A few weeks back, in one of these posts about my childhood here in Amarillo, Texas I mentioned that my neighborhood was on the far southeast corner of town. I wasn't joking and i recently captured some pictures to show y'all what I mean.
This is the view looking east from 32nd street where it dead ends into Eastern.
This is of course the sign at the intersection of 32nd and Easter.
And should you have your mind in the gutter and look down just a few few away from taht stop sign you will see this ... some of my earliest surviving writing.
I scrawled my name in that patch of wet concrete in the mid eighties. '85 or '86 if I had to guess. I got lucky in that we'd had a dusting of snow so the letters show up pretty good in this photo. My graffiti has not relevancy to this post other than it's location and to further prove I was a hooligan but I felt compelled to add it to the mix.
This post is actually about the only time in my life I've ever been shot at. With real lead and not paintballs or some other sort of harmless projectile.
The farmland that lay just beyond Eastern street belong to a grouchy, ill tempered man. He lived in a run down house that used to sit on this parcel of land but as you can see by this photo all that survives now is an old tin barn.
About half a mile south east of this shot, on the corner of this particular land there used to be a pond. it too is gone now, but back when this was a working farm actively growing crops the pond was what we call in this part of the world a tailwater pit.
You see farmers here have to irrigate their crops and back in the day they did this via irrigation pipe
Here are a couple of shots I borrowed from Google images to show you what I mean since the actual one of my childhood are no longer there.
The water that did not soak into the ground would run down hill and collect in the tailwater pit or pond where it could be pumped back up to the uphill side of the field and used again.
Some farmers stocked fish in these ponds.
Some Farmers do not like boys to grab a fishing pole and ride their bikes out to these ponds.
Some farmers do not like it when said boys catch the fish they stocked in their ponds.
Some farmers load up shotguns and pepper the the area to get their point across.
No I was never in any real danger given the distance the farmer would pop of shots at us, but when you are a kid that kind of logic does not enter your mind when fear kicks in.
Of course neither does the realization you really are trespassing. And even though we got "shot at" on several different occasion we kept venturing back. One it was the closest place to fish and two, the danger level added to the sense of of adventure.
So yeah, I can honestly say I've risked taking a bullet, or at least buckshot just to sink a worm.
You ever been shot at? Risked life an limb in pursuit of a hobby? Defaced communal property and had it last a quarter of a century?
For more My Town Monday posts check out the official MTM blog.