor tire came bouncing up the driveway in the back of Dad's old rusty pickup. It was the biggest tire anyone had ever seen. The tallest of us could have stretched out from limb to limb and barely touched the inside walls. Our new sandbox had finally arrived.

"Yes! It's about time!" shouted Tom.

"But Dad, how are we all going to fit? The center is too small!" whined Nicole. "It should be bigger!"

"I will make it bigger," Dad grunted as he jumped up in the box to roll out the tire, "but not just yet. First I have something else that this tire needs to do. Move out of the way!" and he shoved the tire out of the truck with a great heave, barely missing Lauren as it bounced a good third of the way across the yard, hit the rope swing tree and flopped down like a spinning coin. "Help me move it over into the woods a little where it will be shaded."

We all heaved and shoved and rolled the tired up on its side and then into the woods near the latest community of tree forts that we were endlessly constructing during our summer vacation. With a giant plop and another stunning display of circular physics, the tire slowly settled into its eternal resting place.

"What now, Dad?" Tom was always the first to be too anxious, if you asked me. Dad could be really testy, and it was best to just wait out his silences rather than push him into making us work sooner and harder. It was already hot out, and nobody knew exactly how we were getting the sand or getting it into the sandbox, and we all saw vague, blurry visions of shovels and sweaty backs. "I think you're going to have to wait on that sandbox, actually. I have something else to do with this tire first, and when I'm done, you will get it."

"What?" "Aawww, man!" "No way!" We all hollered, forgetting ourselves for just a moment in Dad's presence.

"I said, I have something first. I've got a snapper that needs a home for a little while, and this'll be perfect," said Dad as he strode back to the truck to dig through the cab. He came out a few seconds later holding a big box that looked like it was heavy and MOVING.

"Whoa! You got a turtle in there?" Tom said with wide eyes. "A snapper? Cool!" "Can we see, Dad?" We all started clamoring for the box, though Dad had held it up far over our heads.

"Hey, back up! Let me through!" Dad wound his way through our maze of toys and bikes over to where the tire lay. He bent down carefully with the box and set it over top edge of the tire, gingerly setting it down on the ground in the center. "Stay back you guys," he grumbled as he slowly opened the folded lid, flinching at any little sound or movement from inside the box.

"I'm not messing around, kids, this thing'll hurt you bad if you get close. You can watch, but stay back!" he shouted as Tom started leaning in to the center of the tire to get a better look. Lauren gasped and grabbed the back of Tom's shirt to pull him back out, though she didn't back up, either. Her eyes were wide and her face tense as she stared in utter fascination at the now open, slightly wiggling box. The turtle had smelled freedom and was on his way out.

Everyone started shouting at once. "Holy cow, Dad!" yelled Tom as he leaned in further. Lauren made a small, strangled sound in the back of her throat though she was apparently frozen in place, and Nicole started screaming in short bursts. "Oh! Oh wow-!" she kept saying over and over. Whatever it was she was planning to say, she was having some difficulty in getting it out. I walked up and leaned over the edge of the tire to see better, too.

"Wow, Dad, that's a big one!" I thought my comment was much more thoughtful than anyone else's so far. As the oldest of the bunch, I usually found myself playing the role model.

"Yeah, it is a big one. I found it down in the ditch by Greg's house," Dad said, standing up again with the empty box. "I'm sorry about your sandbox, but you'll get it eventually. For now it's going to be the turtle's home."

Tom pulled his head back out of the tire. "So, is this like our pet now?" He was always catching cold, slimy things anyway; this was just a much bigger specimen for him to play with.

"It's //not// a pet!" bellowed Dad. "I want this to be clear! These turtles can take off a grown man's finger with one bite! Do you understand? You are //not// to mess around with this guy." He looked around at each of us in turn, locking eyes in an expression that said he meant it. We'd been punished before, for lesser crimes, so every one of us knew he meant business.

"Yes, Dad," we all chanted, though nobody moved away. As Dad wandered off toward the burn pile, we all leaned in again for a closer look.

"And stay away from that turtle! I tell you kids every day, and one of these times somebody is really going to get hurt!" Mom was yelling her usual morning rant at us on our way outside to play for the day. Since it was summer break and Mom babysat a lot of kids, we all played outside just about all day, everyday. We complained about it a lot, but to be honest, it was more fun being outside than it was being stuck in the bedroom playing with the same dumb, broken old toys all the time. Besides, now we had a "pet!"

Sure, we had been warned about the dangers of the turtle, and we all truly believed them, but that didn't mean that we considered ourselves dumb enough to actually get hurt. We were smart about playing with the turtle. Nobody had lost any body parts yet, and it had been over a month already. Nicole came close once, but after her narrow escape she started playing our games a little more safely after that.

Immediately after its arrival, we had devised some clever games to play in and around the tire containing the turtle. It was //our// sandbox tire, after all! We had every right to claim it as our own plaything and invent games around it. We had two favorite games - "trampoline" and "stick." The trampoline game was a mixture of tag and duck, duck, goose. One person was "it," and had to chase the others around the bouncing top of the tire. Of course the center, where the turtle lived, was totally off-limits, and you'd likely DIE if you fell in! Nobody ever fell in, not once. Lots of times we fell outside, though, which also meant that you were "out." You could be tagged, too, which meant that you were the next "it" and the game continued. Occasionally we'd place some variations on the game to keep ourselves from total boredom, but the general rules held us for many weeks.

The other game we invented directly involved the turtle. This was the stick game, a fascinating look into the world of physics and natural science. For this game, everyone had to find a stick or some other piece of nature that could be parted with. Of course, everything had to be at least a certain length; nobody wanted to get //too// close to the turtle. Although technically we were being disobedient by playing with the turtle at all, we really did believe what our parents said about the dangers. In fact, sometimes we made up stories about what the turtle was capable of, and tried to scare each other witless.

"Tom, you go next," Nicole had just finished her own daring try, the largest pinecone any of us had yet found. Now a mangled piece of it lay in the bottom of the tire. The rest lay strewn about near Nicole's feet. Tom held up his stick, a fifteen-inch pine branch he'd found deep in the woods. Usually our pine branches were long dead and dry, but Tom had taken this one right off the tree. If Dad ever found out, Tom would be in trouble. But Dad was gone in the U.P., working for the week, so he wasn't going to find out. He lowered his stick down into the tire until it was six inches from the turtle's mouth. This was the really tense part, that slow inching toward the turtle's snapping jaw, creeping and creeping it closer to see how close you could get without--

SNAP!! The turtle had Tom's stick.

"AAahhhh!!!" Tom started, but held on tightly to his stick while the turtle grasped the other end. We all laughed at his wide eyes and newly red cheeks and ears. The turtle was stuck fast to the end of the stick. Then Tom did what the rest of us had not yet been able to, by reaching one of the major goals of the game. He picked up the turtle by the stick until just its back two feet and tail were touching the ground.

"Ooohhhh! Wow! Aahhh!" we all gushed, impressed by Tom's daring and ability. He was the first to "win" the game, and won the coveted dirt-ball trophy that Lauren had sculpted weeks before, which had now hardened to be truly trophy-worthy.

Often when we played this game the turtle would simply snap the object into two pieces and that would be the end. Of course, the fun for us was seeing how close we could get to the turtle's mouth before it actually snapped. We had arguments over who got closer, but that was also part of the fun. If it wasn't your turn to be holding the object, some of the most fun we had was watching the person whose turn it was, and waiting for their reaction when the turtle finally bit. That was the hilarious part, seeing them fly up with their eyes wide and some loud shout coming out of their mouth. There was a trick to the yelling, though, too. We didn't want to shout too loud and attract Mom's attention, yet we wanted the best reaction out of the rest of the group. It was an art we developed over the many weeks the turtle lived in our sandbox.

-

Summer vacation was almost half over, and still we had a turtle home instead of a sandbox. We had gotten so used to the turtle, in fact, that most of the time we forgot that we'd ever been promised a sandbox in the first place. It wasn't like we were at a loss for things to do outside or really needed //extra// dirt to play in anyway. There was plenty all around, much to Mom's despair. And we always had things going on, various kids coming over to play, chores to do, and the occasional grown-up party where we could continuously demonstrate our annoying habits for the adults until they finally sent us away for the night. One such party was looming, and we were especially excited about it.

One of Dad's friends who lived hours away was coming to spend an evening with us. We loved this guy because he was funny, loud, and he liked us kids. We were attracted to anyone who gave us the slightest bit of attention, and Larry was one of our favorites. Dad liked him, too, which put him in a pretty pleasant mood as well. We spent the day before cleaning up everything in the backyard. It wasn't going to be a big party, but we still wanted the place to look nice for a guest that rarely came over.

Tom was eager to show Larry our pet turtle the second he got the house. "Dad, can I show the turtle to Larry? He'll like it!" Tom was skipping a little to keep up with Dad's pace. "Can I Dad, please?" he was practically begging now, he was so excited.

"Sure, son. You go ahead. In fact, Larry will really like that. I told him about it, and he's excited to come and see it." Dad got a strange grin on his face. "Larry //really// likes snapping turtles." He was actually chuckling.

"What's so funny, Dad?" I asked him, suddenly working a little faster at raking up my pile of leaves now that he was walking by me. "Why are you laughing?"

"Oh, nothing. You kids keep working and when this spot is finished you can go play. I think we're done working for now. It looks pretty good."

Larry arrived a few hours later, loud and jolly as usual. He didn't disappoint Tom with his ogling over the turtle, either. He seemed almost as excited about meeting it as we were about showing it to him. In fact, to our complete astonishment, he picked it right up by the shell and looked it in the face. "Hey, buddy!" he said, grinning, as if he and the turtle had been friends for years. "How ya doin? We're gonna have a good time tonight!" and he laughed his hearty laugh as he faked lunging the turtle's outstretched beak toward Nicole. Nicole stumbled back and ran into the swing set, making everyone else laugh.

The evening passed quickly, and too soon it was time for us to go to bed. As disappointed as we were, we knew it would do us no good to protest. It never worked, and in fact was more likely to make us have to go to bed even earlier for the coming week. We said goodnight to Larry knowing he'd be gone by the time we got up in the morning. He never stayed for very long.

In the morning the house smelled fantastic. What was going on? Mom didn't usually cook us a big breakfast without notice. But there was certainly a rich, savory smell permeating the whole house. It had to be strong because our bedroom was as far away from the kitchen as you could get, and my mouth was watering like crazy. "Hey guys!" I woke everyone up. "Can you smell that? You think Mom's making us breakfast?"

"Wow, cool!" Tom was excited. "Maybe we don't have to eat Cheerios! I bet it's eggs and bacon!"

"No, I think that's ham," said Nicole as she climbed down from the top bunk.

"Uh-uh, it's sausage. Can't you guys smell?" Lauren was usually pretty grumpy in the morning and nobody listened to her until after she'd been up for awhile. "Anyway, it doesn't matter. Let's go see!"

We jumped into our clothes as quickly as we could and raced down the hallway to see what Mom had cooked up for us as a surprise breakfast. But when we got to the living room, Mom was sitting in her chair watching the news, still in her bathrobe and drinking a cup of coffee. "Where's breakfast?" whined Tom as he stopped short, immediately realizing that we had been drastically wrong about our home-cooked feast.

"What are you talking about? You know where the cereal is!" Mom didn't seem to even notice that we were all standing, gaping at her with open mouths, apparently feeling cheated out of something fantastic.

"But I smell--" Tom didn't get a chance to finish his sentence before Dad came through the front door, having been up for hours since Larry had left. He saw us all standing around the living room.

"Boy, that was some GOOD snapping turtle soup!" he said. "You guys ready to fill that sandbox today?"