Georgia Crackers

Little Children, Running through the Fields…

Louie kept a watermelon patch next to the woods where the Tarzan tree grew. The three nosy stair-step children somehow knew the moment when these dusty-green melons turned ripe, even before he did.

One hot Georgia afternoon the forest had fell quiet. They were lazing on the lower limbs of the tree house when the sudden idea of sweet red fruit occurred to the older boy.

“Watermelon!”

And in a heartbeat the three half-naked children tumbled to the ground.

Leaving rough perches behind, little bare feet then padded silently along a half-hidden path lined with low gooseberry bushes, forest daisies and tiny fairy castles. The old forest canopy kept the bright heavens at bay, except for its outer edges. The three broke through this zone to emerge from their dim-lit sanctuary and pause. Separated only by a crude barrier, before them lay the delectable prize.

Climbing between two strands of barbed wire, the two girls and one boy raced each other from the bordering shade of the tangle’s edge, and out into the sunlit field. Spreading out to search amid a carpet of large leaves, they each looked for the biggest melon they could find, intent on satisfying this impulsive taste for hearts.

Days later, old Louie stood silent as he viewed the carnage, wondering what sort of frenzied creatures had invaded his quiet little patch of Heaven.

Catching butterflies on the wing…

Tales of the alligator laid deliciously in the backs of their little minds every time the three children rowed around the huge lake, their eyes sweeping the waters around them. Killing the creature the first week the family moved in gave the adults enough reason to celebrate with a party. Scores of neighbors had showed up to feast on the barbequed gator; even the cantankerous grandmother, confusing the meat for pork, claimed she enjoyed the tasty affair. No one ever bothered to set her straight.

Sunshine filtering through the pine trees…

A thick layer of brown needles covered the sandy south shore. Here, in the twilight shade of pines, was a perfect place to lay and rest after a diligent search for pirate treasure. Of course it was buried here. They knew that for a fact. It looked so right; just so piratey -- exactly the sort of place bandits would choose to hide the loot. They reckoned enough existed hidden away, just mere inches below the soil, to build a fine house on this very spot someday.

Don’t it make you want to sing…