Remember when Country Girl

Summer was fast approaching. Sprung from the classrooms, I was free. Flowers were blooming, and the trees were donned with bright green leaves. It was a time of rebirth and awakening from a long, hard winter.

Poor mom, imprisoned by Jack Frost those many months. Her punishment? Me and my three siblings. Now, as an adult, I understand the actions she took. When warm weather arrived, she would send us outside and lock the door. I did not mind. Living in the country, there were so many things to discover and explore and every year was different.

My chore was taking care of the animals. Chickens, rabbits, horses, cats, and a dog. We had cows, but not through the whole year. I loved all the animals, but there were a few that I favored. One was my yellow tiger cat. The moment I stepped outside he was on my shoulder. I loved that cat. I never had to tell him to get down. All I needed to do was turn my head to the shoulder he was on and look down he would jump off. If I wanted him up, I tapped my thigh. I still miss him.

Once I had a black lab that would play tag with me. My rabbit would play hide-and-seek and we would take turns. You found your friends where ever you could.

One year I decided I was old enough to venture into the woods that sat behind our eighty-acre farmhouse. The woods were full of dangers, but as a kid, I did not care. At that age, I was invincible.

Back then farms burned the burnables and dumped the unburnable in a pit they dug. Old glass bottles, broken furniture, tin cans, and boxes. It was fun to look through, but be careful or you could get cut.

After playing in the pit, I was deep into the woods and got turned around. Now, blocks in the country are four square miles. One time I came out the other end. Not knowing where I was I walked to the nearest farm. They knew my dad, so they called him. I got into a bit of trouble over that one. That did not stop me.

One time I found an old hunting shack back in those woods. Bonus, now my clubhouse. We had a lot of good time there. The make-believe worlds we came up with will forever live in my memories.

At thirteen, my favorite thing to do was to walk down my road barefoot, popping the tar bubbles with my toes. Hearing them pop was a very satisfying and simple pleasure.

The day was getting hotter and since I was headed that way; I decided a dip in the crick was the thing to do. To get to it was no small feat.

I had to cross the ditch, push through dense weeds and slide down an embankment. I spent a lot of summers in that crick, catching crawdads and keeping a sharp eye out for blue-racers. The culvert was large enough for me to climb into with plenty of headroom and when an occasional car drove over, it would echo, which always made me giggle.

I did not stay in the water long, for the chill of winter lingered there. It was time to get back to my meaningless job of popping tar bubbles.

A few yards down the road, I was stopped by a sound I had never heard before. Not like the everyday sound of summer, the birds singing in the air and trees, a dog barking in the distance, or a woodchuck maneuvering through the weeds. No, this was the type of sound that ran up your spine and made the hairs stand on end.

I was never one to let fear put me to flight, not knowing would cause more harm. Spending my life wounding. But that voice inside would always try to stop me. What if I get hurt, what if I cannot fight it off? What if —- never stopped me. With the known, I can put it away and not give it another thought.

I jumped the ditch and threw the weeds I found a treasure, a runoff pool. My very own swimming hole.

That sound stopped. This told me it was coming from a living thing. I stood still, hoping it would start again so I could see where it was coming from. I heard movement coming from the left bank. A mink come out from behind a boulder and hissed. A chain rattled behind it. I looked closer and saw the poor thing's foot was caught in a trap.

My heart broke, but my mind was racing. Please understand I get the cycle of life. I would go fishing and hunt with my dad. But this, this seemed wrong to me.

The mink and I sat for a better part of the day, studying one another. The animal had calmed down during that time. I thought of all my options. As I ran home to grab a blanket or towel, I heard the mink call for me. I wondered if it thought I left it there to die. That sound cut straight through me like a sharp-edged blade.

When I returned, I sat with it until its fear subsided. I eased closer, stopping, closer, stopping, giving it time to see it was not in any danger.

When I was close enough to touch it, I drifted my hand back and forth, placing the critter into a trance. I laid the towel over it. When I touched the trap, the front of the towel swung at me, pulling back I reassured it was still me. I knew it would be best to talk to it while I freed the leg.

Softly speaking I pick it up and took it home. I was surprised it never tried to bite me. It was as if we had a clear connection; it knew I was only helping. I cleaned the wound and wrapped it. I released it the next day.

My name is Tina, and this is my story.