A Simple Pleasure

This Ozark boy spent a lot of time in the barn.

As a boy I was outside during the daylight and twilight hours. In the winter, my cousin Jerry and I spent many sun-warmed, but wind-cooled days in the loft of Uncle Benton’s barn. The loft was floored with rough-cut oak boards, and overlaid with loose hay, most of which was gone by the time winter was grudgingly gave way to spring.

There was danger and treasure in the loft, the danger coming from gaps in the plank floor we occasionally fell most of the way through, catching ourselves at the last minute to the great amusement of the other. The real danger came from nails in the joists upon which hung drying and obsolete horse tack.



The treasure consisted of “apple johns,” winter-stored apples. Uncle Benton had two Jonathan apple trees that produced an abundance of tartly sweet apples which I loved. He always stored a few bushels of them in the loft covered with hay to prevent freezing. By spring they were wrinkly and shriveled, a bit spongy, but still sweet. Aunt Zelma used them for pies—the ones that survived the appetites of us boys.

I remember sitting with feet dangling out the loft door and munching on late winter apples seasoned with the rock salt that Uncle Benton kept in the barn to feed to his cows.

A person is rich indeed if he can appreciate such simple pleasures. And he doesn't need to be a country boy or boy.

Carpe diem.