Field of Weeds

Field of Weeds

by Katharine Weeks Folkes

“Home Run” Harry wasn’t getting any younger, and he resented the fact that most people, even some of his own relatives, had forgotten what a great baseball player he’d been in his prime. He waited a few years, but still, nobody suggested that a statue be made of him or named a hospital or school after him. Nothing. Not even a new, ice cream flavor. He decided if they wouldn’t do something to remind folks of his glory days, he’d do it himself. And it’d be top notch, too. He had the funds to do it with, by golly.

And that was because his great aunt Bessie, bless her, left her large estate to him. Now, he was going around grinning like an idiot.

The inheritance afforded Harry the ability to make his dream come true. He bought a large piece of property outside of town, where a baseball diamond would fit, no problem, along with bleachers, parking lot, the works, and the town’s men could get together and form a team if they wanted to, and he’d be coach. Addendum: he’d coach and also play. He could just hear the calls and chatter going on, games every weekend during the season, and the fans yelling encouragement. What a blast it would be!

His wife, Mabel Anne, an easy going, amiable soul, waited until Harry sat down at the supper table one night, and said, “Harry, I haven’t said a word about this thing….” Harry cleared his throat, and raised an eyebrow. “Well, not much, anyhow,” she continued, “but now I’ve got a proposition for ya. You’ve worked hard on this project, I know, and I want you to have fun and enjoy it; but on the weekends when all the people come to see the games, I wanta be gone, with some girl friends somewhere. I’ll be glad to help feed your workers if you’d like me to, and I’ll hire the help to clean the outdoor bathrooms I’m assumin’ you’re going to have for them;” her turn for raised eyebrow. “And as far as food for you goes, while I’m gone, I’ll even leave meals that just need heatin’ up, in the fridge, unless you plan to go out with the guys. Now, you got anything you wanta say about that?”

Harry was guiltily thinking that he hadn’t really given his wife a thought when planning his project. After all, it was a guy thing, which suddenly got him wondering if…. “We-ll, what have you gals got planned?”

Mabel Anne stared at him a minute, and burst out laughing. She laughed so hard she got the hiccups. When she finally calmed down, she wiped her eyes and said. “Sweetheart, if you think we’re just achin’ to look at a bunch of nekkid men, I’m perfectly happy with my nekkid man at home, thank you very much.”

Harry gave her a big smooch on the cheek and said, “Thank ya, Darlin, but I’m still askin.” “

Well for Pete’s sake, Harry; here’s what I’ll be doing, at least for a while. You remember how bad your friend Fred Schubach’s wife beat me at bowling that time the four of us went?”

Harry laughed. “How could I forget. She named you “Gutter Ball.” “Y

"Yeah, well she’s gonna get a surprise next time we go ‘cause I’m taking lessons, and I’m gonna whip her behind!”

"Atta girl!” Harry said, still chuckling. “Lemme know when you’re ready!”

Harry was happy. He felt so good driving into town to get supplies, he was actually whistling, which he hadn’t felt like doing in years. Happy is a good feeling, he thought. He decided to be happy more often. Yes, indeed.

He spread the word all over town of his upcoming endeavor, which, unfortunately, was received with luke-warm enthusiasm. Didn’t faze him, though. Wait ‘til they saw how neat his “Field of Weeds” was going to be! Field of Weeds. He liked that name! It sounded like an earthy, small town success story in the making, and who knew? It just might be. But, it had a long way to go to becoming real.

He started out thinking maybe he would invite some old baseball players who used to play professionally to come play, and initiate it. Wouldn’t that be a kick! He could rent all the rooms at Miss Maudie’s Motel, down the street, for them to stay in, and advertise it in a major city in every state. However, he only heard back from two of the old timers, and in that short length of time, one of them died, and the other was in Hospice, so, that idea was out.

Harry needed 26 players for an active roster, so he called for a town Hall meeting to see how many guys were interested. Turned out there were possibly 20 who were good players and were delighted that there was to be a team. He signed them up, and asked for their help in finding more.

Roscoe Peterson owned the local hardware store and was a friend of Harry’s, though not particularly prone to remember him as being a baseball great. However, business was business and he was glad to be a part of a big project. “Howdy, there, Harry! Long time no see. What’cha needin’ today?”

Harry thought he’d play with Roscoe a bit before he bought anything. “Hi, yourself,” he said. “I want a billboard announcing a coming attraction.”

Roscoe didn’t bat an eye. “Just so happens, I know just the crew who can build one for you. When you want it?”

Harry laughed. “Just pulling your chain, buddy. I can get my own, but I do need to find a tractor.”

“For your field of weeds, I reckon,” Roscoe said, grinning. “I know one that’ll be just the ticket. Lemme get my catalogue.”

“And I’ll need one of them water sprayers to hitch up behind it, and a rake attachment. And pads for the bases, and lemme see, what else?”

Roscoe grinned. “How about some bats, balls and gloves.”

“Of course. I was startin out with the big stuff first.”

Leaving Roscoe’s Hardware, Harry hurried home to plan. He needed the measurements for his diamond. He wanted it to be the same size as the pro’s. He Googled the dimensions. “A regular (professional/adult) baseball diamond features 90-foot baselines, creating a 90-foot square, with a 60-foot 6-inch pitching distance from the back tip of home plate. The diamond diagonal from home to second base is…” and so on. “This is gonna be so great,” he repeated, every few minutes.

Harry thought about the property around the baseball diamond. He really loved the way the people in the movie, Field of Dreams, entered the diamond area by bursting through the corn stalks. Though he didn’t have corn stalks, he did have weeds and bushes, some that had grown pretty high, too. So, he cut a path from three areas in the parking lot, which was accessed by a county road, where the weeds and bushes were the tallest, to the diamond area. Some of the bushes had these fuzzy things that stuck to clothes, and some had thorns. So, the people who’d kind of poo-pooed his playing ability might get theirs back if they weren’t careful.

As the weeks and months went by, everything was coming together and Harry was right. It was great! At night, he’d get his ball thrower set up, and practice hitting because he was going to play, too, by golly, and he was going to get his smooth swing back again. Only problem was they still didn’t have enough players.

One day, one of the fathers in the group stopped Harry. “You know something you might consider,” he said. “There are some teenage boys on school teams, who are pretty dern good who are dying to play. Why don’t you get them to play the men, and then on alternate weekends, other school teams, before the men play, or something.”

Harry thought that was a pretty good idea, and thanked the guy. As the days and weeks went by, he went around to the local high schools and recruited. Now he had two teams to coach. He’d gotten in deeper than he’d intended, but it turned out to be easier than he first thought because of the eagerness and availability of both groups to play, plus the quickness of the youngsters.

They were all getting excited! It was getting close to the start of the season, and each team had been thinking up names. The high schoolers were hysterical with funny suggestions. After many crazy suggestions, they finally agreed on “The Weed Eaters.” Their jerseys would have a picture of a boy chewing on a weed. The men, not to be outdone, and who actually had band aids on their arms from coming through the thorny bushes in the paths from the parking lot, first, issued an ultimatum to Harry: make the paths wider, and cut back the thorny branches! Then they announced the name they decided on, “The Thorn Birds.”

Their wives wanted to sew some band aids on the sleeves of their jerseys, but the husbands nixed that. They did, however, have a picture of the fierce looking, yellow-eyed Thorn bird emblazoned on their jerseys. It was tres cool, actually.

Finally, the diamond was finished. “It’s a beaut, all right,” Harry said, with pride. All that was needed was for the electricians to double check the lights. Harry walked in the grass around the bases, so he wouldn’t leave footprints in the infield dirt. He went over his list in his mind. He’d talked to the TV and radio stations about the new local team, at the Field of Weeds. Hopefully they would get some good coverage.

The Thorn Birds started off playing local church teams. One church had a new, young pastor who had a line drive to die for. In fact they found out his nickname was “Liner.” They tried to lure him to their team. He smiled and said, “Forgive them, Father, maybe they’ll win next time.”

But the funniest games were when the Thorn Birds played the Weed Eaters. Not only did the parents and relatives of the youngsters come in droves, but their girl friends and their friends. There was lots of squealing. Some of the boys were really good, and they looked up to the men who were good players, and learned to read the signals that went back and forth from pitcher to catcher. So, it was inevitable that the Weed Eaters, their young minds always churning away and coming up with something, made up their own crazy signals that really kept the older guys not only guessing, but laughing.

The first summer, during which other new teams, might have been stressed to a degree, was total fun for these two teams. They played hard against the other teams on their schedule, but when they played each other, it was a blast.

Then, one day, a Weed Eater told the guys about a friend of his who had been a real athlete and had gotten some awful disease and was in a wheelchair. And that evolved into more boys with friends and/or cousins with different debilitating illnesses, all of whom were previous athletes. They went to talk to Harry at his house, one afternoon, about their idea. It just so happened that Mabel Anne was home, too, and like all women with a lick of sense, she listened in.

The big question was how could these kids participate in a game? They discussed maybe having a wheelchair race instead, but fortunately Mabel Anne, who happened to bring in cookies at just the right time, said, “Boys, first of all, get your friends to think up a name for their team, so they can get their jerseys ready for the game.

The day of the game, they line up in front of the dugout wearing their shirt that has the number of their player partner. When their player partner is up at bat and hit’s a good one, the wheelchair kid is ready, and wheels as fast as he can, behind the player, to first base. The outfielder isn’t quite as fast throwing the ball, etc. There are no “outs!” unless the kid somehow, doesn’t make it to the bases. “Neat!” the kids said.

Harry mumbled something about the wheels wreaking havoc with the infield dirt, but Mabel Anne gave him a look.

When the wheelchair kids came for a practice game, they already had their name and number put on their jerseys and were raring to go. It was a rather long name but it got a laugh from the players. There was a picture of a wheelchair and under it, “The Wheeler Base Stealers.” And they meant it, too. If their partner stole a base the “wheeler” was right behind him. Coach Harry, who was strictly coaching by then, was really impressed by their ability to move so fast in the wheelchairs.

As the years went by, the Weed Eaters went to college or moved away with jobs, or whatever; the Thorn Birds got older and recruited their grandkids, nieces, and nephews. The girls had to be really good, and some of them were. In fact, those youngsters, boys and girls tried out and formed a team, and named themselves, “Super Weeds.” They played teams from surrounding towns and made the Thorn Birds, and Coach Harry, proud.

Harry’s Field of Weeds baseball games were so popular, several Pro baseball players helped sponsor them financially and kept the team going. They even had National TV coverage. Harry and Mabel Anne loved watching the games, and were usually seen in the bleachers holding one of the female player’s kids. Their favorite was a scrappy little boy they nicknamed “Weedster,” who, by the way, wound up, many years later, as coach of the still famous Field of Weeds baseball team.

If Harry didn’t actually get anything named after him, per se, he was, for sure, remembered for his teams and his field, and mostly for the fun.