The Field

Most of you know that I grew up in a little town in the east-central part of Pennsylvania. Good ol' Mifflinville. Sitting along the east shore of the Susquehanna River between Berwick and Bloomsburg, it was situated in the perfect location. The old, round, Appalachian mountains, covered in their dense hardwoods, on both sides of the Susquehanna River valley. To the north and east is the tough coal region. To the south and west was Pennsylvania farm country. We had the best of both worlds. We were descendants of all types of people with one thing in common, hard working, honest Americans.

Mifflinville in the '70's and '80's was the greatest place to have been raised. Chic and Barb built a modest home on John Street in '73. At that time, it was still a dirt road with no one living that far out. My grandparents owned the land that my parents bought which made it nice for us. Leon and Norma Stout, my maternal grandparents, lived directly behind us on Mary Street. We lived on a small hill overlooking John Street down below and across the street were Seesholtz's "pick your own" strawberry fields. There was nothing to either side of the house for about a quarter mile. Royce Kline's farm was to the southeast and the Eveland's were the same distance to the northwest.

As young kids, my brothers, Chuck, and Chris and I spent many hours exploring the area. Since we were really young when we moved in (Chuck 7, me 4 , and Chris 1) we grew up in the woods. The creek across the street was our favorite place to play. We would leave the house at the first light and not come home until our mom was yelling for us, covered in mud, dirt, pine sap....you name it, we had it on us.

As time went on, my parents decided to buy a few acres next to our home. Chuck saved his money and bought a 1973 Yamaha LT 100 endoro. Soon after, Chris and I bought a go-kart. The field soon became a makeshift racetrack. This was about the same time that my dad was laid off. He was home with us all summer and it was great. We had our own little repair shop. We'd crash it, dad would fix it. Little did he know that this was going to create a mindset for the rest of your lives. Before long, the other kids in town found out we had a good thing going on in the field. Within weeks, we had about 10 kids wanting to come ride on our track. Chuck finally graduated to riding a Yamaha TT 250 and I got the LT 100. I remember wearing my old gold metallic helmet with a JT Racing visor on it.... I thought I was Bob Hannah.

About this time, my dad decided to buy an old '53 International pick up to haul wood in. Dad had gone back to work (remember the teamster strikes back then?) and had injured his back. He was off for a long time but he was always one step ahead of the game in making sure we survived. Anyhow, we had this old truck. We would cut wood, split it and haul it over to the house to burn in the woodstove. The truck was an old I-4 with 3 on the tree. It would run about the speed of smell with 3 kids, one adult, and a black lab, all in the front seat. We used that truck for a good 3 years and Dad finally decided that we could start driving that truck around the field. This became the second evolution of the field.

Soon, that old truck had a new paint job. Complete with lightning bolts and a big number 3 on the door. We all had our names painted on the door, making it an official race truck. We built a 1/4 mile oval by flying around that rack as fast as we could, sawing on the steering wheel like a sprint car driver. One would drive with Spike, our black lab in the passenger seat, barking out the window, as the other two would sit and wait their turn to drive. One final crash did the truck in. I lost it in the first turn and smashed into a pine tree, putting a branch through the block.

We weren't done. This just led to the next stage...and probably the most fun stage. Remember in the early '80's? BMX was the hottest thing. Chuck had found girls and skipped this phase but Chris and I were right there...checkerboard Vans, OP corduroy pants and crazy hair. By this time, we had a mini construction crew with the help of the neighborhood kids and converted the field to a full blown BMX track. Our shed was filled with bike parts, shovels, rakes and "Borrowed" items such as hay bails and water heaters that we could bury to make a jump. Mom and Dad never complained. On any given day, there were tons of kids at the house. We had kids from other towns coming in to ride. The competition was tough but we were all friends. After a hard day of riding, we all chipped in and raked and groomed the track.

Within a few years, we all started getting our permits to drive and we sold our bikes to buy our first cars. The field started to grow up and it became a place to hide beer. After that, the field was a place that we saw as we pulled in the driveway off to our left. The brush started growing up, covering the jumps and ruts we made with motorcycles, bicycles and trucks. Just like our memories of that place, they were still there but a little harder to see.

Marcy and I walked around the field once. It brought back the memories of being a kid, raised by the best parents in the world with the best brothers and friends at our sides. As I think about it, we need to make sure our kids have their own "field".