When I think back to my life growing up in Broad Brook it sometimes feels a little bit like Mayberry ...you know, that program with Sheriff Andy Taylor and his deputy Barney Fife? Of course Broad Brook was in full color unlike Mayberry which was mysteriously in black and white yet we never questioned that while growing up and in fact never really even noticed.
So how was Broad Brook like Mayberry? I think it was about the innocence and naivete of the times. Broad Brook was a small town and it was not a lie to say that I knew everyone I met while walking down Main Street. If I didn't know them by name I would at least know what the family name was and therefore was able to correctly place them in my mind. A friendly wave or a polite nod and a smile in passing were common for the ones you knew in this way. For the people that were real friends it was more common to give a full arm wave and maybe bellow out their name....as if there was some possibility they may have gone deaf and blind since our last meeting and may not notice me walking along the street.
So in this way there was always the feel of being in a close community...safe...I felt safe from whatever horrors were out there in the world. I knew nothing of the horrors of the world actually and had nothing but a vague idea that there were 'bad people' out there to be wary of if you met them. Somehow I imagined that I would be able to pick these bad people out in any crowd....as if there was something inherently evil about their look that would tip everyone off on sight. Luckily for me I never did encounter any of the 'bad people' (fingers crossed that I still remain safe from them) and life continued on in my little Broad Brook.
There were many quaint aspects to growing up in a small town. Knowing everyone or at least knowing their family was one of them. Working for the small town store owners was another plus as they treated you like family and of course knew your parents as well. But that's getting a bit ahead of myself here because I wanted to tell you about when I was younger....not old enough to have a job yet. That's when my life was mostly full of playing with my siblings and neighborhood kids. And I'm thinking of a time before my best friend Darla moved in next door but this fun time expanded to include Darla and her sister eventually too.
One of the places that I loved the most and that gave all us kids the most joy was a steep hill up the road from us that was called Crane's Hill. As early as I can remember we were dragging our sleds; saucers and once a toboggan to this hill after every winter storm so we could terrify ourselves on the ride down this steep hill. It was a local sledding spot, not known to anyone outside of the people who lived on Mill Street. I remember it being very tiring to keep trudging back up the hill with our sleds, always making sure to walk on the very outside edges of the slide area so as not to make ruts with our feet....but also to avoid being hit by someone else coming down the hill at top speed. It was rare that anyone actually got hit but we expected it to happen occasionally because if truth be told we had very little control over the sleds once we were on our way down...and absolutely no control over a saucer even on the smallest hill. I do recall Darla wiping out badly on a saucer once when the hill was mostly an ice slide. Darla scraped her face up pretty badly that day and went home in considerable pain.
But for the most part we didn't get hurt sliding down Crane's Hill. We just hit that hill with the kind of energy that young kids have and enjoyed the thrill of flying over the hump in the middle of the hill that could send you straight into a stand of trees if you happen to hit it wrong. Strangely enough although we wiped out often we usually didn't get hurt. And as the most recent victim of a wipe out would be pulling themselves out of the snow pile, wiping the snow out of their eyes and beginning the trek back up the hill, they'd hear the laughter of the rest of us as we came down the hill. Oh yes, we were laughing at them while hoping we weren't going to end up in the same snow pile. But that was part of the fun. Maybe you'd be the one that turns your sled too fast and rides the lower half of the hill on your butt. And all your friends would be laughing at your fall. But it wouldn't be too long before the ones laughing at you became the ones that were doing a desperate dance while trying to get packed snow out of their snow pants. That hill was great for dragging you backwards still clinging to your sled ropes, while jamming snow down the back of your pants; inside your boots and grabbing hats completely off your head!!
Cranes Hill didn't loose it's appeal even when I became an adult. I recall bringing my own kids there when I was in my 30's and showing them how much fun it can be to scream all the way down that scary snow covered hill. I brought my dog Allie and she liked to chase the kids down the hill barking the whole way. Things do change over time however and someone had left an old couch near the bottom of the hill. Although I was disgusted that anyone would have so little respect for our wonderful hill, we did make the best of it. The kids positioned a piece of ply wood against one end of that couch and before I knew it we were all taking our sleds over that couch ramp. We became couch jumpers!! Luckily in the years since then someone has removed the couch because although it was fun that day it was an eyesore too. (something only an adult would probably think)
But Crane's Hill wasn't just for winter. As a teenager I would meet many of my friends up there and we would engage in what would now be considered illegal activities...but back then we called it 'partying'....which meant we were drinking. We were mostly under aged which is why it was illegal but where I came from it was a right of passage. That's what you do when you are a teenager...you test the limits of your parents endurance and you try forbidden things. So we'd go up to Crane's Hill and get drunk, then have some spontaneous fun sliding on the lush grass with a piece of cardboard; climbing trees to see who could go the highest without chickening out; or just walk through the uncharted wooded areas up there that were dotted with somewhat hazardous (as we found out ) areas of wetlands. They weren't quite swamps but they were areas that were wet enough to drag a shoe off your foot. I wonder if there are still shoes up there now.
Inevitably someone would fall out of a tree....usually one of the guys. They never seemed to hold their booze as well as the girls did. But rather than be concerned that they were hurt, we'd laugh our asses off at them. But don't feel bad for them because any of the girls that rode that piece of cardboard smack into a tree was equally laughed at too. We had so much fun up on that hill!
Sometimes someone would bring some music and we'd light a small campfire and sing along to the songs. It was a magical time in my life. I felt so close to these friends and was so happy to share so many laughs with such a fun group of people.
There was a time however when Mr. Crane showed up. Yes, Crane's Hill was actually owned by a man named Earl Crane and his wife Evelyn Crane. My parents knew them of course but that doesn't mean any of us had permission to be on his property. Mr. Crane owned Broad Brook Gardens which was on Main St., across from Saint Catherine's Church. We never really knew him well but I remember my mother bringing us (me and at least one other of my siblings) to Mr Crane's green house to buy plants. He was a smallish man; thin; with glasses and he didn't talk much. He didn't strike me as either mean or nice...just quiet and matter of fact. His wife I had only seen from a distance as she didn't have much to do with the plant business and stayed pretty much in the house.
So one day while we were sliding on the hill in the winter. Mr Crane showed up and he had two rather scary dogs with him. (I want to say he also had a rifle in his hand but I'm not absolutely sure of that. This happened quite a long time ago after all) The dogs arrived first and they were not the friendly type. I think they were Dobermans but the memory is too vague to be sure. Anyway, everyone was terrified of the dogs as they took a stance and barked non-stop at us. Some of the guys lit off running down the hill or I should say falling down the hill...there was no way you can keep your footing in the winter going down that hill. I stayed where I was and there were at least a couple of the girls and at least one guy that stayed as well. I don't remember now who it was that stayed...I just didn't feel like it was smart to try to out run these dogs and I honestly didn't feel like I was doing anything wrong anyway.
It wasn't long before Mr Crane came into view and confronted us. Who are you and what are you doing on my property? I swear I had never made the connection that Crane's Hill actually belonged to this Mr Crane until he showed up that day. I know, I know...how stupid can you be, right? Well, I was a young teen and pretty much oblivious to the workings of the real world, somewhat sheltered by my parents all my life and had been sliding on this hill for many years. No one ever had challenged our right to be there and I never once gave a thought to who must own the property. An equally stupid note here is that the property was always mowed...the grass was never overly tall. I never questioned that either. The concept of trespassing was unknown to me. I'd probably been trespassing on others property all my life without knowing or even thinking about it.
We launched into explanations and introductions of sorts....telling Mr Crane who our parents were (he knew mine of course) and explaining we were really just sledding on the hill and making a lot of noise while we were about it. Eventually we convinced him we were not someone that the police should be taking away and he let us stay and continue sledding. From that day forward we had sort of permission from Mr Crane to use his hill for sledding as long as we didn't hurt anything and didn't leave a mess. Only once more did Mr Crane ever show up and that was when we were drinking on his hill one night. He made us put out the fire and go home....but he never called the police on us and he didn't bring his dogs that time either (but he might have had that rifle with him then too). I think he had decided we were somewhat harmless twits that had a tendency to use his property like it was our own. Overall he was a pretty decent guy to let us use his property and I really did appreciate it. We made sure no one left garbage or even cigarette butts behind whenever we had been on the hill. We took home everything we came with....except maybe the occasional shoe that may still be stuck in the mud up there somewhere.
Earl Crane died at the age of 79, that was in the year 2000. Him and his wife never had any children. Broad Brook Gardens was sold to a local guy, Bob Muska sometime before Mr Crane died. I am sorry to say I never missed Mr. Crane or his wife Evelyn who died at the age of 91 in the year 2013. I had long since stopped going to Crane's Hill and didn't give the place much thought except once in awhile when a memory would pop up while talking to one of my friends or family members about old times. Broad Brook Gardens was moved out of Broad Brook and is currently located in South Windsor still being run by Bob Muska and his daughter. I don't know who owns Mr. Crane's house and property now.
I wish I had had the presence of mind to tell Mr. Crane how much we all appreciated him letting us young hooligans use his property for all those years. Although I never knew him well, I had a deep respect for him for trusting us with the land and for never calling the police on us. He made these wonderful memories possible just by being a decent guy. Thank you Mr. Crane. And thank you for the delicious black berries we stole from your property too. They were growing wild but they were on your property and we did eat our fill of them more than once...without your permission but somehow I think not without your knowledge.
