I could spend an entire post or two just sharing shenanigans about the U-Haul and a cross country trip with a 9 month old. Francis and I almost died; Rock would have been oblivious for hours. We packed and unpacked the truck three times and drove across country – San Diego to Va. Beach with a few stops along the way for sightseeing and visiting family. We were so happy to be together and free of the US Navy’s demands that we celebrated all the small things there were to experience. We knew that real life awaited us but we also knew that for those few weeks, we had everything we would ever need because we were three.
Within a couple of weeks of arriving in Virginia we had jobs and a place to live. It was a time of true creativity. We only owned one car and we were both employed. As luck would have it, the little house we rented was just down the road from Rocky’s boss so he was able to carpool each morning. I dropped Francis off at daycare around noon and then Rocky picked him up and went to my mom’s house until I could get there in the early evenings. It was a routine that worked for us well. Rocky and Francis got some good time together, my family bonded with them both, and we were settling in to family life. Our little house in the country was just across the North Carolina, literally a stone’s throw from the Virginia Beach border. It was country though. Miles of cornfields and swamps surrounded us. It was a dirt road and it was quiet.
Our little house had been hand built by its owner. It had a wall of windows that overlooked a field across the street. In the center of this house was a wood stove, the only source of heat. There were three bedrooms; one for us, one for the baby, and another for the waterbed that we sometimes chose to sleep in. We had a washer but no drier. The clothes rack was set by the woodstove in the winter and on nice days, it went outside. It was a simple life.
One day we drove home together and Rocky seemed nervous. He wouldn’t admit to there being ‘anything wrong’ so I was silent for most of the drive. We got home and entered into our evening routine of dinner, bath, and bedtime but he was outside for most of that time – doing something at the rear of the property where there was a shed type work shop (void of most everything that would be necessary to properly use the word ‘workshop’). After dinner he asked me to bring the baby out back – he had something to show us. I cleaned smashed peas off the cute baby cheeks of our rolly polly baby boy and heaved him up to my hip as I walked out the back door and across the lawn to where Rocky stood with a sly half smile attempting to burst from his face.
Behind him was a five foot fence that enclosed a rather large space, the remnants of a ‘dog run’ from the previous owner. I saw something move inside the fence and stepped backward quickly. “We have a pet” he said, and the smile finally emerged, full and furious, across his face. I looked behind him and saw a PIG, a small, pink, and naked, pig was in that dog run – running in circles and loving life.
We (or rather I) named that pig Christmas in hopes that it would become our Christmas ham. I was unimpressed. We were pretty much broke and Rocky explained that we would need to buy feed for him at the expense of approximately $20 per month – money we didn’t have in the budget. But… it was really an investment in meat he would argue. We would raise him, butcher him, and eat him for much less overall than the cost of the same meat we could purchase at the grocery store. That was what he explained to me each time I attempted to rediscover the rationalization he provided. I finally figured out that he hadn’t taken into consideration the $200 chest freezer we would have to buy to accommodate all that protein.
Can I just say that neither one of us knew anything at all about animal husbandry. This poor pig. As it turns out, that dog run was just too dag gone big. Pigs need to get FAT and it they have too much running space – well…. They don’t get fat. We eventually figured it out and closed that baby in until the pig – Christmas – was sitting most of the day – confined to approximately 12 square feet. (I hope that isn’t considered cruelty.) Christmas day passed……
It was February before that Pig was ready to be slaughtered and it was a chore to find a way to transport him to the bacon factory. Rocky was on it…. And got it done! By March 1st we were picking out freezers and anxiously awaiting the message telling us we could pick up 200 lbs of organic, prime, homegrown pork. We were excited actually. We had followed through with something big. That pig had been a chore. It had gotten out of the pen on more than one occasion, routed through the yard like it was Easter candy, and taken a share of our budget that would never be recovered. I was ready to celebrate its bounty. We invited friends over for the weekend.
Our friends had three children, two older and a baby the same age as our Francis. It was supposed to be a great weekend weather wise so I bought a kite for their kids to fly in the field across the street from our little house. Since it was March, the corn hadn’t yet been planted and it was just a great place to play (at least that is how I envisioned it). The kids were 8, 6, and 2 if I remember correctly and used to playing outside so a kite was just the ticket on Sunday, March 10th, 1985. It was yellow. We were contemplating going into Norfolk – to the zoo. In the meantime, keeping the kids busy was a priority. We gave them the kite and told them to go across the street. I vaguely heard Jack Sr. issue a warning but paid no mind as I set out to cook up the first of that prime bacon we were sharing with our friends. A big hearty breakfast was in order. Annette and I moved in unison as two mothers preparing a meal often do – synchronizing our kitchen movements in perfect harmony as we prepared a morning meal for eight.
That was the BEST bacon I’ve ever had. I unapologetically had no remorse about Christmas the pig but instead savored the organic goodness; we all did. Rock and I cleaned up while the Mills family took all the kids outside to enjoy the day and the kite. It was quiet in the house and my frisky man who found sexy in everything we did together was more about finding five minutes of privacy than he was about cleaning up – I quickly understood his sudden eagerness to wash dishes. The only thing between us and six other people was an unlocked door so I was compelled to reject this advance and asked for a postponement of his proposed rapture. (I may have said “go away you crazy man” but my ‘postponement of proposed rapture’ sounds so much nicer and way more romantic).
It wasn’t but a few minutes later (I thankfully made the right decision) that we heard commotion outside and went out to discover that someone had let go of the kite and it was now flying – fully engaged with the wind – from the high tension power line that crossed through the adjacent field. Oh well…. It was only a $5 kite. We began discussing how we would spend the rest of the day – the zoo or the waterfront? For some reason, Jack and Rocky were hyper-concerned about leaving that kite where it was. They were convinced that if the wind died down, the kite could become a hazard if it was still attached to the power line and started to devise a plan to dislodge it. The plan was to throw bricks up in an effort to jar the stick (that was holding the kite string) off the wires. They grabbed a couple of bricks and threw – over and over and over. There were a couple of close calls but ultimately they were exhausting themselves chasing the brick after each throw. It apparently seemed like a good idea to get rope – tie it around the brick – so that after throwing it, they could simply pull it back. There was no arguing with either of them. They were explicit in their goal. Throw after throw and then – the brick did exactly what that kite stick had done – wrapped right around the power line and was dangling … taunting those young, stubborn, invincible men.
We women were getting frustrated and impatient. The kids were restless and it felt as though the men were inviting trouble. They agreed they would stop after getting the rope down – that they would give up on the kite. Just pulling on the rope wasn’t working and so they used their limited knowledge of physics to consider that by tying a brick around the dangling end of the rope and throwing it up – the potential for it to actually make it up and over (i.e. unwrapping from) the line- was better. What no one knew is that the ‘rope’ they were using was actually the old style of clothesline…. Rubber coated copper wire.
As Rocky attempted to wrap the ‘rope’ around the brick, the exposed end made contact and there was suddenly a route for the 44,000 volts of electricity to ground.
There was a flash of light – screams – and I looked up in time to see my blonde god falling backwards.
NO! NO No no no no….