"Well, Dad did it first," proclaimed my brother.
Caught up in Halloween Eve pranks at our farm with our parents gone, we two brothers were vulnerable to a neighbor boy's focus on the first word of "trick or treat" against our own family that windy, cold October 31 night. We agreed, with our neighbor boy a year my senior, to replicate our Dad's prank of disassembling a Model T and assembling it on top of a barn.
The old corn pickin' wagon was too much temptation. We opened the gate to the cornfield where it was abandoned, a victim of farm mechanization. We pulled it by hand up to the east side of our barn.
A pliers from my pocket easily slipped the cotter pins loose, the washers fell off, and the wooden wheels literally fell of the wagon as the catcher side boards flopped loose. With the single-row Case cornpicker behind our John Deere A just a week before, we knew we would never repeat last October's collective thuds of corn ears flung against those side boards as Dad controlled Babe and Dummy, the beloved faithful farm team, with voice commands. The husking hook Dad gave me on a crisp frosty morning the previous October, now was an obscure memory.
The stiff northeast breeze rose a bit as we threw a rock fastened with binder twine over the corn crib. We tied it to the heavy hay rope used to pull hay loads up into the barn, and pulled on the twine to get the rope up over the top. Then deciding on the heaviest item first, we tied the chassis of that old wagon to the rope caught and hitched our old mule to the rope on the other side of that two-story high corn crib.
Then came the first problem. The mule wouldn't move hitched up. Dad was not there, and even my older brother could not pull hard enough on his halter to make the commands work. We tried a whip, and the mule simply crunched up and mumbled complaints.
Then our neighbor boy picked up a two by four. He had barely raised it when the mule took off. There was a crash, a sound of falling debris, and we ran around the barn as the unseen mule, its tethers trailing, ran through the gate we left open into the un-picked corn field. We rounded the corner to see part of one sideboard that had broken off, jammed against the eave of the corncrib roof, and tumbled back down to the ground. The rest of the broken chassis lay askew on the ground.
We stared long enough at the scene to feel the east wind blowing snowflakes against our noses and into our eyes, but were not ready to give up. We used the rope on opposite sides of the crib to help each other and the first wheel up onto the roof. But the increasing snow wetting the cedar shake barn was turning to ice. We tried, but it was getting late. Our parents would soon be home.
We gave up. The neighbor boy left for home, and we went to bed where we knew we should be on Halloween Eve when our parents arrived home.
Next morning Dad came in to wake us up for chores. He had already been out, finding our milk cows in the corn, the crib barn roof wrecked, and the corn wagon broken in pieces. He wanted an explanation.
My memory is vague of the punishment I earned for this foolishness over a half century ago. I do remember the chagrin of feeling the guilt of Halloween tricks against my own family. I also remember the embarrassment of letting a little peer pressure set aside my good sense. I don't know if it was spoken, but I remember being sure my father regretted telling me his story. But most, I remember his chastising us for thinking we could get the wagon up on the roof without the wheels on to help it roll up past the roof edge, and over the top ridge.
The following paragraphs written in consultation with my editor, Shelly Sutherland, were deleted in the paper edition of my BHC News column this week:
Every generation wonders how the next will survive to adulthood. We elders ponder where they come up with so many dumb, and often dangerous ideas, about ways to pass their time during adolescence. Well, guess what? It's usually passed down from us. Of course we got many of these same "original" ideas from one of our progenitors. The details of these pranks vary, but there are some classics. This one from my childhood.
I don't know if it was spoken, but I remember being sure my father regretted telling me the story of his prankster triumph. I also hope my grandchildren aren't reading this story about my own misadventures. I don't want seeds sown that could lead to future chaos in Big Horn County.
Also, Hallowe'en history is fascinating regarding the syncretism between Christian and pagan religious observances. For the ancient Celtic religious observance of Sanheim, the origin of most of our Hallowe'en traditions, see: http://allsaintsbrookline.org/celtic/samhain.html
Here is the most honest essay I found that recounts the most important Christian history associated with the "All Saints Day" and the day before, known as Hallowe'en:
www.stjohnbchurch.org/HalloweenNotHollow.pdf
David Graber
Hardin, MT 59034
www.greenwoodfarmmt.org
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