Corn Shocks still occupy some fields if you know where to find them. They stand as relics and reminders of a time that has passed most of us by. The Amish still bind up corn stalks and stack them, but modern farming has long since relegated them to obscurity, in favor of modern harvesting methods.
For people my age and older, corn shocks are still a symbol of fall, the harvest, and yes, Halloween too. There’s nothing like a field of corn shocks silhouetted against a cold, dark Halloween sky, with the full moon peeking out from behind ominous clouds to give that spooky feeling. Add in some pumpkins nestled near the base of the shocks, and you have the perfect Fall/Halloween scene. The only thing missing is the apparition of ghosts darting in and out among the shocks. Maybe this is the year when Gamla Magretta finally makes an appearance with her long, red scarf flowing out behind her. I’ve been waiting for her to return since our Prairie Ghost gang first tried to spot her when I was young.
Black cats, carved pumpkins, and witches flying through the air on their broomsticks, are also a part of the Halloween scene. Black and orange seem to be the primary colors. We had some black and orange pre-Halloween visitors this week. Thousands of Asian Beetles descended on our house. I hear we weren’t the only place they invaded. I’ve never seen so many. I sent most of them to Beetle Heaven and felt no remorse. I hope they don’t revisit us on Halloween night, when legend has it, the spirits of the departed return. Those little innocent-looking insects pack quite a bite. Maybe they’ll return as Vampire bats on Halloween.
Another annual event was the Halloween party at our rural school. All the country schools had some type of celebration. You’d think all of us would have vivid recollections of those days. Unfortunately, a lot of water has gone under the bridge since our one-room school days. In my effort to bring you a full and detailed report, I called some of my “old” schoolmates and thought they could fill in all the empty shelves that I encountered in my memory library. Looks like the bridge was washed out for a lot of us, and the water swept most of those memories downstream. Either that, or they’re holding out on me in fear of ending up being quoted in this column.
I do want to thank Donna (Gilbertson) Kjelland for trying to round up some memories from our schoolmates for me. Donna and I were in the same class at Smith for eight years. For seven of those years, we were the only students in our class. I guess that means that one of us was the smartest and one was the dumbest, or the second smartest, as I like to say. I imagine both of us would claim to have been the smartest. One thing we both agree on, we’re glad we had such a great, positive experience in our little, country school.
Halloween was just one of the many good times. We all remember that we bobbed for apples and had a fish pond. That was where a sheet was strung up and you took turns fishing. The pole had a line attached to it with a clothespin on the end. You put the line over the sheet and older kids behind the sheet would attach a small prize. They jerked the line like you’d caught a fish, and you brought up your prize. None of us can remember what the prizes were or where they came from. If anyone remembers, let us know.
Bobbing for apples was always an adventure. Unless you had an exceptionally large mouth, there was only one way to get that apple. Plunge your whole head in and nail it on the bottom of the tub. I do recall at least one year when we had to pass an apple from person to person by holding it under our chin. That was both fun and embarrassing when you were in between a couple of girls.
Another activity was eating crackers and then seeing who could whistle Dixie first, without spitting soggy crackers all over the place. Ah, the simple pleasures of grade school.
We all agree that Hobo Day was an annual event held in conjunction with Halloween. Perhaps this was our way of getting to dress up in costumes. The highlight was the crowning of a hobo king and queen. I never had the honor or distinction of being the king. Our costumes weren’t store-bought and were never very elaborate. Most of us wore clothes found around the house. My brother, David, and I once put large jackets over orange life vests and went as musclemen or little, fat guys, we’re not sure which. Beards, drawn on with pencils, covered our faces. We added a floppy hat and, presto, we had a costume. One of our friends once wore long, red underwear. He had small horns from a de-horned calf, protruding from a red hunting cap. It made an interesting devil outfit.
As you can tell, even though the bridge was washed out, we managed to rescue enough memories to remember some great times. I won’t mention tipping over the school outhouse one year! Outhouse adventures deserve their own story.
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