Caught Red-Handed Again!

Mother’s pantry, just off the kitchen, wasn’t very big. There was just enough room for the wringer washing machine on the left as you entered, and the flour barrel to the right of the doorway that led to our playroom (which later became a dining room), a few cupboards, a small counter area, and the sink underneath the window completed the space. Back in those days, we didn’t have modern plumbing. Instead, a pipe extended from under the sink, through a small hole in the wall, and hung outside the house, slanting downwards to drain the sink. My twin brother and I, then four years old, had once had great fun stomping on the squishy, watery ground beneath it. We’d been caught there, however, and were warned never to play there again.

Summer seemed to fly by, and soon it was time for Mother to put down fruits, tomatoes, pickles, and relishes in sterilized, sealed jars for the winter. Father was busy too, with barrels of salt out in the barn. Salting was a common method of preserving meats and fish for winter use, and he would salt bacon, ham, salt pork, and sometimes even beef, along with herring and haddock. Salting helped prevent spoilage, especially during the colder months, as we didn’t have a refrigerator or freezer. To keep eggs, milk, butter, and other perishables somewhat cool, there was an opening in the outer kitchen that led to the cellar. Anything needing to be cooled was stored to one side of the wide steps leading down.

Since Mother and Dad were so busy with preparations for the coming winter, Dad put up an enclosure made of chicken wire. It was a safe place for us to play outside in the shade of the old elm trees. This way, they could continue their work, knowing we were safe and not underfoot, and they could periodically glance towards the enclosure to check on us. Dad had made a sandbox, placed to one side of the enclosure, where my brother spent time playing with his toy dump truck, yellow grader, and little toy cars. We had small shovels and pails, and sometimes I pretended I was making cakes, piling the sand into heaps. Dad had also made me a small cradle for my doll and a makeshift dollhouse, where I happily spent my time playing house. Our pet dog, whom we simply called “Doggy,” would often come and sit just outside the enclosure, perhaps keeping an eye on us, too.

But one day, old Doggy decided he wanted in with us. To the far side of the enclosure, he began digging up the grass. Well, naturally, we helped him as much as we could, and it wasn’t long until Doggy managed to crawl in under the chicken wire to be inside with us. We knew Mother and Dad wouldn’t like this, so we did our best to keep the excitement of having Doggy join us as quiet as possible.

My brother was content to play with his toys in the sandbox, with Doggy now lying beside him, having a snooze. I, however, had different thoughts. What could come in could also go out, so, just as Doggy had done, I crawled out under the chicken wire and, with my doll in hand, went for a walk. It wasn’t long until Mother noticed there was only one child in the enclosure. She had been in the process of preparing supper but dropped what she was doing and bolted out the kitchen door, looking frantically around the yard for me. Then she spotted me, sitting contentedly in the middle of her prized bed of nasturtiums. These flowers not only looked spectacular, but I soon found out they were very tasty.

Then it was lecture time as she took my hand and led me back to the enclosure. Dad had also spotted that I wasn’t with my brother and had gone over to see how I could have gotten out. That’s when he spotted Doggy inside and the dug-up grass. Dad opened the gate, removed the dog, got his shovel, and filled the hole back in. Well, shucks! That didn’t end up like I had hoped, as the hole for escape no longer existed. Dad didn’t give me a spanking for crawling out, but I did get quite a talking to. It was close to suppertime, so we were escorted back into the house, washed up, then waited for Mother to put supper on the table.

We all have those stories, don’t we? What kind of mischief did you get into as a child? Or perhaps your own children or grandchildren had unforgettable antics that still make you smile? We’d love to hear about your own “caught red-handed” moments or any hilarious family escapades! Share your memories in the comments below.