“Bo, get the picnic basket from your grandma and let’s get goin’. We got a long drive and I want to get there by ten.” Grandpa rubs his hands together in excitement and supervises loading the car. “Pearl,” he calls to my grandma. “Hurry up.”

Grandma comes down the stairs, her arms full of sweaters and blankets. “Smulling, hold your horses. You’ll get there in plenty of time.”

Grandma surveys my outfit just as I’m hopping in the car. She can always tell when I picked out my clothes to wear, and usually she doesn’t approve. “Bo, go put on that blue skirt I just sewed. Those jeans are a disgrace. And take off those filthy sneakers.”

I can’t believe my ears. Grandma is so old-fashioned, and I just don’t get it. Sometimes I can’t help but talk back to her. “Grandma, we’re going to a farm, not to church. I like these clothes.”

Grandpa can’t believe Grandma, either, plus he wants to get on the road. Pleasant Mound is way across the Mississppi in Iowa. “Wife,” he says in his sternest voice. “We’re not headed to a fancy night on the town, Pearl. Let the girl wear those old clothes so she can have a good time. I’ve got a hundred miles to drive, and I’m leaving in five minutes, flat. And Pearl, take that blasted hat off.”

Grandma grudgingly removes her straw hat with the plastic peaches and we plop all our gear in the trunk. Like Grandpa claims, we’re off in five minutes. Flat.

They make me sit in the back seat ’cause I can’t hold still worth a darn and that makes Grandpa jittery when he drives. A little singing shouldn’t bother him, though. “La, la, la. We’re goin’ to the pull. We’re goin’ to the pull. La, la, la.”

Grandma turns around and shakes her head. “Shush back there, Bo. Look out the window or take a nap. You must be quiet.”

I’m already bored and I just got out of bed, so I look out the window. We travel through the city and cross the Mississippi bridge. The metal bars on the bridge’s surface screech and clunk the car as the tires turn. No one likes the bumping and we’re glad to land in Missouri in one piece. After a long time, when I’m bored silly, we turn off the main road and head down a blacktop. We drive on the back roads into we cross the border to Iowa ’cause there’s not as much traffic. Grandpa and Grandma don’t like traffic. Grandpa especially. We drive forever, until I see the sign for Pleasant Mound. Grandpa stops for gasoline and to get directions to the pull. We’re going to a new farm this year and we need a map. He brings me back a Baby Ruth. As Grandma tsks over the treat, I thank Grandpa. He doesn’t buy me candy unless it’s a special occasion. He must think the tractor pull is special enough.

It takes Grandpa another twenty minutes to follow the back roads. We pass over a hill and see a gander of cars and trucks parked in the fields. Hundreds of people wander around the antique tractors. I eye the stands selling funnel cakes and cotton candy and the carnival game booths, but I better not ask now. I’ll ask after the first events and lunch.

Grandpa chats with the farmers and Grandma visits with the ladies. The mayor’s wife wears a straw hat covered with geraniums, and Grandma is jealous. Grandpa will hear about that hat on the trip home. I chase and run with the kids. We hide in the barn and jump off the loft into piles of fresh cut hay. All us city kids giggle.

Then a gigantic bronze bell tolls and the crowd gathers near the tractor path. It hasn’t rained and it’s been 95 degrees all week, so the track is dirt hard. The tractors will throw up dust and rocks as they pass. I think it’s more fun when the track is full of mud and water. Then we all get cooled by the splashes.

There are 7 antique tractors in the first meet, all made before 1860, and they run by steam. It’s hard to believe these tractors have been running for nearly a hundred years. Grandma won’t find out until we’re headed back home, but Grandpa bet on Tractor #3. Betting isn’t officially allowed, but all the farmers do it in secret. Grandpa says it’s the best part of the pull, and he tells me what tractor he bets on so I can cheer along.

“Tractor #1, position to start,” a booming voice hollers over the loudspeaker. Most of the men and kids line along the racing course. One of Grandpa’s friends, Torvis, gets ready to go first. “At the gun shot, begin.”

Two kids are ugging at my sleeve. “What are they doing?” I need to explain tractor pulling to James and Jeff who are only five. They’re town kids from Pleasant Mound and this is the first pull they remember coming to. “The farmer hitches the sled to the tractor. The tractor pulls that sled. See those long pieces of wood nailed together. That’s the sled. And all that hay is stacked at the back of the sled for weight. Every ten feet, another bale gets pushed to the front. That makes the sled heavier. When the tractor can’t pull any more, the judges mark his spot.”

Jeff nearly screams in my ear. “And who does it fastest of all wins the big prize. It’s five dollars. I want #3 to win.”

I don’t tell him Grandpa agrees with his choice.

#1 with Torvis driving finishes fair and #2 finishes poorly. When it’s time for #3, the men again load the sled. The gun goes off and the tractor pulls forward. By the time all 7 tractors in the first meet have pulled, #3 is in second place. The top three winners race again to see who can move the furthest distance. In the big pull, #3 wins by two yards. Grandpa goes behind the barn and all the men settle their bets. Grandpa wins two silver dollars, and he’s mighty happy.

Then Grandma spies Grandpa. “Smulling, there you are. Time for lunch. Let’s spread the blanket and get the food ready.” Grandpa and I are famished, so we hurry to get our food set out. A minister from Pleasant Mound gives a blessing, a long blessing as far as I’m concerned, and we dish up the food. We eat cold fried chicken and potato salad and apples. Grandma didn’t bring dessert ’cause there’s a cake walk and I always try for a good piece. I always pick chocolate cake with marshmallow icing if there’s any left. Today I get lucky.

The farmer’s neighbor girl, Kimberly, asks me if I can get cotton candy and play carnival games with her. She has twenty cents for a small cotton candy and two dimes for games. Grandma listens to us and snaps open her purse to get me 40 cents, too. “Now go play and be careful. The last pull is over by 4:30, so meet us in the car at 5:00, Bo.” Grandma turns back to the women, and I turn to Kimberly.

“Let’s go. We got about three hours. Let’s get our cotton candy and then throw darts at the balloons,” I suggest. “Good idea,” says my friend, so we buy our candy first. Kimberly picks pink, but I always get pink, purple and blue, all mixed up. The weather is warm and our candy gets sticky. When we go to the dart game, the carny chases us away. “You wash that sticky stuff off your hands, I’ll let you play two games for one.’ We agree readily and go wash up at the hose with a cake of Ivory Soap.

The carny recognizes us when we return. “Here, little girls. Six darts for the price of three.” He laughs when we miss all the balloons, but wishes us a good time. He gives us a suggestion. “Try the ring toss. That’s easier.”

The rings aren’t any easier for me. You got to throw these little wooden rings over the top of a case of empty soda bottles, and ring the bottle top. I don’t even hit the case all three tries. Kimberly does better ’cause she practices at home with her big brothers. She wins on two of her throws and chooses a black dog for her prize. But it’s filled with cheap saw dust and it smells funny. Kimberly sees a little boy who lost the duck float and gives the dog to him. He doesn’t care about lumpy animals or the smell. Laughing, he runs to his mother. His mom smiles and waves, and tries to give us a dime. We say no thank you ’cause our families wouldn’t approve. I sure did want another chance at the dart game, though. One of their prizes was a striped cane.

The final bell goes off at 4:30. I say good bye to Kimberly, and we each run to find our families.

“See you next summer, Kimberly,” I yell over my shoulder.

“Yeah. Next summer. Maybe you should practice those darts, Bo. Bet you could win.”

“Maybe, maybe not.” I see our car. My grandparents are packed and ready to go.

“Did you have a good time?” asks Grandma. “You sure are filthy.”

Grandpa rolls his eyes.

I nod. “I want to go with you every year for the rest of my life.”

“That’s nice, Bo. Real nice.” Grandpa grinned, thinking about his winnings

“And, Smulling, did you see the mayor’s wife’s hat? Black straw and geraniums. The women could talk of nothing else. I was heartbroken.”

Grandpa’s grin fades. ‘I’ll buy you a red and daisy hat next time, Pearl.” Now Grandpa worries about the winnings he has to spend it on Grandma’s new straw hat.

Grandma and I smile big grins. Grandpa says, “You’ll be the prettiest thing at the pull.”

“Smulling, will you walk to the Dairy and get me a gallon of milk?” Grandma yelled down to the basement.  Then she yelled again.  Grandpa hid out in the basement when he wasn’t listening to a baseball game. “Smulling? I need it for the gravy and I thought I might make some tapioca pudding. You want tapioca pudding for dessert?”

Grandpa didn’t sound like he was in any mood to stomp up the stairs and go get milk.  He yelled back from the bottom of the stairs.  “Pearl, I’m cleaning off my tool bench. Got a hundred nails need to be sorted in my jars, and I want to scrape the rust off this porch screen. Ask someone else. Let Dale take Bo.”

I’m playing doctor under the table. I’ve scheduled my oldest doll, Tessie, for brain surgery and then I’ll glue her hair back on her head. Dad isn’t home.

“Grandma, Dad went to the hospital to visit Mom. He’ll be home by dinner.” I cut Tessie’s hair, and then scrape her skull with a dull table knife. The procedure is slow going.

“Bo, where in heavens are you hiding? You’re just like your Grandpa.” I’m not anything like my Grandpa. I snicker and Grandma hears me. “What do you think you’re doing under my table?”

“Nothin’, Grandma. Just playing.” I bandage Tessie’s head with scraps of green plaid fabric. (Grandma made me a dress from the material last week, and I’m going to wear it to church tomorrow.) Then I wrap the bandage with cellophane tape.

“Well, Bo, it’s just you and me around. I’ve got dinner on the stove, so I guess I’ll send you to the dairy.” Grandma doesn’t like this idea, but I think it’s keen. “Bo? Your dad teach you to cross State Street? By yourself?”

“Mmm. Dad taught me all right. I never done it without holding his hand, though.”

“Oh shoot, Bo. I’m gonna give you a half dollar and you go get me a bottle of milk. Half gallon, though. Don’t s’pose I should have you carry a gallon. Probably too heavy.”

I throw on my sweater and race down the stairs. No one ever lets me go to the dairy by myself. Once I’m on the sidewalk, I turn past the drugstore, the paint shop and the gas station. Dad says always watch for cars going in and out of the gas station, but no cars are there right now. When I get to the corner, the dairy is kitty corner from me. I get butterflies just thinking about getting past those fast cars.

We live by the intersection of State Street and 18th Avenue. State Street is four lanes wide and is always busy with traffic. 18th isn’t so bad. I cross 18th Street with the stoplight, and then wait for the signal to change. It takes forever. A grandmother pushing a toddler in a stroller waits next to me. Now I’ve got it all figured out. I’ll cross State Street when she does.

The traffic finally stops and the grandma and I step off the curb. A garbage truck driver turning towards us honks. He waves us across the street, and yells words out his window, but I’m not sure what he says. The grandma tells me to never mind.

Then something scary happens. As the truck driver turns, the stroller wheel catches in the storm sewer grate. The wheel spins and settles between the grates. The little kid’s stroller nearly tips over and the kid gets scared and starts crying. The truck driver stops right next to us, and says nasty words that I’m not allowed to listen to or say.

I try to move the stroller, but no luck. “Lady, we gotta get out of the street. That garbage man’s mad.”

“He’ll have to hold on to his horses, little girl. He ain’t gonna hit us. This here wheel’s stuck and I can’t get it out.”

She pulls some and then we pull some together. The baby is screaming in my ear now and I can’t hear that nasty man anymore, but I can tell he’s screaming, too. His face is red and puffy, and he shakes his fist at us. Finally he gets out of his truck and pulls the stroller free.

“Get along, gals. I got haulin’ to do.” He gets in his truck and pulls around us really close. The baby’s still screaming and the grandma gets a pacifier for him to suck. She’s all nervous and she drops it on the street. The light’s changed twice now and I’m in a hurry to get my milk. Grandma will worry.

“Honey, reach down and get the baby’s pacifier. Then I’ll walk you ‘cross the street.”

I think that’s a swell idea. I bend down, but another car comes turning towards me and I freak out and trip on the curb. Grandma’s half dollar slides through the grate.

The baby’s grandma looks at me and shakes her head a little sadly. “I’d give you some money, but I only got a dollar and I got to buy this sweetheart milk before he breaks my heart with his crying. You don’t want this baby a’cryin’ for his milk, do you?”

“No m’am,” I answer is a shaky voice. “I’ll just be getting home.”

challenges, growing upAs soon as the lady turns into the dairy, I sit down against a storefront and sniffle. Then I can’t keep tears from sliding down my cheeks. I’m afraid to cross the street, so I stay huddled against the brick wall.

I’m hiding from the busy traffic and it’s five o’clock and getting busier. Then I most jump out of my skin. Someone’s tapping me on my shoulder. I try not to move. I’m not supposed to talk to strange adults.

“Hey there, little girl. You need some help.” The man laughs and turns me around to face him.

“Oh, Daddy! Oh, Dad! I can’t cross the street and I lost the milk money and a garbage man said bad words and screamed at me.”

‘I say, Bo. You had a rough time.” He puts his warm arm around my shoulder and gives me a squeeze. “Sorry you had to learn the hard way. You aren’t old enough to cross State Street by yourself.”

“I don’t want to try, either, Dad. Never, ever again.”

“Maybe when you’re bigger, it will be easier. Now tell me why you’re out here all by yourself.”

“Grandma asked Grandpa to get her milk for dinner, but he was down in the basement and wouldn’t come up. Then Grandma said for me to go.” I start crying again.

“It’s all right, Bo. Enough crying. Where’s the milk?”

“I dropped the half dollar down the sewer. See, there was a lady with a baby…”

“Bo, enough. We’ll have to go without milk tonight. I spent my last money buying flowers for your mother. Let’s go inside and tell your grandmother.”

When I open the door to the flat, my grandparents are having words. They weren’t happy words, either.

“Bo,” said Dad. “Go wash your face and brush your hair. By then it’ll be time for dinner.”

I sneak under the table to fetch Tessie and then clean up in the bathroom. Dinner is ready when I sit down at the table.

I am mad at Grandpa. He ruined dinner. “Grandpa, we don’t have milk. I was hoping for gravy and tapioca pudding.”

“Hush, girl,” says Grandma. “You’ll have butter for your potatoes and there’s raspberry Jello for dessert. That will do you fine.”

Grandpa gets mad again. “Don’t fret so, Pearl. I’ll get some milk after dinner.”

My mind is still on the raspberry Jello. I hate red Jello. “Grandpa, can I go to the dairy with you. Maybe get an ice cream cone?”

Dad and Grandma both look over at my grandpa. Dad nods his head at Grandpa. “Sure, Smulling. Take her along. She deserves a nice ice cream after her busy afternoon.

“Oh, and Smulling? Be sure you hold her hand when you cross those streets.”