A Prairie Home Companion from American Public Media: First Person

Bazookagirl Goes Back Home One Last Time
By Sherry O'Keefe Email: redmittengirl at yahoo dot com
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August 07, 2008

We thought of ourselves as city kids when we moved to a place called Rainbow Dam, a company housing camp five miles from town. Unlike the farm kids that had haystacks and cows to play with, we had the forbidden Missouri River and the surrounding hills. My brothers and I took to the hills with our elaborate army games. Setting up land mines (cactus), laying communication cable (tin cans and string), and laying in supplies (stolen potato chips hidden in shallow caves). As their little sister, I was shot the most and carried the heavy bazooka (a tree limb) each time the front line advanced.

One day, we stumbled across a faint trail leading to a hill we had yet to explore. Mike ordered Pat and me to cover his flanks as he cautiously crept up the hill. To our astonishment, as he crested the hill, he dropped quickly to his belly. He turned to us, motioning us to shush. With visions of enemy fire directed towards us, we took cover, holding our breath till signaled for us to army crawl up the hill and join him. After racing to be the first to reach him, we dropped beside him, panting, as he pointed out a sign down below.

At six and just learning the entire alphabet, I could just make out the letters, "A M I N A L" carved into the wooden sign. Well it said something after that, but we couldn't quite make it out. When in doubt, Pat and I always deferred to our older brother, whom we called Mr. Science when he wasn't near enough to hear us. Mike was eight and knew everything—we were sure of it.

"It's a warning! Animal crossing!," he whispered excitedly, "Shhhhhh!" he commanded as Pat and I squirmed and gasped with the thrill of it all. Any moment a mountain lion could be coming along the tiny dried up creek bottom 10 yards below us. We held our position til dinnertime and then reluctantly headed back home. Running the mile back to our house, we agreed that this would have to remain our secret. Why, if everyone knew of the animal crossing, then they'd all show up and scare the animals away.

That summer, anytime we tired of army games, mud pie slinging, boxcar exploring, we?d take turns keeping watch on the crossing. I was envious of Mike and Pat because they had all the watches when the mountain lions, bobcats and bears showed up. As time went on, our adventures spread out and we grew up, with little free time to spend at the secret animal crossing.

After I left home for college, the entire housing camp was torn down. People just didn't want to live there anymore, our father told us. One by one we returned to Rainbow to say our goodbyes. I waited the longest. Although the houses, swing sets, water fountains and gardens were gone, the trees with the bazooka limbs remained. It took me awhile to get my bearings before I found my way back to the animal crossing. One last survey, I decided, and then I would let go of my childhood home. I found the trail to the lookout point, dropping to my scouting pose for old time's sake. This was the no trespassing point that Mike had staked out, telling us sternly that if we were to drop down into the creek bed, our scent would permanently scare away the wild animals.

As I took in the sight of the dried up creek bed, the bushes and trees that banked it, I was surprised to see that the sign was still there. I slid down the bank to see it better. The carved letters were so faded after all these years that I had to trace my fingers over each letter to read what it once said. "Aminal Graveyard" it stated.

And on the back of the sign, six sad little words: "Here lies Max, my pet mouse."

About the author:
I'm a descendent of one of the first Montana pioneers, a mother of two, sister to four, cousin to dozens, and I credit/blame my Irish upbringing for my story-telling ways and my collection of pocket rocks. My poetry can be found in Tipton Poetry Journal, The Sow's Ear Review, Fifth Wednesday Journal, Two Review and Flutter Poetry Journal. I crave peanut butter/dill pickle sandwiches. For my recipe, contact me at redmittengirl at yahoo dot com.