I'm sure you all have had the experiance of a sight, or a smell bringing back a memory of decades past. Or a taste.
This morning we went over to a place called Butlers Orchard, and I came home with a gallon of fresh apple cider. Now I like apple cider, its one of the rights of fall around here, when the leaves start to turn. I used to get our cider from a place called the Cider Barrel. but they closed down due to expanding suburbia. Hence my purchase from Butlers Orchard.
I got home and had a glass right off. This is a little rougher cider than the Cider Barrel sold, with a more of a heavier charater than the amber clear cider sold before. As the sweet cider went down I savored the taste and a memory from very long ago came to mind. I thought of the scout campout at Gun Farm so long ago where we found a hidden jug in a woodshed.
We had turned 14 by the second year Mr. Van was our scoutmaster. Me, Dave Tate, Bobby Ryerson, Everett Snyder, had become Mr. Vans old pro's from dover, and were helping guiding the new recruits along. By now we had our first class ranks and a sash full of merit badges in everything from Seamenship to marksmenship. Yes they had merit badges for marksmen in those days, I suppose things have changed a bit.
It was the last campout of the season at Gun Farm, before the winter closed in. The last fall colors were fading as the last leaves blew off the trees, and the chill in the air was developing a cold bite. We had suppervised the younger scouts in setting up the camp, fire pit and ring in place, tents pitched tight. There were some larger logs by the fire and we recalled a woodshed/shop just over the rise from camp. The owner of the Gun Farm had a small firewood buisness going and we decided to go over to borrow a couple of wedges or splitting maul. The camp was pretty well set up and the younger scouts were gathered round as Mr. Van was giving them a compass reading class. We were going to assist later as the scouts were divided up but at the present we had some free time. So all four of the old hands went over the hill to explore the woodshed for a maul.
It was a dilapidated old plank covered wood building, and we went into the cluttered interior. Insde was a jumble of rope, spare lawntractor bush hog blades, wooden boxes, old tires. We explored the old shed carefully, but no maul was there. Then Ev, who was rooting around some shelves found something. Behind a bunch of rags was a large earthen jug of at least a gallon size, maybe two. He pulled out the stopper and took a whiff.
"Hey, it smells like apple cider!." he said.
"Let me see" Dave said. As our unofficial leader, it was Dave's duty to test things out for us. He took a carefull whiff and looked around. On the shelf was a battered old tin cup. He had Ev hold the cup as he carefully poured poured out a measure. The jug was heavy and near full.
"Go ahead and try it." he told Ev. Ev took a carefull swallow and for a few seconds grinned.
"Hey its pretty good..."he stopped and got a funny look on his face. "Wow, what kind of cider makes ya feel hot in the belly?"
Dave took the cup from Ev and took a good swallow. He got a funny look on his face as well.
"Wow, that no plain cider! We found a stash of real hard cider!"
The tin cup was filled again and passed around. We all took a healthy dose and had the strange feeling of something glowing down our gullets. The cider was sweet but a bit rough, and not unpleasent. We has a seat on some old tires and passed the cup around. It was refilled a bit now and then, after all, it was a big jug and we did'nt plan on drinking that much of it. The late afternoon sun slanted in the windows of the old shed, and I don't recall how many times we refilled the tin cup. It could'nt have been that many times. We were giggling at all kinds of things and having a good time. Then we rememberd we were supposed to hepl Mr. Van with the compass course. Putting back the jug we stood up and ran right into trouble.
The insidious thing about cider is that you don't often feel the full effects untill you stand up and try to walk. Bobby fell flat on his face and I tripped over a coil of rope that I swear crawled out in front of me.
"Oh my God! We're drunk!" yelled Bobby. "Mr. Van is going to skin us and roast our livers for his dinner!
Somehow we marched back to camp with a minimum of falling down. As we approched the camp Mr. Van spied us and yelled. "You four, get over here! Where in hades have you been. Stand still when I talk to you!
I don't know why he was asking us to stand still while the whole world was spinning around us.
He and my dad walked over to us eyeing us in a suspicious mannor.
"Whats the matter with you guys" he asked.
Dad stepped very close to us and gave us a critical looking over. As he did Bobby fell over again. Dad turned to Mr. Van in amazment.
"My God, Robb, their're drunk!" he said. "absolutly snockered."
Mr. Van stepped close to us and sniffed. We were cought and were sure that our fate was sealed for something really bad. The thought went through my mind, wondering if anyone had ever been court martialed from the boy scouts. Visions of my first class badge being ripped from my uniform came and went. Disgraced, maybe with my scout knife broken over someones knee.
Under stern interagation the sorry tale came out. Dad and Mr. Van were not amused. They decieded to march us back to the shed to show them the scene of the crime. It seemed like a long way back, stumbling and half carrying Bobby. We showed them the hidden jug. Mr. Van picked it up and pulled the cork and sniffed. Dad picked up the tin cup and held it out as Mr. Van poured out a measure. Dad sniffed it carefully, then took a small pull off it. His eye-brows went up a bit in surprise.
"Not bad." he said as he handed the cup to Mr. Van, who took a drink.
"No, not bad at all. Smooth." he said as he handed the cup back to dad. Dad took another sip.
"Good body, nice afterglow."
Mr. Van set the jug back on the bottom shelf carefully, and stood back.
"Its a shame that nice cider like that falls into the wrong hands. Very careless of the person who left it here."
"Something should be done about that, for sure. " said dad.
We were marched back to camp and put to work for the rest of the evening. Bobby ended up making some strange noises over by the latrine we dug. The rest of the night was a haze, but we turned into our sleeping bags glad to lay down. Somehow we got off to sleep even with the tent spinning around.
I don't know what time it was when I woke up having to go to the latrine. My head was pounding, and I had dry mouth and drank some cold water from my canteen. In the dark I stumbled out to the latrine, and it felt like sometime in the wee hours of the morning. I had my head down and felt miserable, and after doing what I had to, stumbled back toward the tent. The campfire had burned down to a dull red glow, and I thought I spied two figures sitting on a log by the glow. One tall and one smaller. But I felt so bad from being drunk and sober in a short time frame I did'nt care. I just wanted to be back in my nice warm sleeping bag. As I went off to sleep I thought I imagined the clink of a tin cup on an earthen ware jug.
Morning was hell. Mr. Stevens the assitant scout master woke us up up and set us to our morning taskes with little humor. Bobby said he thought he was going to barf, Ev kept rubbing his temples saying something about a jack hammer. I felt bad enough that I hoped the firing squad was going to be this morning. Then I took stock of things. Something was not quite right in the camp.
Mr. Van usually woke us up, as he and dad were those crack of dawn people who were whistling as they made coffee at daybreak, if not before. But this morning both dad and Mr. Van were sitting quietly on a log by the fire, each nursing a large cup of coffee and not saying much. They seemed kind of subdued. Probably planing our fate I thought.
That morning we went about cleaning up the camp, filling in the latrine and fire pit. Bobby had to get two full buckets of water to drown the fire and stir the ashes before burying it. Tents were rolled up and we were almost ready to leave when Dave siddled up to me and asked in a conspiratory whisper if I'd seen Ev. Come to think of it I hadn't. But by and by Ev turned up and was in a chipper mood. I remarked at him it was nice that he felt so good while the rest of us were so hung over.
"Hair of the dog." he whispered to us.
"What are you talking about?"
"Its hair of the dog, I tell ya. My old man told me once, that the hair of the dog that bit ya will cure ya. So I snuck back and had a drink." he said. "Now I don't feel half bad!
"Thats disgusting" said Dave, " You mean you drank more of that stuff?"
"Yeah, there wasn't much left, but enough to get a good drink out of"
It took a moment to sink in, but something was wrong there. The jug had more than half left in it when dad and Mr. Van sampled it. I said so to my co-conspiratores, and we speculated on the disappearing cider. I looked over the camp to where dad and Mr. Van sat nursing their coffee. No, I thought, it couldn't be. No way! Then I thought salvation can arrive in many ways. I expressed my thoughts to my fellow offenders. Hope sprang anew.
Our leader, Dave, sat down next to Mr. Van.
"So, sir, about yeasterday..." he began.
Mr. Van cut him off.
"No need to talk so loudly, I can hear you very well. " he said. "I think given the repurcusions of your hangovers, we can forget about any dissiplinary actions. Forgive and forget may be the way to handle this."
"So, no loss of rank, no punishment for drunk on duty sir?"
Mr. Van assured him there would be no mention of this around the church decons. Mum would be the word.
I looked at dad, and his eyes looked a little bloodshot around the edges.
"So I guess there won't be any scandal to explain to mom." I asked dad. He assured me there would not be.
We all got home okay, and mom remarked that we must have had a great time as we were so tired that we hit the sack so early. Nobody ever made mention of the jug again, and I became a very carefull drinker of brews I was not familiar with.
But today, the taste of the full bodied cider brought back the memory with crystal clarity. I guess you could say my dad and me got drunk together.
This morning we went over to a place called Butlers Orchard, and I came home with a gallon of fresh apple cider. Now I like apple cider, its one of the rights of fall around here, when the leaves start to turn. I used to get our cider from a place called the Cider Barrel. but they closed down due to expanding suburbia. Hence my purchase from Butlers Orchard.
I got home and had a glass right off. This is a little rougher cider than the Cider Barrel sold, with a more of a heavier charater than the amber clear cider sold before. As the sweet cider went down I savored the taste and a memory from very long ago came to mind. I thought of the scout campout at Gun Farm so long ago where we found a hidden jug in a woodshed.
We had turned 14 by the second year Mr. Van was our scoutmaster. Me, Dave Tate, Bobby Ryerson, Everett Snyder, had become Mr. Vans old pro's from dover, and were helping guiding the new recruits along. By now we had our first class ranks and a sash full of merit badges in everything from Seamenship to marksmenship. Yes they had merit badges for marksmen in those days, I suppose things have changed a bit.
It was the last campout of the season at Gun Farm, before the winter closed in. The last fall colors were fading as the last leaves blew off the trees, and the chill in the air was developing a cold bite. We had suppervised the younger scouts in setting up the camp, fire pit and ring in place, tents pitched tight. There were some larger logs by the fire and we recalled a woodshed/shop just over the rise from camp. The owner of the Gun Farm had a small firewood buisness going and we decided to go over to borrow a couple of wedges or splitting maul. The camp was pretty well set up and the younger scouts were gathered round as Mr. Van was giving them a compass reading class. We were going to assist later as the scouts were divided up but at the present we had some free time. So all four of the old hands went over the hill to explore the woodshed for a maul.
It was a dilapidated old plank covered wood building, and we went into the cluttered interior. Insde was a jumble of rope, spare lawntractor bush hog blades, wooden boxes, old tires. We explored the old shed carefully, but no maul was there. Then Ev, who was rooting around some shelves found something. Behind a bunch of rags was a large earthen jug of at least a gallon size, maybe two. He pulled out the stopper and took a whiff.
"Hey, it smells like apple cider!." he said.
"Let me see" Dave said. As our unofficial leader, it was Dave's duty to test things out for us. He took a carefull whiff and looked around. On the shelf was a battered old tin cup. He had Ev hold the cup as he carefully poured poured out a measure. The jug was heavy and near full.
"Go ahead and try it." he told Ev. Ev took a carefull swallow and for a few seconds grinned.
"Hey its pretty good..."he stopped and got a funny look on his face. "Wow, what kind of cider makes ya feel hot in the belly?"
Dave took the cup from Ev and took a good swallow. He got a funny look on his face as well.
"Wow, that no plain cider! We found a stash of real hard cider!"
The tin cup was filled again and passed around. We all took a healthy dose and had the strange feeling of something glowing down our gullets. The cider was sweet but a bit rough, and not unpleasent. We has a seat on some old tires and passed the cup around. It was refilled a bit now and then, after all, it was a big jug and we did'nt plan on drinking that much of it. The late afternoon sun slanted in the windows of the old shed, and I don't recall how many times we refilled the tin cup. It could'nt have been that many times. We were giggling at all kinds of things and having a good time. Then we rememberd we were supposed to hepl Mr. Van with the compass course. Putting back the jug we stood up and ran right into trouble.
The insidious thing about cider is that you don't often feel the full effects untill you stand up and try to walk. Bobby fell flat on his face and I tripped over a coil of rope that I swear crawled out in front of me.
"Oh my God! We're drunk!" yelled Bobby. "Mr. Van is going to skin us and roast our livers for his dinner!
Somehow we marched back to camp with a minimum of falling down. As we approched the camp Mr. Van spied us and yelled. "You four, get over here! Where in hades have you been. Stand still when I talk to you!
I don't know why he was asking us to stand still while the whole world was spinning around us.
He and my dad walked over to us eyeing us in a suspicious mannor.
"Whats the matter with you guys" he asked.
Dad stepped very close to us and gave us a critical looking over. As he did Bobby fell over again. Dad turned to Mr. Van in amazment.
"My God, Robb, their're drunk!" he said. "absolutly snockered."
Mr. Van stepped close to us and sniffed. We were cought and were sure that our fate was sealed for something really bad. The thought went through my mind, wondering if anyone had ever been court martialed from the boy scouts. Visions of my first class badge being ripped from my uniform came and went. Disgraced, maybe with my scout knife broken over someones knee.
Under stern interagation the sorry tale came out. Dad and Mr. Van were not amused. They decieded to march us back to the shed to show them the scene of the crime. It seemed like a long way back, stumbling and half carrying Bobby. We showed them the hidden jug. Mr. Van picked it up and pulled the cork and sniffed. Dad picked up the tin cup and held it out as Mr. Van poured out a measure. Dad sniffed it carefully, then took a small pull off it. His eye-brows went up a bit in surprise.
"Not bad." he said as he handed the cup to Mr. Van, who took a drink.
"No, not bad at all. Smooth." he said as he handed the cup back to dad. Dad took another sip.
"Good body, nice afterglow."
Mr. Van set the jug back on the bottom shelf carefully, and stood back.
"Its a shame that nice cider like that falls into the wrong hands. Very careless of the person who left it here."
"Something should be done about that, for sure. " said dad.
We were marched back to camp and put to work for the rest of the evening. Bobby ended up making some strange noises over by the latrine we dug. The rest of the night was a haze, but we turned into our sleeping bags glad to lay down. Somehow we got off to sleep even with the tent spinning around.
I don't know what time it was when I woke up having to go to the latrine. My head was pounding, and I had dry mouth and drank some cold water from my canteen. In the dark I stumbled out to the latrine, and it felt like sometime in the wee hours of the morning. I had my head down and felt miserable, and after doing what I had to, stumbled back toward the tent. The campfire had burned down to a dull red glow, and I thought I spied two figures sitting on a log by the glow. One tall and one smaller. But I felt so bad from being drunk and sober in a short time frame I did'nt care. I just wanted to be back in my nice warm sleeping bag. As I went off to sleep I thought I imagined the clink of a tin cup on an earthen ware jug.
Morning was hell. Mr. Stevens the assitant scout master woke us up up and set us to our morning taskes with little humor. Bobby said he thought he was going to barf, Ev kept rubbing his temples saying something about a jack hammer. I felt bad enough that I hoped the firing squad was going to be this morning. Then I took stock of things. Something was not quite right in the camp.
Mr. Van usually woke us up, as he and dad were those crack of dawn people who were whistling as they made coffee at daybreak, if not before. But this morning both dad and Mr. Van were sitting quietly on a log by the fire, each nursing a large cup of coffee and not saying much. They seemed kind of subdued. Probably planing our fate I thought.
That morning we went about cleaning up the camp, filling in the latrine and fire pit. Bobby had to get two full buckets of water to drown the fire and stir the ashes before burying it. Tents were rolled up and we were almost ready to leave when Dave siddled up to me and asked in a conspiratory whisper if I'd seen Ev. Come to think of it I hadn't. But by and by Ev turned up and was in a chipper mood. I remarked at him it was nice that he felt so good while the rest of us were so hung over.
"Hair of the dog." he whispered to us.
"What are you talking about?"
"Its hair of the dog, I tell ya. My old man told me once, that the hair of the dog that bit ya will cure ya. So I snuck back and had a drink." he said. "Now I don't feel half bad!
"Thats disgusting" said Dave, " You mean you drank more of that stuff?"
"Yeah, there wasn't much left, but enough to get a good drink out of"
It took a moment to sink in, but something was wrong there. The jug had more than half left in it when dad and Mr. Van sampled it. I said so to my co-conspiratores, and we speculated on the disappearing cider. I looked over the camp to where dad and Mr. Van sat nursing their coffee. No, I thought, it couldn't be. No way! Then I thought salvation can arrive in many ways. I expressed my thoughts to my fellow offenders. Hope sprang anew.
Our leader, Dave, sat down next to Mr. Van.
"So, sir, about yeasterday..." he began.
Mr. Van cut him off.
"No need to talk so loudly, I can hear you very well. " he said. "I think given the repurcusions of your hangovers, we can forget about any dissiplinary actions. Forgive and forget may be the way to handle this."
"So, no loss of rank, no punishment for drunk on duty sir?"
Mr. Van assured him there would be no mention of this around the church decons. Mum would be the word.
I looked at dad, and his eyes looked a little bloodshot around the edges.
"So I guess there won't be any scandal to explain to mom." I asked dad. He assured me there would not be.
We all got home okay, and mom remarked that we must have had a great time as we were so tired that we hit the sack so early. Nobody ever made mention of the jug again, and I became a very carefull drinker of brews I was not familiar with.
But today, the taste of the full bodied cider brought back the memory with crystal clarity. I guess you could say my dad and me got drunk together.
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Just reincarnated as Rifle Shooting or Shotgun Shooting- it split in two! Got Rifle, but never had the quarter a shell needed to really master Shotgun.
