The Boulder Wars

The land my grandfather built his house on, like most of the land in that area of the Adirodacks was rocky. The plot had many large stones some taller that most men a very wide. For some reason unknown to most of us my grandmother waged war on all the rocks in the area.

Once a week she would take all the dead wood around the forest by the house and she would set a large bond fire up against the largest offender. It was the huge boulder that sat between the plot the house was built on and the plot next to it, which was also thiers.  The fire would rage for hours as she happily burned tree after tree. The smoke she claimed kept the mosquitoes away, which she was also at war with.  Some times live trees, which were in places that offended her, were sacrificed to the bolder wars. On more than one occasion the sheriff had to come down just to check if it was her and her doings or if it was a real fire. The watchtower on the mountain would report the smoke and he was forced to check on it. Regardless of how many times he came down I dont think she ever notified him once that she was going to build a fire. Her fires were large. Yet, somehow they never got out of hand. Leaves were also disposed of in this way and the smell would delight me mixed with the fresh mountain air. When the fire got very hot she would draw a few buckets of very cold water from the well and throw bucket after bucket on the boulder. This would occasionally cause the rock to crack in places and she would point to it and say, see! I am winning! when the fire was gone, sometimes if she were feeling particularly warrior like she would pound away on the stone with a chisel in the cracked spots. I never saw much rock come off, but when it did we both would beam with a sense of triumph.

In the back of the house was an area that she felt should be cleared for a picnic table. Every year mysteriously trees would disappear from this area. This was much to the chagrin of my uncle who wanted it wild.  Wheelbarrows full of small stones where removed from the picnic area. The small ones we used to repair the dirt road. The rest were secretly dumped on the property across the street that belonged to the Golf course.   In this area sat several very large stones. Only one I would call a boulder as it was about the same height as my grandma. Now my grandma was 4 feet 11 inches tall and if she were any shorter then technically she would be a midget so no matter what, she insisted she was 4 foot 11. However when I was 25 she only crested the top of my bosom and I know I am 5 feet high. I think she shrank a bit. When I was young she seemed to tower over everyone.

There came a day in the boulder wars when there were no more stones that were small enough to move and all that was left, was just too large, to be moved. I remember dynamite being argued about at the dinner table. My grandfather forbid it so close to the house and said you needed a permit anyway. Grandma tried every way she could to convince him it could work but in the end gave up. 

Waking up in that house for me was and adventure I was never sure how it would be done, on this day she changed the sheet I was sleeping on and when I woke up she said Oh I am sorry I didnt mean to wake you up but I had to roll you over so that I could change the sheet.  She was always up with the sun. I always slept as long as I could.

That day I went out back and there she was in her alfit. This consisted of a pair of overalls and a long sleeve shirt, big work boots and a large, old straw hat that had mosquito netting draped over it and tied up under her collar. She was there with a shovel and the wheelbarrow and there was a very large hole dug under the boulder. Very large! She saw me and smiled. I dont need dynamite! She hissed.  Watch!  She came around to the other side of the boulder and took some sort of bar and began to pry up under the rock with it. She worked very hard and I offered to help but she wouldnt let me. She told me to stay back. All of a sudden the rock moved and plunk it fell in the hole. She was grinning from ear to ear. She told me I could help bury it, so I did. We worked until the rock disappeared beneath the soil as if it never was.  This magical feat was repeated a few more times and then all that was left was the big moma boulder. It was late in the fall when this was tackled. And there was a small incident that occurred during the funeral for this large stone. That story is part of the taming of the chipmunks.