If you buy

a truck and the word gets out, you will be the first person called when

there's a move afoot. And if you happen to have a new trailer to go with

that new truck, you might as well leave it hooked up because you're gonna

be using it. Such was the case last weekend during which something happened

that made me remember another move years ago.

We moved into

our new house in January, just before I turned seven. Mom had been crying

for two weeks prior to the move. I guess she did not want to move out

of the duplex and into our first big house. We thought Mom was crying

because she had some sentimental attachment to the small rooms, leaking

ceilings, drafty windows, and the small back yard that overlooked the

swamp.

Years later,

after my fourth move in one year, I realized why mom was crying she had

too much stuff to pack and too much junk to throw away, and she did not

know what stuff was to be packed and what junk was to be thrown away.

She did not know where to start.

Dad had tried

to ease the pain and stress of moving by telling her that the new house

came with a brand-new washer and dryer. I thought this was a good thing

because Mom suddenly turned to us and told all of us to go out back and

play; she needed to be alone to talk to Dad in private. Mom must have

been really excited about the new washer and dryer 'cause you could hear

her shout with joy all the way from the swamp.

The new house

had big rooms, hardwood floors, wood paneling, a big back yard, a creek

at the bottom of the hill whose banks were lined with the tallest bamboo

that we had ever seen, and everywhere there were small hardwood trees.

These were the trees that, later in the year, would provide many hours

of enjoyment for four boys going "tree riding" (a story for

this spring). We boys told Dad that the new house was a dream come true;

Mom told Dad to put the washer and dryer in the basement.

The new washer

and dryer came in two large cardboard boxes, boxes that were of no use

nor interest to us boys. No, we were waiting for the box from the new

refrigerator Dad had promised to get Mom by summer (I think this had something

to do with the washer and dryer incident). The granddaddy of all boxes

the refrigerator box. What made this box unlike any other you might ask?

Well, it was what you could do with it and how long it would last that

made it so special. Not made of your ordinary cardboard, no sir, a refrigerator

box was heavy-duty-reinforced-industrial-strength-cardboard almost indestructible,

even for us boys.

The first of

June came and so did our heavy-duty-reinforced-industrial-strength-cardboard

box with Mom's new refrigerator in it. It was to replace the old, dark

green refrigerator that made funny sounds and smelled bad when we opened

the door. Mom said, "You kids will like the new one; it has an ice

maker in the top."

I said, "There's

plenty of ice in the old one." She said, "Iíve told you

boys 100 times not to eat that ice. Our refrigerator is not self-defrosting,

but the new one is."

I did not know

what self-defrosting was, but in the confusion of moving refrigerators

around, we all were able to eat our fill of refrigerator ice one last

time. (The new ice came in cubes, not stuck to the inside walls of the

refrigerator, and it just wasn't as tasty.)

We had instructed

Dad not to cut the heavy-duty-reinforced-industrial-strength-cardboard-refrigerator

box, but rather open the ends and slide the new refrigerator out so the

entire box would be left intact. We told Dad we were going to the vacant

lot next door to play steamroller.

Steamroller

was played with two kids in the box crawling in tandem, rolling over everything

and anyone who happened to get in the way, even little sisters. (We got

in major trouble for squishing sister Deborah that day twice.) Across

the lot we would crawl, over glass bottles, thick green briars, over boulders,

snakes, and even small trees.

Nothing could

stop us well, nothing except bees. As far as I know, the box is still

in the middle of that vacant lot, in the middle of that thick green briar

patch, and on top of the biggest yellow jacket nest we've ever seen. I

thought the box was lost forever, and my days of playing steamroller were

over until last weekend.

Why is it that

every time you help someone move, they live on the second floor and they

are moving to an apartment on the second floor? When I arrived at my friend's

house, I found that she was able to find two additional co-workers to

help with the move. We loaded the truck and trailer and rode across town

to the new apartment, she said we had to hurry and unload everything because

she was expecting a special delivery a new refrigerator.

The two other

friends who helped her move got $100 each that afternoon. I got something

much more valuable a new heavy-duty-reinforced-industrial-strength-cardboard-refrigerator

box. Now all I have to do is find a vacant lot with a briar patch and

no yellow jackets.

[Rick Ryckeley

is employed by the Fayette County Department of Fire and Emergency Services.

He can be reached at [email protected] .]