When my grandpa, Iris Harmon, was a boy in the 1920s, he lived in a rural community in northwestern North Carolina. Life for him and his brothers and other boys like them in that neck of the woods pretty much consisted of helping on their family farms, but whenever they had the chance, they looked for ways to have fun.

One outlet was baseball, but because weekdays were workdays, their games had to wait until Saturdays. That never seemed enough, so in order to be able to practice throughout the week, they came together and helped hoe each other’s corn. Fortunately, that chore would not have to be repeated for another three weeks, and the extra time was theirs to spend as they wished.

Swimming was another recreational diversion from farm life. The Harmon brothers dammed up a portion of a large creek near their home to make a pond to play in. After staying there a while, they moved downstream and found a better place. A little later, they moved again until they found another choice spot. Practicing in these various manmade ponds, they laid on their bellies and supplemented their buoyancy with long boards that kept them from sinking. They paddled around until they were comfortable trying on their own, and by the time they reached the river, they were pretty good swimmers. 

At one point in time, the Harmon brothers got heavily involved with building themselves wooden bicycles. Resources were scarce, so they used the same nails over and over again until a head formed on each end. Their associates, who were neighbor boys from down the road, stole their daddy’s axle grease in order to keep their bikes lubricated, and they ultimately stole the collar pads that he used around his horses’ necks and cut them up to make seats so their bikes wouldn’t ride so rough. The boys pushed their bikes uphill and coasted back down. With no brakes, the only ways to stop them were to run them into a bank or, like Fred Flintstone, put their feet to the ground. 

Hunting was also a favorite activity, and the Harmon boys always kept a good rabbit dog. Iris’s cousin had two dogs, one of which was a well-trained, black-spotted hound that was about five years old and named “Gunner.” One night, as his cousin prepared to embark on a hunting excursion, Iris took a shine to Gunner and wanted to buy him. His cousin wouldn’t take less than fifteen dollars because he was such a good dog and would run anything. If you wanted to hunt rabbits in the daytime, Gunner would hunt rabbits. If you wanted to hunt for groundhogs, he would hunt groundhogs and never bother a rabbit. And at night, he couldn’t be beat for possums and polecats. After making the sale to Iris, his cousin said he may as well head home because Gunner was gone and his other dog wasn’t worth a dime. 

These are just some of the ways that my grandpa and other young men from his time and place – long before TV and Xbox – entertained themselves. These fellows were, by no means, monetarily wealthy, but they were rich in companionship, imagination, and innovation. And when these converged, good times followed.

So, here’s to these country boys and their pastimes, from swimming holes to hound dogs!