June 17, 1970 dawned over Eastern Kentucky with all appearances of being a typical day in the hills. When he woke, thirteen year old Brian certainly had no inkling that it would turn out to be memorable. Since his family home did not yet have indoor plumbing, his first action was to go outside for relief. As he stood on the front porch inhaling the sweet perfume of the honeysuckle and enjoying the caresses of a midsummer breeze on his shirtless upper body, he felt that life couldn’t get any better. His chores had all been accomplished yesterday; the garden was cleaned up and the lawn was mowed. That left today open for anything. The possibilities seemed unlimited. Since this was only June, school was so far in the future that it didn’t loom over his freedom yet. Summer vacation seemed to last as long as the academic year back then.

Brian was brought out of his reverie by two simultaneous sensations, the aroma of food wafting through the screen door and his stomach growling a demand for it. Deciding that he agreed with his belly, he proceeded inside and back to the kitchen, where the rest of his family was already having breakfast. The smell that enticed him inside was coming from the pancakes his mother was frying. He helped himself to a stack of three from the heaping platter, slathered butter on top of and between them and ladled on home-made syrup from the pan that was being kept hot on the back burner. Leaving his plate on the table, he went to the refrigerator for something to drink. Inside there were 2 gallons of milk procured from his grandparents’ cows. While he was pouring a glass from the half empty jar, he noticed that the other had a thick layer of cream separated out on top. This gave him an idea. That cream would taste great with some fresh huckleberries.

While eating, Brian asked his brother, Dale, if he had any plans for the day. Upon learning that his 14 month younger sibling wasn’t committed to anything else, Brian asked if he was interested in picking some huckleberries. Dale signed on immediately and their younger brother, Malcom, agreed to join them.

So, shortly after breakfast, the three boys came out the front door carrying the plastic bowls that they would be picking berries in and started across the lawn toward the hill. They walked in single file, with Bryan at point, Dale in the middle and Malcom, who at a month shy of 11 was the youngest, bringing up the rear. All three were dressed in jeans rolled up above their ankles and none of them were wearing shoes. Their habitual lack of shirts both revealed their dark tans and along with the majority of their time being spent outdoors, was the reason for their melanin surplus. Normally they would have been treading carefully to avoid a painful bee sting, but since the lawn had been mowed the day before, there were no clover blossoms to attract those insects. Their bare feet soon became speckled green from the grass clippings, which were still damp from the un-evaporated dew of the previous night.

They crossed the dirt lane in front of the lawn and waded Hughes Creek branch. Although the day wasn’t uncomfortably hot yet, the significant drop in temperature when they stepped into the shadow of the trees felt good as they started their climb. The boys were headed for the top of the hill. The wild blueberries that they were after grew in profusion up there. They climbed steadily, without a lot of talking. Although they were all in good shape, they needed their wind for the climb. A short while later they arrived at the base of the 2 large rocks which crowned the hill and observed that the berry bushes, which covered the ridge top, were indeed loaded with small dark fruit.

Deciding that berry picking could wait, they first did some rock climbing. Years before they had named these two stone formations, as well as the rocks on the hill behind the house. On the opposite hill there was Ship rock and the difficult to climb Dinosaur rock. These two were called Bare rock and Pine rock. Because Pine rock was overshadowed by its namesake, a large tree growing just behind and shading it, it did not provide either the spectacular panoramic view or the sense of actually being in the sky that Bare rock did. The boys never tired of these attributes and they spent quite some time on top of the latter.

Finally, remembering the primary reason for their excursion, they climbed down to begin picking the wild berries. The bowls they were attempting to fill were not large, but it took some time to accomplish because the fruit was small and of course they started off eating as many as they put in their receptacles. Eventually, when they felt they had secured a large enough supply, they started for home.

Then, almost simultaneously, they all saw the same thing. Beside the path was a three foot snake with a head that gleamed like a new penny. It was a large copperhead, which must have just shed its skin, thus accounting for its atypically bright coloration.

This story will be continued next week. Then you can find out what happened with the snake. And what about stinkbugs?