The Summer of Gumbo Limbo

Technically I probably don't have any right to be posting this here. But, I don't know the author so I can't ask permission. This was just something posted on a (public) writing website for homeschoolers (apricotpie.com) that I used to participate in. At one point, the server crashed and lots of writings were lost (including mine). I don't think this member is active on that site any longer (neither am I). But, I had guessed that something like that might happen at some point, and was lucky enough to save this piece for myself, and now I'm going to take the liberty of sharing it, because it so reminds me of MY childhood.

A Girl And Three Boys Installment #1
posted by Andrea on 6/11/2004



A Girl And Three Boys

By: A.E. + D.C. Delgado
Instalment 1: ‘Ingenuity’
“Mom, can we go sledding?” It was a fact, we wanted to go sledding
“Mom, we need a sled.” Another fact, we had no sled. Put those two facts together and you have a first class dilemma. We didn’t have enough money at the time to go out and buy a sled, and the day wasn’t getting any younger, so we tried everything possible to come up with a decent substitute. Just sliding on our behinds was not going to work, the path was anything but smooth and covered in little ruts. We tried old rubber-maid containers, old tires, old plastic.... the best ‘sled’ we could come up with was a cardboard box we had ripped into two pieces, one for me, the other for my little brother and accomplice, Dan. We were nine and eight that winter, and I guess because of our youth the prospect of fun shielded us from any embarrassment we might have felt arriving at ‘The Big Hill’ with only cardboard .The neighborhood kids were in awe, and even asked to have a try. We slid with the best of them– until our cardboard got so soaked it wouldn’t glide. Then the other kids let us share their sleds. We were truly touched by this outpouring of generosity.

I chuckle now, to think of all the times we came up with things as good as or better than the store bought version. I think it was a need to have our imaginations constantly working. We had three of the greatest resources know to ‘child-hood’; our mom, each other, and ‘the ditch’. Our mom encouraged us to think like she did. I’ve never known anyone who was so busy doing or planning, or working on something. I’m sure the majority of our ingenuity comes from living with her. She saw a pile of wood and did something with it, or saw something already made and changed it to suit her need. She had a never ending flow of ideas for when our brains had gone dry. I had my three little brothers, and they had me. I tell you, nothing is as fun with one as it is with four! That friendship was a wonderful treasure. Then, we had our ditch, ‘the ditch’ as we fondly called it. It was really too big to be called a ditch, it was more of a gorge that narrowed and steepened at one end, then widened into a swampy place on the other end. Oh, beautiful treasure chest of both disgusting and wonderful things! All of the trash the apartment dwellers didn’t throw into the dumpsters ended up in our ditch. Full of vile and slimly things, it was a wonderland for my brothers. The wild flowers that grew on the edge and the sparrows and red-winged black birds that nested in the cattails were my fascination. We constantly turned to the ditch for fun, and it produced innumerable chances for adventure and excitement. On the other side of the ditch was a junkyard that supplied us with all manner of robot parts and fuel for ultra scientific study. The swamp practically flowed with frogs, snakes, and mosquitoes. The dry, rocky slope on the northern side was home to our ‘pet’ groundhog, ‘Short and Stumpy’. Short and Stumpy wasn’t a pet of choice exactly, he ate the majority of our garden one year so we decided that if we had to feed him, we could name him and claim him as ours (poor thing).

In the winter the ditch turned into a snowy playground. We sledded on the steep sides, and slid on the frozen swamp. Without all of the tall grass and weeds, it looked bigger and more open than ever. We spent whole days clearing the snow from the ice and any frozen trash that might be an obstruction during our annual ‘ice races’. The ice races were a series of running, sliding, scooting, and dragging competitions. The prizes were cattail heads that were given to those who could run and slide the farthest, who could pull someone (usually the judge) the fastest, and who could fall in the most graceful way.

When the snow and ice would start to melt we were banned from the now fragile ice. We had to think of new ways to keep busy in the ditch. Generally this was the time Short and Stumpy made his appearance after his long winter nap, and we were all somewhat relieved that he did not die in the frozen months. My brothers and I decided one year that we should make a documentary about the life of the groundhog. I had bought an old, old movie camera at Goodwill for two dollars, one of those cameras that was so old, you had to wind a little handle on the side to make it work. We tried in vain to find the kind of film it once used, but I think they must have stopped production in the early 40's. That did not stop us though, we went full steam ahead with ‘filming’ the real-life groundhog documentary that would make us all famous. We spent days watching that groundhog’s hole, sure that any minute the star would appear. We felt that the thought of stardom scared ‘Short and Stumpy’ because he would not come out for anything. We tried setting bait in the entrance of his home, yelling for him, walking past his hole talking about all of the succulent veggies we had in our hands, ready to give to any cute groundhog that would be seen, then went back later to apologize for lying. Nothing worked. A sad end for our film career, but there was too much in the ditch to be done for us to cry over an idea gone sour.

Our great inspiration the summer I was 11 was to build a village in our ditch. We named this brilliant work of child planning and labor ‘Gumbo Limbo’, and believed that it ranked with the great civilizations of long ago. Everyone had their own home and place for work. I was the only woman resident and needed more privacy, so I cleared out a place of long grass under a big tree, had a door, a little ‘stove’ like structure, and a place that went right out into the swamp. We spent all summer trying to build Dan a home. Another fruitless idea. We saw a picture of African grass huts on the savanna, and knew it would be perfect. The farthest we got was a couple of cattail reeds stuck in the ground. Being the sort of ‘roving’ type, Dan didn’t mind too much. Nick’s house was half in the swamp. Whenever it would rain, his home would flood, and he would have to live near Dan’s reeds till the swamp waters receeded. He always said that he had the ‘lake front property’ so he would not move. Jon was truly a wanderer, not really living anywhere, but living with all of us at different times. Together, we made a very nice little community.

Everyone had a profession . I was a reporter/scientist, who doubled as a domestic engineer. It was my job to make sure all food was cooked, and did most of the inventing of things to make life easier. I kept the well, in the deepest and clearest part of the swamp, cleaning it of algae and drawing water for all who needed it. Dan was a hunter/farmer/policeman, in charge of keeping peace and well- being among the people. What he got when he hunted, I’m not sure, but there was plenty to be caught. The frogs were wild and huge, always croaking at such moments to scare us all out of our wits. There were plenty of dragon flies and horse flies, and house flies.... tadpoles in the spring, and salamanders in the summer. There were always little injured things to be saved, and funerals to have when they died. The little boys were too young to think of much on their own but they helped me and fished for useful trash from the swamp.

We all took part in the most vital and important job, keeping Dajun fed. We, the citizens of Gumbo Limbo, lived in perpetual mock fear of the alligator who would come and eat our children and young sick cows. As time went on, I think that mock fear was replaced with a healthy respect for that reptile. He demanded to be fed whenever we remembered, and with the best 49cent fishing lures we could buy. It turned into in kind of ceremony. We all stood on the bank of the swamp with a sort of religious severity, throwing fishing lures into the water. I’m sure anyone who passed by would have thought we were all crazy. It was hard on Dan, who had to buy the lures that we threw in the swamp. I would convince him that he needed to keep buying the lures and we consoled him with the fact that when the late summer came, and the swamp dried up, we’d go and get his lures. Little did we know that in the fall, the lures would be gone, there-by enhancing the belief that somewhere in those cattails, there was a 15 foot alligator, waiting for some poor baby cow to eat.

Dajun was not the only threat to our peace. Neighborhood children came regularly to observe something their video game corrupted minds could not grasp...playing pretend. We tried over and over to explain it to them, but they could not comprehend it.

“Ya’ll ain’t got no allygator in dere!”

One child accused, while another almost ate some ‘stew’ I made from algae and swamp water complete with every bacteria 50 years could supply.

“I know we don’t have an alligator, we’re pretending. Don’t eat that, you’ll kill yourself!” I was at my wits end.

“Ya’ll said dis be soup..liar..ya’ll said dere be an allygator up in dere!” Liar, strange way to describe pretend. We felt bad for these kids that couldn’t keep busy without being in trouble. Their eyes did not see what we saw. They saw just trash, piled up in some places, maybe hanging from a string on a tree branch, but they could not see Gumbo Limbo. It was truly our world. Some days we’d come down and see that everything we had made, the work of a whole week had been destroyed. I didn’t know whether to blame Dajun, or kick some kid. We’d begin again with bigger and better ideas this time. It was all trash anyway, stuff we’d found laying around, or bought for 35cents at Goodwill. That was the way it went, just like all the great civilizations of long ago, destruction, then building again.

We passed much of the time rebuilding, Always searching for new ways to do things, better trash to convert into something useful, bigger frogs, .....there were always bigger frogs....

The summer that Jonathan was 5 we had smaller frogs...

To be continued in Installment #2..... (sadly, it never was)