A hitchhiker's guide

At any given time, there were at least 7 of us cousins making a trip to the "Hole." Situated on an abandoned farm, and a few miles from my cousin's farm, the swimming hole was our own private oasis. To reach the brown and muddy swimming hole, we pushed down high weeds and stumbled over a rock-filled field.

Both cousins, Oogie and Cricket, warned me that one side of the hole with weeds and cattails was full of snapping turtles and to enter the water only where they directed me. The possibility of snapping turtles did not bother me as much as the feeling of the slimy mud oozing between my toes.

Our only means of transportation to and from the swimming hole -------our thumbs.

Back then hitchhiking was common in the country, and it was always easy to hitch a ride as most drivers willingly offered a ride to roadside travelers.
However, with so many of us, drivers may be reluctant to pick up so many kids, so cousins Cocoa and Bert laid out a hitchhiking scheme.

We used two towheaded tiny decoys. Two thumbs, small and tiny would get us our rides.

Connie and Shawn were placed on the side of the road. Eight-year-old Connie was a tiny stick-like figure, so slight it seemed a weak breeze could knock her over. Despite her size, Connie was tough and daring. She would swing from the barn rafters and held her own in a good cow manure patty fight against her brothers.

Her six-year-old brother, Shawn had big doe-like blue eyes and walked with a limp, the result of a serious tractor accident that left his left leg slightly shorter than the other. You would always find Shawn with a jar or box to catch crickets, grasshoppers, fireflies, and butterflies, he would study them and tell you all he knew about how they lived, ate, and had babies.

The two waifs often did not even have to thumb it. A driver seeing them would stop to offer a ride to Connie and Shawn. What the driver did not know was that there were 5 of us lying flat in a ditch waiting to spring out when the car or truck stopped.

No one ever refused us, while some were surprised by the sheer numbers, most took it in good humor.

A few of our drivers stood out.

One was a gray-haired matronly woman who was clothed in a dark blue dress with polka dots and a string of pearls. We knew she was a city woman because, in farm country, you only dressed up in the middle of the week for a funeral.
She was a newcomer to our deception.
She stopped her car when she saw Shawn and Connie on the road.
"Well, what are you two sweet angels doing on the road. Come on and get in the front seat."

It was then five of us jumped out of the ditch and began piling in the car.
Seeing so many of us, her mouth dropped, and she tried, but could not utter a sound.
Her city origin was confirmed when she asked Shawn sitting next to her what he had in the box.
Her face twisted as if she sucked on a lemon when Shawn pulled out a fat and juicy earthworm. I do not believe she heard a word of his presentation on the life and loves of the common earthworm.

Sylvester was driving an old tractor and was hauling bales of hay. He had catcher's mitt size hands and his bear-sized frame covered the entire tractor seat. I do not think he ever wore any other outfit than a worn straw cowboy hat, a once-white t-shirt, and coveralls.

He stopped when he saw Connie and Shawn on the road.
Scratching his unshaven face, he shouted out, "Come on little ones get on the trailer and tell those in the ditches to come on up."

He must have seen us or smart enough to see through our deception.

"Where you guys heading?"

"To the Hosmer Road," Cocoa answered.

"Well, I pass right by there, come on and get in."

We jumped on up and sat on the bales of hay.
Once moving, Sylvester would start singing very off-key. The sound of the tractor did not drown out his ear-piercing caterwauling.
We ran into Sylvester several times during that summer when he was hauling hay or bags of feed. He would always stop and give us a ride. His singing seemed to get sweeter as the summer wore on.

The following year, we lost access to the swimming hole, so my Uncle Lou cleared land 150 ft from the farmhouse. He then dug a spring-fed swimming hole for us to enjoy for the summer.
It was a much larger swimming hole and we no longer had to hit the road. There we did not have to worry about snapping turtles, weeds, or cattails; however, I could still feel the slimy mud oozing between my toes.