[rick-in-seattle]

A while back there was a boy named Tommy; who like many of us had no idea what he wanted to be when he grew up. His interests drifted like snow on a frozen lake. At one time, he considered anthropology or archeology; he really enjoyed finding arrowheads and fossils.

Tom’s hobbies were nearly as undecided as his career plans. Having tried model-building, fly-tying, even stamp collecting, he never found the hobby that could hold his interest.

The summer of his fourteenth year he was to spend a week with his Grandparents in the mountains of Idaho. At fourteen, being confined to a remote mountain in the summer didn’t hold much appeal; when he could have been at the beach with his friends.

Grandpa picked him up at the bus station in a worn out pickup truck. Gramps was old, probably sixty at least and the legs of his blue overalls were both stained dark and faded. The wrinkles he wore on his face spoke of years working in the sun, there were wrinkles that told of hard times and those that hinted at laughter. Grandpa didn't waste many words, perhaps twenty-five the entire drive home.

An hour later they arrived at the ranch, it was a stretch to call it a ranch with only a couple horses and a dozen or so cattle in the pasture. Grandma was standing on the covered front porch as they pulled into the yard. She was just as he remembered; a red gingham apron and silver hair framing a sweet old face.

After the hugging and supper were finished, they all went out on the porch to watch the sunset. The next morning he awoke to the smell of smoked ham cooking.

Grandpa was already in the barn working as the sun came up, but it was almost eight before Tom found his way to the barn. Gramps was stacking hay bales and stopped only long enough to instruct Tom on mucking out a stable. This was pretty much what Tom had expected, a week of hard labor with nobody his age to talk to. Old people didn’t talk much; mostly they spoke at you, not to you.

Once the barn was cleaned out, there was a fence to repair and rocks to move. Supper was fried chicken, mashed potatoes with chicken gravy and corn still on the cob. If nothing else, the food was good.

After supper, Grandpa picked up a small shoebox and went out to the front steps. Tom sat in one of the big rocking chairs on the porch. Gramps took out his pocket knife and began whittling on a piece of wood that sort of looked like a little horse. Each evening it was a similar routine, supper, whittling, shower and bedtime.

Friday came fast and Tom was leaving for home Saturday morning. After supper, Gramps picked up his shoebox and went out to the porch. Tom sat in the rocker waiting for him to begin whittling, but he just sat there looking out across the pasture. As the sun set, Grandpa stood up to go in the house; but as he walked past, he placed the shoebox in Tom’s lap.

The screen door made it’s squeak and slam as Grandpa went inside for the night. Tom opened the box to find a beautiful prancing colt lying on a bed of curled shavings and beside that, Grampa's well-worn pocket knife.

[Kenny_S]

Ah shucks Rick, ya had to go and make this old gezzer's eyes water. Dang it!

[rick-in-seattle]

Sorry Ken,
I just had the urge to write this morning.
Rick

[wade clark]

Rick,
Explain to me why you have a job. You're a writer! Not to mention your talent with tools, both using and especially making them!
Great story!
Wade

[rick-in-seattle]

Wade,
Like the boy in the story, I have yet to figure out what I want to do when I grow up.

[Ashbys]

Good story Rick. A writer , a poet , a carver , a painter , a craftsman, and still a boy at heart, sounds to me like you grew up pretty well.

Ash

[Old_Gord]

Rick your comments remind me of a commercial that I have seen recently , it has a message but it sure wasn't about the product cuz I still don't know what product they were trying to sell.
Anyway this older type guy after a day out on the ski slopes helping disabled kids learn to ski or just giving them enjoyment with a ride down the mountain in a sled comes home to his log cabin/chalet or what have you and his wife says "how did it go today" he replies with " You know my father might have been wrong, I think I can make a life out of being a ski bum" . Makes me think sometimes that finding your way in life may not come too late in life after all. Only a commercial but what a message. Here's hoping you too will know what it is you want to be soon.

.

OG

[GaryMc]

Wow! Really neat story Rcik!
GaryMc

[decoycarve]

Great story Rick, you wouldn't have that horse would you?

Originally Posted by Ashbys

Good story Rick. A writer , a poet , a carver , a painter , a craftsman, and still a boy at heart, sounds to me like you grew up pretty well.

Ash

Not me, I aint NEVER gonna grow up. I May grow older, I may grow rounder, but I aint never gonna grow up. I thought I knew what I wanted to do when I grew up, but now I can't afford it. Nah I aint never gonna grow up.

Goody
PS. The wife agrees, He isnt ever going to grow up.

[BasketballJones]

Great story Rick. I sense and recognize stoicism perhaps some symbolism. That was the way Hemingway wrote; typically about stoic male individuals. That is a style from the Old Man and the Sea. I'm betting you've read some Hemingway.