Mud Puddles and Earthworms

I was raised in a tiny town in the middle of cornfield country. Though some might believe there wouldn't be too much to keep children entertained in such a place, a little creativity and some help from Mother Nature went a long way.

A distant crash of thunder on an unbearably hot summer day would send me and my brothers racing to a westerly-facing window of our home. We'd watch dark ominous clouds and a thick curtain of rain hit the edge of town and speed toward our shabby house.

Once it hit, we'd race onto our covered front porch to wait impatiently for it to pass. Our shoes and socks were carelessly tossed aside the moment we saw the small lake growing in our front yard. Barefoot, we'd circle around porch columns, reaching out to capture raindrops and counting "one one-thousand, two one-thousand, three one-thousand," after each lightning strike. Watching the storm exit town through the cornfields east of the orchard, we'd bounce up and down on the springy planks of our old front porch with restless anticipation. We knew that all of our friends were doing the exact same thing--waiting out the storm.

Finally, Mom would give her nod of approval through the tattered screen door. Dressed in a t-shirt and shorts, I can still remember the sensation of cold water and mud splattering my legs when I jumped off our sidewalk into the soaked turf at the edge of our ditch dodging earthworms.

By then our playmates had joined us, and the air was filled with the squeals and laughter of happy friends. None of us cared that the water was muddy. We only knew there wasn't much time before the water would completely disappear into the soggy ground.

Life in a small town was an experience I wouldn't have traded for anything in the world.