Colorado Alligators part two

Colorado Alligators (continued)

Every day was excitement and fun from before dawn to long after dark, with the rushing noise of the river and wind in the tall pine treetops providing background music and little dusty-blue butterflies, fragrant mountain flowers and a million other captivating things enthralling us.

After nightfall, good, young Mom read bedtime stories to us from a collection of "Mother West Wind Tales" in which talking animal children were listening to their own bedtime stories as told by wise old Grandfather Frog. ("'Chug-a-rum', said Grandfather Frog...") Bro Joe and I, listening raptly, tucked into our cosy little bed in the stern-end of the egg-shaped house trailer were always fast asleep long before Dad came in from his "dance job" at the hotel.

And almost every day Joe and I would explore the incredible green summer world of the river canyon. I now realize that our expeditions never carried us more than a hundred yards from our trailer, but to my child self, these forays into the unknown had the mystery of seeking the headwaters of the Nile.

Brother Joe added to this illusion by embroidering his own tales as we walked-tales about the alligators that infested the high grass of the fishermen's trails near the Big Thompson River.

Joe always loved Natural Science but I think he had thought long and hard about the possibility of alligators living in the Colorado Rockies too-since he was, after all, not so much older than me.

I was easily convinced that alligators were a present and mortal danger to us. And "'Gators always eat you", Joe assured me, "starting at your feet". Oh, horror.

The particular day I am remembering, we were deep in the tall grass and far from the safety of our tiny trailer-home when Brother Joe suddenly shouted "ALLIGATORS!" and started running as fast as he could go back in the direction we had come.

Oh, my God, the fear!

I started to run after him with all my might, but the dense river-grass, which rose far over my head, also entangled my feet.

Suddenly I fell, with both feet, into one of the beaver holes, which in those long-ago days still existed in the almost wild river environment. (The humans have multiplied; the beavers have subtracted.)

I screamed mindlessly that the alligators had me and gave up my life in childish despair.

Brother Joe returned, in due time, to comfort me and pull me, muddy, wet and weeping, out of the beaver hole.

The experience probably did me good.

Perhaps I learned that alligators did not frequent the streams of the Rocky Mountains and that I would probably survive this and other grave dangers in my life by the grace of God and with the aid of my Guardian Angel and Brother Joe.

I probably threatened "to tell Mother" on Brother Joe for scaring me out of my wits, but I probably never did since the punishment might be that we could not play together for a while--and I couldn't stand that.

Also Mom was not too keen on "tattle-tales"--informing was not big in her list of good childish behavior, and would sometimes backfire and get the informer spanked along with the guilty brother!

Tomasito, October 2008

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