We’re in the Circus

The older I get, the more I appreciate farm life as one adventurous gamble after another. Little time for “ho-hum” as we did not let the world pass by. Combined experiences and risks only aided and abetted our development to become above average human beings. Adults with juvenile thoughts and a good dash of humor. Yup!

My childhood emerged from meager beginnings. Second in line of seven siblings created in nine short years, adventures were a given. Raised on a small subsistence farm, self-entertainment and mayhem was all that we could conjure in our imaginations. 

Sandboxes, corn cribs, tree houses and fields of clover became playgrounds. Imagined with limited wisdom but plenty of wit, we hypnotized chickens, rode on the backs of pigs and trained our pony to ride. Teasing our genius with twine, bike and wagon parts, boards and rusty nails, we hobbled to produce a circus of activity. Work and play. Play and work. Daily rituals seasoned with make believe. 

One of most adventurous tales of the farm invited the hay loft, several sibs and neighbors Kimberly and Curtis. It was my 11th summer and too hot for outside play. Brother Joe had hatched yet another idea of double dare and we all jumped at the challenge. 

Along the roof line of the barn loft was a suspension of ropes and pulleys attached to a track. Running the length of the loft, it was a delivery of sorts for loose hay from one side of the barn to the other. Pops had long put this contraption to rest.

Anything and everything inventive, Jojo somehow rigged those cobweb infused ropes into a trapeze of sorts. Looped over a large pulley, we would traverse the barn, imagining ourselves as one of the famous Wallendas. No caution. A few fears. Abundance of action! Our circus was born.

I was the first to take to the makeshift trapeze. Entwining my legs and feet securely about the dusty, tattered strands, I hung tight. Obviously there was no plan for landing or general safety. 

Sister Anne and Jojo took to the dangling rope. Exercising their combined strength, the pulley was in motion. With a power yank, I jolted forward. Another pull and I swayed uncontrollably. Heart and body begged safety, my mind, however, had no choice. Joey Wallenda was in full motion. No turning back.

“Jump Joey! Jump NOW! Let GO!”, Jojo yelled. It seemed everyone chimed in as I neared the far wall of the barn. A quick glance assured landing in a small pile of loose hay. 

“Quick, let go!” screamed Kim and Kathy. I could see nothing ahead of me but the monster of grayed timbers. With a short inhale, I released the rope. BOOM! Into the small heap of prickly, dusty, dry hay. I was brave! I found confidence! And I was alive! 

This feat of Wallenda frenzy didn’t deter my fanbase. I had initiated the afternoon thrills of Jojo’s cobbled trapeze. One by one, sibs took to the new-found act of dare. Sailing through the air and plopping into the dust was nothing short of fun. Proud of our senseless regard for safety, the afternoon was consumed with sweat, grime and starry eyed wonder. 

Last to take the dare, lil Curtis grabbed the trapeze. Barely seven years and likely weighing no more than 40 pounds, he was the rambunctious neighbor that often joined in our fun. Nothing would stop Curt from our big kid activity. Clutching the rope, he signaled the okay to fly with the greatest of ease. 

Curtis sailed. Speed was his friend as he yelped with glee. Regardless, landing efficiently became suspect. With uncontrolled inertia, he slammed into the far wall of gray. BAM! Curt unknowingly thumped in the hay below. HE DID NOT MOVE! 

Stunned and gasping, we dashed to our comrade. He lie motionless and all too quiet. Ever so slowly, he opened his eyes to confusion. Six pairs of bug eyes met his fears and shallow breathing. 

“Don’t cry Curt, you can’t cry or we’ll get in trouble,” rushed Jojo. 

Big sister Kim assured him, “Curt, you can’t cry. If you do, we won’t be able to come here anymore. Just get up, you are fine.” With help and reassurance, Curt rose from the dust heap. Quivering lips and shaking, he did not cry.

During dinner, Jojo incessantly yammered of our circus performances in the barn, minus Curt’s mishap of course.  The flying, the leaps, the lands. Momma’s eyes seriously searched Daddy’s. Without a word, we sensed disapproval. 

As our tale of lust waned, Daddy frowned. “You all need to know those ropes and pulleys are no good. They are rusted and weak. Too weak to haul hay. You kids could have been… It’s a wonder none of you were killed. There’s no more fun in the hay loft, you hear? It’s not a place for kids.”

Danger had abruptly threatened our circus adventures. Soberly, our heads lowered as we imagined Jojo the blame. Although his ideas, we had shared in the foolishness. We were all active players in the haphazard circus. Sheepishly, we nodded in agreement with Daddy. The pulleys, ropes and loft were left to gather dust, cobwebs and afterthoughts. 

With a little harm, and a few fouls, our circus disappeared. A limited engagement, however, it proved extraordinary. All because of the ingenuity and fearlessness of Ringmaster Jojo. Memories continue. And thanks for adding crazy to our crew of eight! 

Lessons Learned:

Trust and obey may spell T-R-O-U-B-L-E.  Jojo’s ideas often included fun with a slice of danger. We trusted. We acted. We reaped what we sowed. 

Crazy 8’s is not just a card game. We eight siblings proved this over and over. We were the living Crazy 8s! What a deck of delight! 

God bless Curtis. He was often the pin up runt that took the brunt of our foolishness. He is a survivor and continues to be a great friend and neighbor. 

Thanks for reading!