Caitlin's version

Caitlin Herrock
14 September 2007
Dangerous Country Living

I come from a very large and very loud family. Although I am the eldest of only four children, I have, on my mom’s side of the family, five crazy aunts, four crazier uncles, fourteen immensely entertaining first cousins, two wonderful grandparents, and two amazing great-grandparents. All together this great big family is known as the Walker clan. We hail from Corsicana, Texas, where my late great-grandparents, Truly and Bessie Etheredge, known to me as Gran and Grandma, lived their long lives of 96 years. The Walker clan’s vacations and holidays are big, festive, and full of tradition. One holiday tradition is celebrating every Fourth of July at my late great-grandparents farm in Corsicana.

The Etheredge farm in Corsicana is a beautiful place with lush green pastures, old tin barns, cows that eat out of your hands, a clothes line for hanging out the day’s wash, and a white wood fence. A giant old oak tree with a wooden swing completes the picture. It’s just too wonderful to only visit once a year on the Fourth, so different combinations of the family go to the farm about once a month. Being at the farm causes a mischievous side of us to come out that wouldn’t normally get the better of us. But in Corsicana you never know what kind of trouble you’ll find yourself in. The spring and fall are the best times of the year to go because the temperature is just right; it’s warm during the day and cool during the evenings. About a year and a half ago, my immediate family, my grandmother, as well as my two cousins, Carlie and Maggie, decided we would take an April trip to Corsicana. Even as the preparations for the trip were being made, I knew that this would be a very memorable trip.

The drive over to Corsicana was as normal. We were hyped up on sugar from the dozens of cookies we had baked the night before and the mounds of candy that we had stowed away in our bags. Once we arrived at the farm, we got settled into the house, which always includes cleaning up a few dead bugs that had accumulated since the last trip, blowing up air mattresses, making beds, and going to the grocery store. The farmhouse is wonderful to me but if it weren’t our family’s house I wouldn’t go near it and I definitely wouldn’t sleep in it. My family and I always compare vacationing in this house to camping. Some reasons why are; you have to shower outside in a well house with the creatures of the night, there is only a water well, the kitchen is barely functional and you really are taking a chance if you cook in it anyway. In the “front bedroom” when you’re sleeping at night sometimes you can see the old, brown, peeling wallpaper lightly blowing in the wind. This wouldn’t be that big of a deal if the windows were open; but they’re not. I’m no expert in construction but I am one hundred percent sure the wind from outside isn’t supposed to be blowing in through the wall but I love that house nonetheless. With the primitive living conditions, it is entirely too much to expect cable television and Internet so we entertain ourselves with outdoor sports. Besides who would want to be inside when there is a beautiful farm outside anyway?

Some of our favorite pastimes are playing tennis on our makeshift tennis court, riding bikes down the old country roads, shooting targets with our pellet guns, and riding lawnmowers as if hell were chasing us. Riding lawnmowers sounds a little bit or actually a lot ridiculous, but it’s quite fun especially when you’ve reached a nice speed and are chasing emus around the pasture. My sister Emma is known for her general craziness but one thing in particular about her is her lawnmower driving. I can still hear Gran hollering at her to slow down because she might flip herself. She slowed down for him, but only him, and when my mom hollers at her these days, Emma rides by with the wind in her mop of curly blonde hair, laughing like Cruella Deville. I should’ve learned to fear Emma and her lack of sensible reasoning a long time ago, but I did not. Since Emma is my younger sister I strived to evoke fear in her. To my knowledge that’s just what older siblings do, but in hindsight I should’ve strived to evoke common sense. Little did I know that would be my pitfall, or hers, depending upon which side you’re on.

It was April 21st 2007; I remember it like it was yesterday. It started off like a usual lazy day on the farm; wake up when we wake up. There’s no pressure to be up early. I arose from an appalling night’s sleep, with a glimmer of hope that the day would be much better than the previous night. After breakfast that consisted of my personal favorite, Fruity Pebbles, my dad, my sisters Emma and Olivia, my cousins Carlie and Maggie, and myself decided that we should get an early start on target practice. Our pellet guns are known as, in the pellet gun world, “precision air rifles” and should be handled with care, of course.

Later in the day, we ran out of targets and our ammo supply was becoming sparse, so we knew it was time to take a trip to the local Gander Mountain, my dad’s outdoor store of choice in Corsicana, and replenish our stock. Olivia and my parents were the guinea pigs; they went to the store and left the rest of the kids at the farm with Grandma. Leaving us alone with Grandma was just like leaving us alone. There were a few instances in my mom’s and her sibling’s childhood where things had gone array and everyone was left wondering, where was grandma? But, we were teenagers and should’ve been able to stay out of or get into trouble on our own.

A few minutes after my parents had left, I persuaded Carlie to accompany me on a lovely bike ride to watch the butterflies or… be chased by crazed, wild dogs, whichever came first. I was hopping on my bike when all of the sudden I felt this sharp, intense pain in my lower back. I didn’t know what was going on and Carlie saw my face twist into a savage look mixed with confusion and pain. She however wasn’t really concerned about me because my pain drove her to immediate uncontrollable laughter. I rubbed my wound and felt something hard fall out of it. Searching for an explanation, I turned around and saw my beloved sister Emma holding a gun.
I knew immediately what had happened, any questions that were in my mind or written on my face were instantaneously answered. Emma had somehow managed to shoot me with the “precision air rifle.” After I gave Emma a look to kill she responded, “What did I do?” In the midst of my anger all I could yell and partially scream was, “What do you think you did?” I didn’t even give her time to answer because I had to tend to my wound! So I ran inside and headed straight to the bathroom to look in the mirror and assess my injury. I didn’t know what to expect. Meanwhile, my grandma was sitting in a rocking chair doing a crossword puzzle. It appeared that she was completely oblivious to the events that had just taken place. She looked at me as if I was crazy for running through the living room like a mad woman! As I was running, I was praying that I wouldn’t be gushing blood like I had seen in the movie, Band of Brothers, but I must admit I was fearing exactly that. As I took that first dreaded look in the mirror, my fears were relieved; my injury was minor with minimal blood. I felt like the weight of the world was off my shoulders.

After I took some aspirin for the pain and regained my reasonable thinking, I walked back through the living room and there I found my grandma exactly like I had left her, totally oblivious to the events of the afternoon. So I related the story to her. Like any good grandma, she was concerned after the fact of course, but I appreciated it anyway. I walked back out to the porch and found Emma sitting in a rocking chair with a look of terror on her face. Not so much concern for me, but terror for her because she was going to have to explain to my parents why I might have to be rushed off to the hospital. When I saw the look on her face I started laughing harder then I’ve ever laughed before, and after she saw I was ok and didn’t need an emergency trip to the hospital, she started laughing too.

My parents and Olivia returned and weren’t angry because I was laughing about it, but they were glad I wasn’t seriously hurt. They, of course, asked, “Where was grandma when all of this happened?” There was still one more question that Emma needed to be asked, what happened? It turned out Emma was not intentionally trying to shoot me but was actually trying to shoot through the spokes of a bike that was behind me. She didn’t take into account that I was on the other side of that bike. Nor did she take into account that there was concrete in between the bike and me and so what I suffered from was a ricochet. I am extremely thankful that my sister was not purposely out to get me and failed. Therefore, she would be coming after me again! Emma as my enemy is not something I would want, but more importantly, I’ve learned to keep Emma in front of me… at all times, even when she’s handling a butter knife. In the end I don’t necessarily feel safer, but at least from now on I’ll be watching her and keeping her in front of me.