Caterpillar Toes and Butterfly Wings

The tires on the upper side of the car hung on the berm and stopped.

Chris managed to get out and wade through the dark canal water back to the road. A couple of his friends happened by and brought him home. We got a friend to meet us there with his tractor and tow him out. Tow, tow, tow your boat—or car, as the case may be!

It seemed the kids and their friends were always trying to make a boat out of something. A car. A motorcycle. Or themselves! We told them, “Don’t swim in fresh water!” But did they listen?

A boy had been killed by an alligator in a canal just before we moved to Florida, so we warned them to stay out of the fresh-water canals.

We didn’t wish them to get down in the mouth about it—the gator’s mouth, that is. But kids will be kids, and as with all working parents, I couldn’t know everything that was going on. I found out after the fact that they, along with all the neighborhood kids, had been tunnel surfing.

A bridge had been built across the big canal, and the kids floated through the culverts underneath. The canal turned there, and the water rushing through formed a huge pool on the other side. They knew there was an alligator there, but kids think they’re invincible. If they couldn’t see him, he couldn’t see them.

A local man realized what a threat the gator was and shot him. I heard the gator was sixteen feet long, but the kids later corrected me and said it was about twelve feet! Either way, my kids would have only been a nice snack! The man was arrested, and his gun and truck were confiscated. I hated that because he probably saved some lives.

Alligators at that time were considered an endangered species, but after a boat trip down one of the older canals, I concluded the only thing endangered is anyone who gets close to them. They were lined up, side by side, all along the canal for miles. It looked like a log jam!

Kevin loved to ride his dirt bike, and Chris rode the three-wheeler.

They enjoyed racing over the open flatlands and climbing the mountains of sand that were formed when the big canal was dug. They would get a good run at it and speed up the hill, flipping their bikes at the top and racing back down. One of their friends didn't flip quickly enough one day and went over the top. He tumbled down the far side and disappeared into the canal.

The boys and their friends leaped off their cycles and ran to check on him. Looking down, they saw his helmet come to the top of the murky water—alone. They rushed down the sandy slope toward the water, worried that their friend had been knocked out and possibly trapped under his bike. There was no sign of him. Finally, just as they got to the water, he surfaced, gasping for air.

Now came the hard part—retrieving his bike from the bottom of the canal. This was the same friend they had found a year or so earlier, all green from having gone into a different canal.

This canal, fortunately, was newer so they didn’t get covered with slime as they plunged into the water time after time. It was also a blessing that it wasn’t infested with gators yet.

Finally, they located the bike, tied a rope to it, and pulled it out.

Since their friend’s father had a tendency to get pretty irate about such things, they brought it to our house. They took it apart, dried it out, and got it running again.

I was glad our place was a second home for their friends. Their buddies from town thought spending the weekend in our primitive habitat was an adventure. They’d join in the work until daylight was gone. Then after dinner, we’d sit around and laugh and tell stories.

It was late on such an evening that we began hearing strange noises outside the trailer.

At first, we tried to dismiss it, but it persisted. Something was tromping loudly through the woods out past the building site, on the other side of the well. When we got electricity, of course, we also got an electric pump, which came on periodically to fill the pressure tank.

We continued to listen to the thrashing sounds, and the more we speculated on what it could be, the creepier it got. It was pitch black out there. It sounded like elephants. Of course, we knew it wasn’t elephants, but it was something big! It was crashing through the palmettos, moving about in the darkness, breaking whatever was in its way.

Finally, the guys grabbed their guns and flashlights and went to investigate. They approached the area cautiously, shining their lights around as they got closer to the source of the sound. The noise stopped momentarily, then began again. Finally, their lights fell on the intruders! They were a bit smaller than elephants—they were wild hogs!

The guys just left them to their feeding and turned back toward the trailer. They were walking quietly, but their adrenaline was flowing.

About the time they passed the well, the electric pump kicked on and about scared them all to death! They came back laughing and whooping and hollering. That big ol’ bad pump ’bout got ’em!

Life with three teens is definitely never dull. It was soon after we had moved into the trailer that I called home from work one day. Gina answered and we visited a while. Then I asked, “What are the boys doing?”

“Oh, they’re out under the pickup,” she answered casually, “chasing a pigmy rattler.” You can imagine what peace that brought to a mother’s heart!