My neighbors were a shoe-in

By Rebecca Lindquist

When I was a junior in high school, my family moved to Thorp. The house we moved into was an old renovated cheese factory. The upstairs was a cozy, threebedroom, one-bath, living quarters, with a lovely kitchen, spacious dining room and a sizable living room.

The downstairs held a particular fascination for me. There was a front room that was once used for retail sales and an office, and the back portion resembled a huge garage. There were tall double doors large enough to accommodate trucks backing in to unload milk cans for processing.

A roller gravity conveyor lined one side of the building, spanning the entire length of the room, for easier maneuvering of the heavy milk-laden cans. We used the front room as a place to go when friends came over. It was the perfect place to hang out and play cribbage, board games or cards, while listening to music.

Next door, was a family who farmed, by the name of Ciolkosz, who had 10 children. They always seemed like they were having so much fun. Coming from a family of three, it was fascinating to watch them. Nowadays, I believe the term is stalking, but back then, it was just a neighborly curiosity.

Shortly after we took up residence, Dad was mowing the lawn. There was a large open area in the front yard, so he lowered the mower deck to its lowest setting, found a length of rope and using it as a guide, started mowing in a circle.

In the meantime, three or four of the Ciolkosz clan were peering out of various openings of their barn, intrigued by the “goings on” of the new weird neighbors at the bottom of the hill.

From the snatches of conversation we overheard, they were completely baffled as to why Dad kept mowing in a circle. After he finished mowing, he grabbed a shovel and proceded to dig a small shallow hole, into which he dropped a small, empty soup can. The final touch, and piece de resistance, was placing an old bicycle flag (the kind atop a tall fiberglass pole), inside the soup can.

Dad had made us a one-hole golf course.

He had recently attended a Surf and Turf meeting for work (loosely translated: a day of fishing and golfing), and had come across a putter that some frustrated golfer had thrown into a pond. Dad enjoyed golfing, but didn’t own his own set of golf clubs, so he eagerly rescued the club and continued on his way.

Farther along the course, he found another club, a driving wedge. (Possibly from the same irate person?) Dad was slightly disappointed he didn’t find any additional discarded treasures before reaching the 18th-hole.

That one-hole golf course was the beginning of a beautiful friendship. A couple of the kids worked up enough courage to wander over and check out our course, as we all took turns putting. From that moment on, there was a permanent, well-trodden path through the cattails, between the edge of our yard and the Ciolkoszs’ barn.

One day, my sister, Bethie, and I were sitting, talking to Mom, while she worked in the yard. Judy, Mary, Tammy, David, Billy and Cindy Ciolkosz, saw us and came over to visit.

We were all sitting in a circle talking and one of the kids noticed I had a hole in the toe of one of my tennis shoes. I jokingly said, whoever has a shoe with a hole in it, should toss it into the middle of the circle. It was just something silly, but sent us into gales of laughter, as each of us had at least one bad shoe to contribute to the pile.

I, and a couple other kids, had both shoes that made in it. They thought it was especially hilarious, when Mom walked over and threw one of her tennis shoes in the circle, too.

We were from an era, where you never threw anything away, until there was absolutely nothing left of an item and it was completely threadbare.

I wish kids today, could grow up enjoying the pleasures of a simpler time, where you made up your own fun and found numerous ways to entertain yourself. I can’t remember a time I was ever bored and definitely not when I lived by such engaging, spirited, hilarious neighbors.

I still smile when one of my shoes gets a blowout in the toe area. Who would think that that would bring such happiness?

Thanks, Ciolkosz brood, for the great memories.