I too have many fond memories of growing up as a kid in Courtice, back in the 70's. It was all rural farmland back then. Creeks like Farewell were loaded with brookies, suckers, and monster creek chub up to 10 inches long. Word would get out that it was time for an expedition, and the provisions would be rounded-up. One of us would steal Mother's fry pan. Another would get flour in a bag, with a bit of salt and pepper. Butter in a cloth, and a can of beans would usually round it out. There would always be dessert - usually a bottle of Crown corn syrup, or a frozen can of orange juice. We'd all be "packing heavy" with cheap Barlow pocket knives. Most of us had those cheap POS Crappy Tire bait casting rods that were worth about two bucks (bright yellow fiberglass rod and black plastic handle). The fancy kids would have a Zebco 202 on it. Most of us had a 10 foot piece of line tied to the top guide, with a stolen nut from your father's workbench, to act as your sinker. Anything that swam, or crawled, was fair game. Hard to beat a "feed" of spring suckers, fried in butter in a cast iron pan. I remember back then there were always monster white elm trees that had recently died from the first dose of Dutch elm disease. The dead trees were sometimes 4-5feet in diameter, with the big sheets of dead bark still attached. We'd peel the bark sheets off, and make a wigwam fort. Inside we'd make a flat rock hearth, and caulk it all down with creek clay. I remember a pile of smoky eyes as we'd fry up the fish in the pan. We'd boil up crayfish, and the odd grackle or blue jay even got fried-up if one of us had got lucky with the wrist rocket slingshot. Us older kids would be 9 or 10, but there would always be the younger 6 or 7 year old brother who'd tag along, not wanting to be left out. I remember the one kid's brother Gordy, who always managed to sh#t himself on every trip. We'd peel him down and use his socks and gitch to clean him up. He's get tanned when he got home - late for dinner, soaking wet, covered in dirt, with a bare arse, no socks, and covered in sh#t! Then we'd all be getting the ivy rash starting 3-5 days later. I remember little Gordy getting "rolled" by a farmer who shot at us with rock salt, when he sneaked up on us when we were stealing some sweet corn for our bush meal. The kid couldn't have been older than maybe 8 at the time. All he had on was a pair of shorts, and a pair of hand-me-down workboots. He took a full load of rock salt up his back, in his scalp, and down the back of his legs. His brother told him to stop crying, or they'd get in hell when they went home and their mother saw the mess. We'd run the ditches on the way home, looking for pop bottles to cash-in for a pop or a popsickle on the way home.
Boy, those were some prime days. I wouldn't trade a minute of it for any money in the world. So very sad how things have changed in such a short time. Kids sit and look at a cell phone now. I'm glad I was a kid in the 70's.
