Maturity Journal 5.18

Maturity Journal
kitten voice. My sister decided she
could rescue it by climbing up on the
shed roof and bringing it down.
The shed had been an old smokehouse
where we had previously
smoked hams after we butchered.
However, we had not butchered for
several years. On the outside of the
shed a makeshift ladder had been
nailed to the side of the building by
using pieces of 2-by-4s. This ladder
worked fine for me because I was just
a little squirt. The nails had made the
ladder secure for me, but it was just
not strong enough for anyone bigger
than I. My sister pulled herself up
to the top piece using it as a step to
reach the roof of the shed and the
stranded kitten. She managed to rescue
the kitten and had cradled it in
her arm as she attempted to get back
to the ground. Suddenly, one of the
makeshift ladder pieces broke in two
and exposed the old rusty nails that
had been securing it to the shed. As
my sister fell, she was trying to cling
to the side of the shed and the kitten
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at the same time. The nails dug into
her shin bone, leaving a large deposit
of her flesh on those nails. She landed
on her feet and glanced down to see
blood streaming down her leg, but
she was tough and refused to cry.
Meanwhile, I ran inside to the
“clean rag” box and found something
to wrap around the wound. At that
time in our lives, we did not have
such things as antibiotics to combat
the spread of germs or infection. My
father always had a stock “medicine”
that he used for every cure. His formula
was to pour a little turpentine
on the wound and wrap it in a clean
rag. I knew where the turpentine was
kept, and I ran for the ‘cure’.
After doctoring her cut, we headed
for the chairs under the shade tree
and contemplated our story that we
knew would have to be told to our
mother when she got home. This was
one time when the story needed to
be a really good one. I had to confess
to putting the kitten on the roof, but
I didn’t think I was responsible for
my sister’s injury.
When Mother got home and
listened to the stories we each told,
she was convinced that neither one
of us was telling the truth. I am sure
she never understood how such an
injury could have occurred because
the wound was pretty bad. Daddy,
on the other hand, praised our quick
thinking and the efficient use of
his ‘cure’. My sister still bears the
scar of our escapade, and she bore
it to her dying day. In fact, we both
have many scars from our various
Yesterdays Remembered. MJ
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May 2018 Page 19