Cauliflower and Denney Boy

Her shoulder length blond hair clung to her temples and neck in the hot sun of the California Northwest. It was late June in the summer of 1959. She stuck out her bottom lip and puffed the air over her generously freckled face to fluff her bangs and fan her hot forehead. Colleen was twelve, one of eleven children. She had a twin brother, Dennis, with an equal blessing of “angel kisses,” as Mama called the freckles. They looked so much alike, except Dennis’s hair was black.

Colleen had an intense fascination with the flames that were licking up the dry grass in the empty field. She would light a match and watch the grass flame and practically explode with life. Then she went to another spot to see it happen again and again, while her blue eyes sparkled with dark lights of amber.

Dennis and Kevin, her fair-haired brother of nine, were are her ardent followers. They were a little afraid of her but loyal to her every whim. This was one of those times. They ran after her, stamping out the fires as she made them, but they couldn’t keep up with her. Soon, there were too many for them to stomp out.

Then they heard the fire engines in the distance. Looking up, they noticed Mrs. Pryor standing on her front porch across the street. She was shading her eyes with her hand and looking intently at the field with several fires starting up. Smoke was already curling toward the breezeless sky. They were in trouble! Mrs. Pryor saw them. They were too far away to recognize, but it was only a matter of moments until the fire trucks arrived.

“Come on,” said Colleen, with a wave of her hand. All three took off running as if their lives depended on it. They climbed over the tumbled down, three-foot rock wall at the back left side of the field. There they squatted down to catch their breath, while the trucks came right up into the field, screeching to a halt. The firemen began to put the flames out with their hoses of powerful water. Colleen snickered with delight, while Dennis and Kevin quivered in fear of being caught. They could see Mrs. Pryor waving her handkerchief in their direction, as she called to the firemen. But the firemen were too busy to listen.

“Let’s go home. It must be dinner time,” suggested Dennis.

They wove their way through the hundred feet of forest-like trees to the edge of their back yard, which they quickly crossed. Then, surreptitiously, they made their way in the back screen door. Mama was standing at the kitchen stove, frying chicken. It sizzled and popped comfortingly, as if everything was fine, and there were no firemen to escape from or fires to stomp out. Kevin sighed involuntarily.

“You kids get washed up for dinner,” Mama said in her quiet, soft voice that sounded like a smile. Mama was short, about five-foot-two, with soft brown hair that framed her face. She was sweet, but you didn’t want to get her ire up. She could give you a whipping that you wouldn’t soon forget. “I hope you haven’t been getting into any mischief,” she said.

“No, Mama. We’ve just been walking around,” Colleen said, as she winked at Dennis with her back to Mama. Dennis was noticeably nervous, so Colleen gave him the look. He knew as well as anything that he’d better buck up or incur Colleen’s wrath.