Summers In Sydney

The morning comes quickly. Grandmother is in the store. I pull the covers away, my bare feet touch the rug. I fold the hide-a-bed away and carefully place the cushions back on the sofa. In the bathroom the window is open, the air is fresh from last nights rain and the birds sing. A daddy long legs is still in the bath tub. The kitchen tile is cool beneath my feet. I select the cereal du jour from the variety pack. At home there are no variety packs, but at Grandma's store the choice is always mine. Invariably that choice is the variety pack. As the week progresses the choices thin. There is something fascinating about cutting along dotted lines for a box which becomes it's own bowl. I think grandmother liked the idea of one less bowl to wash.

After dressing in shorts and shirt I wander into the store to say good morning to grandmother. I head out the door. The rain has left puddles in the potholes. The clouds are clearing and the sun begins shining, lighting my domain. I survey my summer kingdom.

Although I burned the garbage yesterday, it obviously must be burned again today. "Why there must be two tin cans and an empty spaghetti box in the garbage today. This will not do". Once grandmother hands me the symbolic box of farmers matches, I burn the garbage and the toy airplane I made from a peach crate yesterday. The passengers and crew scream as the plane goes around and around. The wing burns and burns, until it crashes into the flaming spaghetti box. Grandma takes a look at my handiwork to make sure I haven't set myself or the town of Sydney on fire.

I'm looking for another peach crate so I can replace the airplane which so recently met it's demise. Grandmother has this all figured out. She has a ready supply of crated fruit and large cardboard boxes for me... As soon as I unpack, price and stock them. Being too young to see through transparent child labor, I quickly comply. I'm so dumb, I'm actually having fun. I try to move the 50 pound bags of sugar and flour or the heavier boxes of nails and bolts. Grandma laughs at my futile efforts. She sends me out to grab some milk from the cooler/ freezer. The cooler is in a separate building to the west. I carefully block the door as I step inside. I'm not convinced I can get out once the big door closes and the steel lock latches. The salt licks in the entry way catch my eye. I give the white one a lick, it tastes like salt! By the end of my stay I've earned the new fishing rod leaning in the corner and grandma is baiting my hook, removing the Bull-heads from my line and cleaning my catch from the Buffalo Creek.

By mid-morning I had a number of large cardboard boxes taped together forming a submarine, rocket ship or race car depending on my mood. I'm not sure, I believe grandma was charging her customers admission to see the 'Wonderboy'. There was nothing I couldn't make with cardboard, tape, string, glue and magic markers. A supply of cardboard was no problem, I mined the east store room for cardboard.

Grandma introduced me to Dinty Moore at lunch, we begin a lifelong friendship. I drank Pepsi like water. Sydney water tasted like blood due to the high iron content. It looked a little like blood too. So, Grandma gave me free reign over the soda cooler. You combine this with the candy Grandma stocked and the Chocolate Fudgecicles in the ice cream cooler; I was in heaven. I had an AM transistor radio, Sammy Davis Jr. was singing "Candy Man": it was my theme song. No need for a golden ticket to the Willy Wonka Factory, I had Grandma's Sydney Store.

After lunch, I begin my afternoon expedition. I put some Jolly Rancher candy in my pocket and grab another Pepsi on the way out. I wade through the long grass to the shed by the train tracks. I peak inside. There's a grinding wheel. I try to get it running, it's rusted stiff. South on the Midland Railroad, on the look out for any train which might sneak up on me. My destination is the garbage dump, it's only half a mile. I found an old rusted baby buggy which I converted into a race car. I convinced my sister to drive. I was the engine. Boy, would she scream when I got it up to speed. She didn't crash that often.

Having explored my southern domain, I went north. Past the twin elevators, standing like guard towers. A mile and a quarter to the north, past the white owl perched on the telephone pole, is a trestle bridge over the Buffalo Creek. I drop rocks on the turtles down below. They dive for cover. On the way back the Owl is airborne, screeching above. I run for cover.

Two hundred yards southwest of Grandma's store the Buffalo Creek crosses once more. I take off my shoes and wade in. Under the shade of the bridge I skip stones off the still surface. Next year the bridge will be replaced by a culvert. It just isn't the same. Mom and dad had room for my bicycle when they brought me to Sydney this time. I pedaled up and down the gravel road: there isn't anything matching the interest of a garbage dump or a trestle bridge.

In late afternoon our only neighbor came riding up on a magnificent horse. I was playing by the garage finishing work on the baby buggy race car. They asked me if I wanted a ride. Who could resist playing cowboy on a real horse?! We galloped across the lawn past the tilting outhouse, past the garden, on to their house and back. "Yee hah". They had a German Shepherd mix named "Brandy". Brandy liked the attention Suzanne and I paid her. I paid her too much attention and she bit me: Brandy that is, not my sister. Though she isn't above bitting.

For supper Grandma asked what I'd like. "Spaghetti", particularly the three foot noodles. She made the mistake of breaking the noodles in the pot. "It ruins the flavor", I told her. Next time she carefully bent the noodles without breaking them. I happily slurp my spaghetti, three feet at a time.

After supper there isn't much choice for television. In Sydney with a good antenna you can get CBS and little else. We watch the Twins play baseball. In previous years I brought my own building materials ie: Tog'ls. I found these plastic cubes limiting my creative abilities. Grandma presented me a 500 count box of toothpicks and a bottle of Elmers glue. I built airplanes, trucks, tanks, even a guard tower. These works turned out pretty good. They even survived the garbage burns. The toothpick constructs sat on my desk at home until mom's constant cleaning took it's toll: I couldn't repair the damage with glue.

One summer Aunt Judy showed up with a armful of books from the Jamestown Library. She had books on my favorite subject: space travel/ astronomy. Later, after the sun set, we sat on the store porch. Looking at the Milky Way, Judy told me her views on Cosmology. Only cricket chirps broke the peace. Lightning flashed silently from clouds building on the horizon.

I removed the cushion on the sofa, pulled out the hide-a-bed, put on my pajamas. I was sound asleep before the rain fell.

Sydney Store Floor Plan

This drawing of the Maas Store in Sydney ND is approximately scales so 1/8 inch equals 1 foot. The drawing was done from memory and a couple photos, which you can see here.