Our nearest town, a less than booming metropolis called Lookout, Indiana, USA. And it was Americana at its best. Lookout consisted of a crossroads, about 5 houses and a general store that sold nearly everything. Wanted canned meat, overalls, a shovel, ladies hats, gas (including diesel), t-shirts, spaghetti, and about a million other items. They had it, as well as functioning as the local post office. . It was a dirty little store with two small windows out front covered in gravel dust. Well lit it was not, handy it was. It was an old school convenience store and there were many times my dad was out of beer or smokes or cold cuts and he’d send me up there on the back of a horse or on my motorcycle to grab something. Back then a 12 year old could buy ‘em hassle free.
The properties were an old elderly couple that never cracked a smile or had a friendly word to say. Maybe they were afraid of adding a wrinkle to their wrinkles or maybe they just didn’t like city folk and outsiders, of which we were both. All transactions where done with as little talking as possible and never any questions asked. Eventually I started talking like a local farmer to them, just to see if I could get a reaction? “Looks like rain I’d say” and pretend to spit; "Soy Beans in the back forty ain't doing none to good this year." How about your all’s?” and I’d pretend to spit. Sometimes I’d throw in an English accent… “Care for a wee bit of squeak and giggle from the missus and a spot of tea?” nothing. CB’s were really big back then and occasionally as the old man was taking my money , counting out my change I’d turn to his old stooped over wife sitting behind the counter and lay on here…”What’s your handle? Want to see… err know mine?” and of course I’d pretend to spit. Apparently I thought a lot of farmers spitted. I suppose maybe they suspected I was the young cuss calling and doing prank calls, we had a four way party line on our phone so it was probably pretty easy to narrow down. Prince Albert in can and playing Muskrat Love by the Captain and Tenel was getting tiresome so I eventually just took to burping or making fart noises into the phone.
Of course not being able to see in the future I had no idea what the future had for me, had I known, possibly I’d of run back to my mom begging her to take me back. As it was the property was beautiful, nothing really stood out; every building was tired and beat. In that late august hazy Midwestern humidity and sunshine it looked like Utopia. The house was an exhausted looking one story with six rooms. Three bedrooms, living, dining, a kitchen and a bath. Nothing special or spectacular. The front porch was just one step up from the yard and it was a cistern, only water source. The basement was dark and dank; the builder used old termite infested locust tree trunks to support the house. There was an old barn with a tin roof and red peeling paint that had a few big open spaces for equipment and some small stalls. Chickens, ducks and assorted rusty hand tools occupied the space of our two car door less garage and finally there was an old rabbit hutch sitting down a gentle slope to a spring fed pond.
The property had multiple fields, three varieties of apple trees, peach, plum and pear trees. An asparagus patch and wild rhubarb and parsnips grew all over willy nilly. To me, this was paradise, the farm was eventually populated with seemingly wild dogs, barn cats, several cows, maybe eight horses, goats, runt pigs from down the road, chickens, ducks and one mean ass rooster that stood his ground against anybody. Dogs, larger animals and small children. I used to cackle like a mad man watching that rooster chase down my brother, sister and little cousins.
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