The Summer of 66 ended with a tally of 4 plaster casts; 102 stitches; 2 concussions; 4 visits from the Air Police (APs); 3 from the base ambulance. And let’s not forget the 3 deliveries from the Big Blue Salvation Army Truck of old, used furniture and broken parts of appliances. This isn't to count the endless trips to the Base Hospital's emergency room...(at least 12 that I can remember).

What could I title these chapters? Magic Stick v. Bees; Kid v. Barbed Wire; Kid v. Tree; Other Kid v. Tree; Tree v. First Kid, Again; Kid v. Neighbor's Fence; 2 Kids v. Skateboard and Innocent Bystander; Kid v. Bike; Kid v. Not-a-Rattlesnake-After all...every week a new crisis, a new versus.

The Skateboard Incident certainly might have been the most exciting for the neighborhood. It left two of my brothers in casts, and the lady next door in an arm sling. Dwayne, whose left foot was already in a heavy bandage protecting 54 stitches (still a family record), broke his right foot. And Patrick, who had already broken his right arm riding his bike into the Gorgone's fence, now had an additional 2 broken fingers on his right hand, and had to be fitted with a brand new cast. Fortunately for Mrs. Brittany, this was her first time getting knocked on her ass.

But I think my first anecdote should start with our first visit from the Air Police (APs). An introduction of sorts. The Beale Air Force Base’s Discovery of Our Family. It isn't really a full story on its own...which I guess would make it more of a chapter, more like something that could have been written with a spectacular sort of climax, but in real life ended more with a tired, oh hell, let's just go back to bed.

At this point, we'd only been to the ER twice, and neither visit had resulted in stitches. It was still early June. I'd wiped out on my bike, and Patrick had been stung by several bees defending their home from the Magic Stick that "must have poked their hive." He was just in the area. They must have thought he did it.

So how to start...where exactly does it start?

Base Housing at Beale was parked in the foothills of the Sierras. I could write 'nestled,' but it's not as though the interface was anything but abrupt.

We lived at the edge of Wildness. Our street defined the boundary between Imagined Perils and Obsessive Order. Our front yard was a perfect 4-cornered patch of weed-free, greenish bermuda grass, bordered on 3 sides with flawless strips of gleaming concrete. And our backyard was an exotic cosm of cliffs, caves, abandoned gold mines, mountain lions, poisonous plants, rattlesnakes, blue-bellied lizards, condors, golden eagles, and golden grasses of wild oat. As far as the eye could see, one hill rolled into another...all the way to Nevada.

Apart and together, my brothers and I spend our days exploring. Supplied with jars of frozen water, peanut butter sandwiches, and readied coffee cans, we ventured farther and deeper into the foothills, often leaving at daybreak, not to be seen again till suppertime.

These daily treks usually resulted in the relocation of captured reptiles, sleeping lizards, mostly. Warmed in our palms, calmed by the nearly constant stroking of their smooth bellies. Snakes were common, too - my favorites, actually. I'd bring them home curled around my neck. Most of these critters were released at the back door. It was strictly verboten to bring anything from the field indoors that wasn't first trapped in a jar, a can, or a box. This included all manner of reptiles, amphibians and bugs. And in case I forget to tell you later - shoebox lids mean absolutely nothing to snakes.

Now this isn't to say that no free reptiles made it into the house. Some just found their way in. Mrs. Gorgone had to call the APs once when she found a rattler curled up in her dryer. And who's to say how many lizards made it past the border guard in pockets and sleeves, forgotten by accident or by design. Certainly, there were several loose in our rooms. We offered them sanctuary in our sock drawers. And many times we'd set them to sun and sleep on the windowsill for as long as they wanted.

It was always a mystery to us how they found their way into the central heating-and-air system or into Mom's bedroom. Her startled shrieks around the house were as normal a background noise as were the TV and radio. At this point in time, there was already one snake and one (or more) lizards unaccounted for. The lizard count was a point of contention. With each sighting the neck colours were described differently, but then temperature changes could account for that. So no one really knew. It could be just one fella or as many as half a dozen.

It was universally accepted, though, that there was only The one Loose Snake. The one who got out of his shoebox. He was 41 inches long. We'd measured him in the field before we'd even brought him home. And we figured he was probably bigger than that by now, what with all the loose food living in our house.

So. Patrick and the Night of the 30 Frogs. (This "chapter" continues here - since it won't all fit in this post, anyway...you can scroll down...or start over...there's a preface in italics.)