Memories of the Harris Hill Boys

Some kids are more fortunate than others. I can’t help but feel a tiny bit sorrowful for those youngsters who were raised in urban settings where concrete, police and fire sirens, heavy traffic were a part of life. I was blessed to be reared out on the rural route, alongside a gravel road where the half dozen cars traversing the old road daily would stir up either dust or mud, depending on weather conditions.
I read about city kids who have their milk delivered by the milkman and who know to head back home when street lights came on. We got our milk from our milk cow that our mom was glad to turn over milking duties to us kids when we got big enough. Street lights? We didn’t have street lights growing up because for the first few years, we didn’t have electricity.
We had kinfolk like grandparents, aunts, uncles and cousins who lived on the same hill we did. Because there were so many of us there, the hill was called “Harris Hill”.
I had a brother, Tom, who was two years younger than me. Living over on another part of Harris Hill were our two cousins, Doug, a year younger than me and Sambo, a year younger than Tom. It was special to have a brother to do stuff with but it was extra special when Doug and Sambo were added to the mix. It was like instead of cousins, we were more like brothers. Some folks called the four of us the Harris Hill Boys.

Thinking back the four of us enjoyed special times together although we didn’t necessarily think we were special because all the kids we knew grew up just as we did.
We had a couple of water sources that attracted our attention when it was warm enough to swim. We usually started our swimming earlier than our moms thought we should. That’s why we’d sneak off to the Tank Pond or Molideaux creek without asking for permission; we just did it and didn’t tell anybody.
Our growing up years together were extra special to us but with the passage of time, we grew up and went our separate ways. I graduated from college and became a teacher and social worker and eventually an outdoor writer. Doug graduated and became involved in the oil and gas industry. Tom got his degree in forestry and for years, worked as a forester. College wasn’t in Sambo’s plans so he joined the Marines and after serving his time, worked as a logger.
One day, Doug, who owned property which included a fine fish pond, got in touch with the other three of us and suggested that rather than us just rely on memories, how about we get together on his pond, catch fish and catch up with all we had done since we grew up and scattered. We jumped at the idea and on June 19, 2007, the four of us met at his pond for the first annual Cousin Fish Fest. For the next 15 years, it became an annual event for us that we looked forward to each spring.
We were all growing older and with age comes infirmities. Tom was the first to leave us as on April 30, 2015, he passed away. Doug, Sambo and I continued our annual Fish Fest until 2022 when Doug began having health problems that curtailed our gatherings and on January 6, 2023, Sambo and I were there to honor Doug at his funeral.
That left only two of us left, Sambo and me and last week, a heart attack ended Sambo’s life. He died on September 11, 2024.
That leaves only me to keep the memories of the Harris Hill Boys alive and so long as the Lord keeps me upright, I’ll hang onto those special memories of four country boys who spent their growing up years living a special country life.