By NANCY JANE KERN
LOOKING BACK from my now senior status I did not have the usual or dull childhood. This was partly from living on a farm and partly for being allowed to be in on all kinds of things. I enjoyed my grandparents because they taught me about whatever was going on and often took me with them. One day my grandfather told me we were going to get dynamite and I asked what it was and what we were going to do with it. We took the old dark green Chevy pickup truck circa 1940 to make the purchase.
We drove off the main road between East Chatham and Old Chatham to a small building back in the woods. Apparently this was for safety reasons in case anything blew up. A man put a few handfuls of dynamite sticks into a box and a bunch of blasting caps into a wooden box filled with old rags which probably cushioned and protected them. When we got home both boxes went into the larger 1930’s International farm truck. The dynamite was put in the back and the wooden box of blasting caps went in the front between my uncle Harold and Gramp. We left Gippy the black cocker spaniel dog home so she wouldn’t accidentally get loose and get blown up. It was a compliment that they trusted me to stay put at about age 5.
I was placed on top of the blasting caps and assured they would not explode. They looked like large elongated brass rifle cartridges without a bullet, with two wires coming out the ends. My companions were excited so I was too. We went to the north west pasture which was full of rock outcroppings. These were the reason for the dynamite. My grandfather had a large tin can of black powder stashed in the top of the old carriage barn. We were always told how dangerous it was and we were to stay away from it, and we did. He said when he was young they used it to blow out tree stumps and rocks. Now we had dynamite which was much safer and more predictable.
The dynamite sticks looked like modern traffic flares only yellowish and covered in waxy paper. My uncle parked the truck back from the first ridge of rocks and taped a few dynamite sticks and a blasting cap together. He had a roll of insulated wire which he hooked to the wires on the cap. He unrolled the wire back to the truck and told us to crawl under the truck so rocks wouldn’t fall on us.
He joined us with the wire roll and a Hotshot battery. We plugged our ears as he touched the wires to the battery which ignited the blasting cap which in turn blew up the dynamite and the rock. It was loud and the earth shook. We could see the pieces shoot into the air and heard a few pieces land above us on the truck. Believe me I had no thought of running out. It was a terrific sight and we blew up some more rocks. This was fun.
When we got back to the house I ran in to tell my grandmother who was, as usual, horrified to learn what the young girl was exposed to. Fortunately I managed to survive and my grandmother gave up keeping me out of whatever project came next. I always wondered how they knew how to use it. There were so many rocks in that pasture they finally gave up trying to raise crops on it and it continued as a cow pasture. It was an unusual experience but I wouldn’t have missed it for anything.
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