Discussion in 'Tall Tales & Fabrications' started by Ted Richards, Oct 24, 2017.

  1. Ted Richards

    Ted Richards Well-Known Member

    Sep 8, 2017
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    My mother talked my Dad into retiring and so he sold the farm the spring that I turned 11. Then we had to have a place to live, not in the city, as my mother had dreamed of, but in the country. He finally chose a 21-acre place with an old house on it as our new place. I’m pretty sure he chose that particular place because of the abundance of shallow well water and a few acres of good bottomland that had never been cultivated.

    He was only 62 at the time, so he managed to get a job with the local yard of the state highway department. So, that summer, he went to work five days a week, mom set up housekeeping, and I set out to explore every square inch of the new place as little boys do. One day I found a burlap sack (gunny sack we called it) hanging on a strand of wire between two willow trees. It had some brown, greasy sticks in it and I removed the sack from the wire and carried it to the house to ask Dad what it was. He said; “It looks like dynamite, must be pretty old and leaking. Take it back to where you found it and hang it up. I’ll get rid of it soon.”

    Well, summer went by and the sack was still there, Dad hadn’t gotten rid of it. That fretted me a lot so I decided to get behind a huge cottonwood log about 50 feet away and shoot the bag with my 22 rifle. I shot it once, nothing happened, I shot it again, nothing happened, I shot it again and it blew! Boy did it blow! The two trees that it was hanging between disappeared leaving only shattered stumps. The debris cloud went pretty much straight up, arched over and fell well behind me. Fortunately, the dog and I were behind this old cottonwood log, so we were relatively safe but it took awhile for the dust to clear.

    When the dust cleared a bit, I saw a wide-eyed Mom looking for my remains. She was pretty upset and didn’t remember how she got over a 5-foot high fence with no gate in it while wearing a dress. Fortunately, she was so upset that she didn’t punish me for fear of killing me. She did report it to my Dad when he got home. “Well, I did say I was going to get rid of it and I reckon he was just helping me out. You know, I think there must have been about a half–case in that sack” he replied, and that was the end of that.
  2. Frank Sanoica

    Frank Sanoica Veteran Member

    Feb 21, 2016
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    @Ted Richards
    A young boy whose "work" closely paralleled another's, one who received 2nd. degree burns to his face while mixing a concoction called "Berge's Blasting Powder", while in the 8th. grade.

    Perhaps I might tell of my own experiences with dynamite. Few are aware that years ago, dynamite could be bought in most any small town hardware store.
    Ted Richards and Bill Boggs like this.

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