Walking barefoot along the water's edge in the early morning sunlight I wasn't worried upon spying a moccasin, and I could tell by his relaxed appearance he didn't know I was there. Suddenly lifting its head and sucking back in a tighter coil with its forked tongue flicking out, spring-loaded and ready to strike. Carefully watching the snake's head while moving in a flurry, forward, sideways then backward, and in that single action filled instant the snake's cotton white mouth spread open and with two dangerous fangs showing it struck, missed, landing stretched out on the ground. Allowing no time for recoil I caught the snake by its tail, and like popping a blacksnake whip, I popped its head of.

Leaving the moccasin's twitching body on the ground I spied a coon at water's edge washing its paws, and beyond that another snake out on the open water. Without disturbing the coon I climbed up high into one of my favorite trees and after sitting down on one of the big limbs then leaning back against another, watching a deer with a fine rack loping leisurely under my perch. Up in a different tree I could see a bear over in the black berry briars eating his fill, and slowly my eyes drifted shut. But one of two playing squirrels almost scooting up my arm woke me.

I had come to the woods in an attempt to quit worrying, but wound up only fooling myself, and then my mind drifted back to last Sunday afternoon. I went with Dad over to the stave mill, and listened to the president speak about going to war because of a bad man named Hitler, and the trouble he was causing over in Europe. However, between what the president said, and what those men at the stave mill and Dad said, I was totally confused.

How terrible can war really be—I wondered. With my actual knowledge of the world limited to no more than two miles in any direction from where I stood, and with my thoughts locked onto the big globe of the world in my class room—how in this world should I know what a world war means—I questioned myself. Of course I had no answer, but I imagined it might well be the ending of time as Brother Farmer had promised in one of his sermons.

In spite of my desire to stay in the bottoms forever I had a strong premonition that life as I knew to it to be was about to change and, "With this war coming on, the economy is going to get better, and I should be able to find a real job," Daddy confirmed my fears. But maybe it wouldn't be that bad, after all I had been to town before. Actually twice, once with my family on the back of uncle J.B.'s strip down Model T pick-up truck to enjoy the Rice carnival. The second time I was allowed to go along with Dad, and walk eight miles out to the black top, then hitchhike the rest of the way. Of course a south Arkansas small town isn't very much to see, but in my eyes it was the grandest thing that I had ever seen, and after my two trips I reckoned that I had seen just about everything.

Then my premonition became a reality, and when school let out for the summer I had only two busy weeks to say good-bye to the backwoods bayou country and the three room shack with cracks in the walls and floor you could see through; on the same small ridge, always above water level even with the flooding waters rushing by, with a pig pen, a chicken pen and a small barn. Though I wasn't looking forward to trading all of this for the never-never land of city life, the rest of my family looked forward to it.

* * *

While loading all of our belongings on a borrowed Ford Model-T truck, I busily considered my God-given talents and backwoods teachings as opposed to those I would need in town. My quick hands could snatch a striking rattlesnake out of the air, or choke a cottonmouth moccasin to death; and I can outrun a bear up a tree, get close enough to a buck deer to touch him, sit quite enough up in the trees for the birds to gather around and never quit singing, move quiet enough through the bottoms so that the smaller critters never paid me no mind, actually I was one of them, but I certainly wasn't a town creature. Suddenly it came upon me as if someone out yonder was telling me the secret —confidence—in the bottoms I had plenty, and in town I would have to get me some. Then with the house empty, and the truck loaded, we were on our way moving into town.

As the days passed I grudgingly admitted living in town had some advantages, electric lights you could turn on by pulling a string, and a house with walls I couldn't see out through. But the hardest thing for me to accept was a toilet inside of the house.

As spring wore on I became restless and leaving the house with the rising of the sun I located the park I had heard about. As I entered I recognized a large pick-nick area with several stone tables and attached benches under the big spreading oak shade trees. Leaving the pick-nick area I entered the children's play area, with sliding boards, swing sets, sand boxes, a go-around, and molded forms of several small animals mounted on springs for the little kids to bounce on. After sliding down one long sliding board I decided to see what else was there, and walked slowly passed a bathhouse and swimming pool, tennis courts, and two ball diamonds.

Of course I knew that the park wasn't mine alone to enjoy, but it surprised me to see other young people over by the swimming pool, the tennis courts and ball diamonds—have they seen me—I wondered. Then I wondered—what difference dose it make if they have seen me or not—until I realized they were all so neat and nice, dressed in what I would call Sunday clothes. My cut-off overalls, patched on both sides of the seat, didn't match up.

Suddenly feeling like a wild animal about to be caught, I had to get away, or hide somewhere. For several days this went on, with me slipping around and hiding behind the trees, or what ever else I might find, always peeping out and wishing I could join in the fun. Of course the only person bothered about me getting caught was my self. Then I realized though the other kids saw me now and then, and thought me quite odd, they never thought once about trapping me.

The park was O K for a while, but missing the lure of the swamp and the wild things to play with soon got the best of me; then realizing spring was gone, and summer was slipping slowly away, I expanded my area of exploration over most of the town and often out into the countryside. Then school crossed my mind, and with summer almost over—why haven't I saw the schoolhouse—I wondered. I had seen the football stadium, the track and where they played baseball, but no schoolhouse. Well I will just have to try harder, and starting my search down by the stadium, around by the track and across the ball diamond, but still no schoolhouse. Somewhat exasperated, but also hungry—well the schoolhouse will have to wait for another day—I thought turning toward home.

Thinking about that blackberry cobbler in the refrigerator at the house I hurried my step and suddenly came face to face with the fact that I had been looking for the wrong thing. The four story building and well-manicured grounds, covering a city block, a far cry from the one room sating on the bank of the bayou, stopped me in mid stride. "Glory be" I shouted—how in this world can I go to school there—I thought—once I get inside I will never be able to find my way out again.

With my hunger forgotten I hurried home, and the short time it took me to run the eight...