Woodchuck / Groundhog / Whistle Pig (Image from 2022 at Horicon National Wildlife Refuge by Jeff Pieterick)

Twenty Steps Around the House (A Short Story)
Celebrating Independence Day ca.1963

"Silently, one by one, in the infinite meadows of heaven,
blossomed the lovely stars, the forget-me-nots of the angels."
-- Henry Wadsworth Longfellow, “Evangeline”

It’s a long time since I played “Twenty Steps Around the House.” There are lots of rules. I wish I remembered them all, but it is difficult because they always changed whenever oldest sister Trudy said so. She's the one who made the game up in the first place.

First, you must find a proper field of play. This game requires a big yard that wraps around four sides of a three-story blue Victorian house on the outskirts of Eau Claire, Wisconsin. It includes wide expanses of fresh cut grass that are interrupted by three weeping willows, a few blue spruce that are almost as tall as the house, and a great number of small birch trees that are tied to stakes in the ground. The ties are actually wire that is passed through pieces of bicycle inner tube at the sections where the wire touches the tree. But I digress.

An overturned wheelbarrow leans against the house. Lilac bushes that no longer have any flowers on them flank both porches – the large porch at the front of the house as well as the much smaller one at the kitchen entrance on the side. The porches are out-of-bounds, as is the inside of the house and the separate two-car garage and workshop.

Flowerbeds lay close to the limestone foundation of the house. These erupt into white hydrangeas, black-eyed susans, and lots of tiger lilies—orange and golden-yellow tiger lilies that are the most beautiful of the bunch. The playing field includes beds of peonies but the flowers are dead and gone, leaving it for another time to discover their heavy fragrance and feel their waxy petals. For this game, the peonies simply stand as greenery in support of the colonies of black ants that swarm their branches and that are so large they almost squish when you step on them.

Heavy wooden hurricane doors lead into a cellar from the outside of the house, a particularly notable and exotic feature of the house in that they look just like the ones seen in The Wizard of Oz.

The area near the shade trees and the picnic table—where Lillian and Wenzel and Mom and Dad sit playing cards or just talking and drinking beer—is also out-of-bounds. It goes without saying that the lake and lakeshore is out-of-bounds. So is the country road that passes by out front. The pole supporting the large birdhouse for the purple martens is included as an in-bounds “safe haven” for the game, as are all the other trees and features listed here.

“Twenty Steps Around the House” is never played at our house, mainly because our “house” is a crowded, stuffy apartment over a tavern in the city that is on the second floor of a building that stands cheek-by-jowl with the buildings next to it on either side.

Your house doesn’t work for this game, either.

As I remember it, “Twenty Steps Around the House” can only be played on the Fourth of July. In 1963. At Lillian and Wenzel’s place on the shores of Half Moon Lake near the Rod & Gun Club.

The game requires seven players, all of whom are brother or sister to the baby who is placed asleep in the fold-up playpen under the shade tree for the duration of the game. The baby is out-of-bounds and is not to be disturbed.

Chicken is placed on the grill at the start of the game, and the smells carried upon smoke drifting lazily upon a slight breeze will soon become mouth-watering. Game participants are allowed to squirm in anticipation as their appetite grows for the dinner that will soon be served. But the grill area is out-of-bounds, and the adults are not to be disturbed.

Dad does the cooking and Wenzel will watch. Wenzel is tall and skinny and keeps his Lucky Strikes and a book of matches in the front pocket of his short-sleeved grey cotton work shirt. He has no butt and baggy pants, which allows him to easily slip his bottle of Leinie’s into his hip pocket when doing anything requiring the use of his hands like lighting a cigarette or opening a bottle of beer.

The sporting equipment required to play the game includes the following:

a.) A red rubber inflatable kickball; and

b.) Mud wasp nests and mud wasps; and

c.)  A multitude of fireflies; and

d.) Mason jars (three); and

e.) A woodchuck

Trudy is careful in explaining to us all that the game begins with everyone taking twenty steps. These steps will be slowly counted out by Trudy. She also explains the rest of the rules, and we each fill in the blank spaces for ourselves to invent a few rules of our own. If you find yourself in contact with a safe haven (tree; wheelbarrow; hurricane doors; birdhouse pole; flower bed; etc.) at the end of the count, you are safe and can continue playing. Only one player is allowed per safe haven.

Trudy explains that if you are hung out in open territory after twenty steps are taken, then the ball is thrown at you by the player standing nearest to you. The choice of red kickball is important here. It must be capable of inflicting humiliation but not physical injury when it is hurled at the head, back, butt, or feet of someone crouching in expectation of the assault. If you get hit by the ball, you are eliminated from the game and you get mad. You then complain to the adults - to the ones who are not to be disturbed - in a loud and whining fashion, at which point you again assume your place in the game for the next round.

The two youngest players, Stan and Cindy, cannot win because they have short legs and a general ineptitude that plagues pre-schoolers. That’s a fact, but that’s okay. The unspoken rule says they cannot lose, either, at least not until the final rounds. So when Cindy or Stan get hung out in open territory, you will throw the ball at them. And you will miss. Dang it!

Cindy and Stan will be delighted. And the others will be appreciative, even as they laugh raucously and tease you mercilessly about your lack of skill and your lousy throwing arm.

Rules are sometimes changed and are sometimes made up on the fly as the game is played. Wenzel introduces one such rule change shortly after the game begins. A game-show-type question will now get asked before the ball is thrown. Wenzel will monitor the game and will take time out from his assistant chef duties to ask the questions when necessary. And so, on the next round, if you get hung out in open territory the question will be asked before the ball is thrown.

“Yes or no: Does Jack Benny ever visit Rochester?” or
“Will Red Buttons help keep your pants up?” or
“Can you make a Trout fly?”

There are no right answers. If you give a wrong answer, the ball is thrown at you. If you give no answer, you are disqualified. If you get hit by the ball, you are eliminated from the game and you get mad. You then complain to the adults—to the ones who are not to be disturbed—in a loud and whining fashion, at which point you again assume your place in the game for the next round.

If very active mud wasp nests are discovered near the house, the “Mud Wasp Sting Rule” is invented to restore order so the game can continue. Anyone stung by a mud wasp automatically wins the game.

If you fake a mud wasp sting, then you get disqualified. If you fake a mud wasp sting with such a yelp and a scream that the adults come running, Trudy will invent and invoke the “Fake Mud Wasp Sting Rule.” A fake mud wasp sting now means you go back to the starting line and start over.

The first one to make it around the house and back to the starting line - without cheating - wins!

You continue playing the game until you grow tired of it, get hung out in open territory, and get hit by the ball. Trudy will anxiously try to find the rule that compels you to stay in the game, but you will have none of it and be gone. You’re now free to do something else.

The house and garage are still “out-of-bounds” according to the overall rules and so you stay away from them. You and brother Ed - who is slightly less than a year-and-a-half younger than you—will not go into the garage. You will not sneak through the side door, past the shiny, like-new ’59 Buick with four bullet holes in the side, and into the workshop area where Wenzel keeps the Playboy centerfolds hung up on the insides of all the cabinet doors. And you will not argue and raise a ruckus when Ed declares that the pin-up from January of 1963 is the best of the lot, even though your own, more discriminating nine-year-old eye knows there are at least two months in 1961 alone that are much better.

The game is suspended when Dad hollers, “C’mon! Let’s eat!”

As the food is served, all players will carefully note their position on the field of play before taking their place next to the grill with paper plates in their hands. Trudy makes a rule that says everyone is back in the game after dinner, even you and Ed. You will not protest that decision, but will instead negotiate your placement upon the field of play while remaining unsure if you will actually participate anymore.

We all line up at the grill where Dad is in charge. He asks what piece of chicken you want on your plate, and you choose the very best one. Ed makes his selection after you. You then change your mind and insist you really wanted the one that Ed chose, instead. The argument that ensues is out-of-bounds and Ed and you will walk to the table with whatever piece of meat gets tossed on your plates.

After dinner, Trudy insists the game must resume. Yet another argument will ensue with Trudy on one side and those who are already tired of her stupid game on the other. Trudy will appeal to the adults for a determination of judgment on the matter. Dad will offer a pretend choice between resuming the game or helping with clean-up chores. Everyone will then resume their position in the game right where they left off.

Trudy will immediately dispute the positions everyone has taken on the field of play. She will insist that none of you were anywhere near the finish line, yet you will all stand bunched up within twenty steps of winning the game.

Quite suddenly, Charlie will notice movement in the grass. Trudy will be ignored as everyone scurries to see what Charlie is looking at. Trudy will attempt to keep everyone on task, not realizing that the game is about to be “called on account of toads.”

Charlie’s toad is accompanied by the whole toad family, the members of which are now scattered around the yard. Trudy will warn everyone to not touch the toads. She insists that there is a “Toad Rule” that says anyone who touches a toad will get warts that will grow to become the size of their head.

Ed will get a stick so he can prod the primary toad into jumping without touching it with his hand. You will be amused by this. You would perhaps like to tell Ed and Trudy that they are both crazy; that there is no such thing as getting warts from toads. But you know that such a line of attack could make it necessary to actually touch the toads yourself with your own hands, so you will encourage older brother Charlie to carry the argument about toads and warts for your side against Trudy and Ed.

Wenzel intervenes and says you can in fact get warts from toads. He will inform you that “everyone he has ever known that has warts the size of their head” got them from touching toads with their hands; that they in fact probably got them from these very same toads that are now in Wenzel’s yard.

“See?” you will say to Charlie. “I told you Trudy was right!”

Mason jars - three of them - will quickly be produced from Wenzel’s workshop. These will be altered by having ventilation holes punched into their metal lids by a nail. The toad round-up portion of the game will begin. Toads are coaxed into the jars—using sticks and not hands, of course! - and the lids are sealed until another, bigger toad is found to replace the one inside. All seven game players are now toad-hunters. Once the three biggest toads are captured, you will all gather and take stock of what you have. What you will have is three toads, each inside its own mason jar looking back at you as you hold them up close to your face and look at them. Wenzel declares this to be “kinda like a toad stand-off” as you stare into the jar.

The toads will soon be released, and the mason jars will be returned to Wenzel.

Wenzel is not a farmer. But Wenzel has a whole bunch of creatures he keeps that now get loosed into the field of play. In addition to the toads, mosquitoes as big as telefunkin’ U-47s now appear out of nowhere to inflict injury. They will bite you. You will get back at them by inhaling them. Others will be dispatched into bloody little messes that appear on your arms and face and legs, squashed by a hand slap. You will at last get wet with chemicals sprayed from a can. And you will be glad for it.

As the sun falls lower in the sky and the air begins to cool, Wenzel will turn loose his squadrons of purple martens that suddenly appear and perform aerobatics for your pleasure and amusement. You will watch them arrive and depart from their hangar, which stands high on a very long and straight wooden pole in the yard. And you will marvel that the three million or so birds flying in the yard all come from this single launch pad.

As evening grows darker, it will be some time before someone notices that a number of the purple martens have turned into bats. There will be shrieks all around as everyone scurries to run away from the bats, which most certainly are of the vampire variety. Bats are quicker than kids, and so the terror will last at least long enough for you to grow tired of it. No one will get bats tangled in their hair or get their blood sucked dry - this time.

Wenzel’s woodchuck will appear at the edge of the tall marsh grass that borders the property to strike terror in everyone, especially Ed. Ed says the woodchuck is rabid and is about to attack everyone. Everyone will shriek in response but not run away. You tell Ed there is nothing to fear and that he is a coward, and you will then run after the woodchuck. The woodchuck will scurry into the tall grass and you will stop at the edge looking anxiously to see if you can spot the animal inside the thicket. Ed will now accuse you of being a coward for not going in after the woodchuck. You will tell Ed how dumb an idea that would be and will point to the saw grass, call it poison ivy, and say you are smart enough to know better than to get an infectious rash from poison ivy in pursuit of a dumb old rabid woodchuck.

Wenzel will save the best for last. Fireflies will be released and will now be everywhere, scattered in flight throughout the yard. These are tiny little flying gnat airplanes that have their own navigational beacon, just like the big guys. You count two-thousand-seventy-eleven blinking firefly beacons in the yard on just this side of the house, which is thirteen more than Ed counted.

You will chase these bugs around the yard, trying to catch up with them at the precise moment they illuminate their blue-green-white beacon, either in mid-air or as they alight in the lilac bushes. These are the most interesting creatures in Wenzel’s menagerie by a long shot! The mason jars are reintroduced, and you will claim one for your very own. You will then take off running through the yard flush with excitement, like Thomas Edison on the verge of inventing the light bulb.

Wenzel will now pass out a few actual flashlights, and you will each take turns holding them at your chins so the light shines up to cast shadows and illuminate different features on your face. The effect is ghastly and comical all at the same time, and you will laugh at one another as everyone takes turns making faces.

With darkness upon you, the “no disturb rule” is suspended and everyone will join the adults at the picnic table. Sparklers are passed around, and you will be careful to make certain that yours has more silver stuff on it than Ed’s so that yours will burn brighter and longer. Everyone takes turns getting his or her sparkler lit. When it is your turn, you will perform like a musical conductor waving the wand that marks in air the circles and the squares and the figure-eights that are required to be John Philip Souza. The sparkler will burn out before you complete the rousing Fourth of July March that is played out in your imagination.

Fireworks are next on the agenda. Blankets will be placed on the ground carefully to permit an unobstructed view of the sky over the park that lays across the lake. As you take your spot, the first flash of brilliant white light appears over the park, followed milliseconds later by a loud “BOOM!” that is felt as surely as it is heard. Everyone now scurries into position to watch intently, for notice has thusly been served that the fireworks are about to begin.

The first starburst of color in the sky glows red, and it is accompanied by a small explosion. It will generate a loud chorus of “ooo’s” and “ahhhh’s” from everyone on the blankets. Then there’s a blue one, followed by a red-white-and-blue burst of color. Occasionally, another white-flash-and-boom explosion interrupts the rather sedate progression of non-violent sky painting that is going on, one brush stroke at a time. Ed and you will both know that you like these boomers the best.

There is a delay in the action as the top of the tree line across the lake begins to glow. You know that a ground display is being offered to the people in attendance at the park, and will wait patiently for the show to resume.

You sit quietly now, trying to get the rhythm of the show. As the fireworks resume, you are now able to make out the soft “whump!” sound as the rocket is launched. You then follow the trajectory of the missile as it travels upwards and guess at which point in the sky it will explode. As the show progresses, you will even be able to determine if it will be a large or small burst of color based upon the sound of the initial “whump!” at launch and the speed of the trajectory. And you will of course know the signature sound and travel of the ones about to thrill you with their brilliant flash of white light and their “BOOM!”

The show will become boring, just one singular starburst followed by another with barely enough boomers thrown in to hold your attention. There won’t even be any “oooos” and “ahhhhs” after each one, anymore. It will be okay. You will know that disaster is about to strike. It happens every year. Perhaps it’s a careless smoker who drops an ash into the box of fireworks. Or maybe the guys lighting them off become as bored as you are and simply toss a lit book of matches into the box. Whatever the reason, at some point in the show all the remaining fireworks always get lit at the same time, and the skies erupt in colors and explosions and smoke and sound and fire and fury for what seems like an eternity!

And then it’s over.

You lay back on your blanket. Millions of stars float overhead. There, in the restive quiet, the stars work their magic and pull you skyward into a three-dimensional embrace. You see wispy clouds, yet there are no clouds in the sky. Instead, you have discovered the Milky Way and see for yourself how it is made up of fine diamond dust that obscures the black universe that lays behind it.