Grasshoppers, Crickets, Walking Sticks, Wasps, Snakes.
All existed creepily on the farm. Being small and scared of these, we were terrified when Grandma threatened to lock us in the cellar (crickets-everywhere). Why do i have a memory of jars of grasshoppers on their back porch? That has to be wrong. We weren't even safe on the front porch (walking sticks). Or in the yard (snakes). When Susan and I found ourselves suddenly locked in the smokehouse (wasps) after the door blew shut, I wasn't immediately scared, but she was. Right away she was crying and yelling, and the panic permeated my pores and overcame me. It filled my lungs. Blindly yelling and banging the door with our fists, scrambling for a screw driver to pry it open. I wish we had a video of that. Syringes of absent-minded fear still manage to find their way into my veins and release bubbles of air into my blood, headed toward my heart, my brain. And I panic. Even though I'm only about ten steps from home. Still, I'm locked up!