Imaginations are wonderful things, especially to children.  With an imagination, a kid can be anything and go anywhere.  The sky's the limit.  Multiply a kid's imagination by nine and things start happening.

The Kerns kids' imaginations were colored by their surroundings.  They were farm kids.  They were farm kids brought up without the impediments of a TV.  They had little knowledge of the superheroes their friends idolized, and knew nothing of war games, sports heroes, movie stars, romances, and the way TV producers program us to think.  They were free agents in the thinking department, and exercised that right to the fullest.

"Wild Calf" was their game of choice on days when weather necessitated inside activities.  Cushions were removed from the chairs and couches, and stood on edge to make calf pens.  The living room was instantly transformed into a very serviceable barnyard.  "Wouldn't it be neat to have straw in here instead of carpet?" one was heard to say to his enthusiastic companions.

The wild calf was generally the biggest boy playing the game.  Nathan and Matt were big proponents of "Wild Calf."  They liked the feeling of power which being an unmanageable wild calf gave them.  They always picked their smallest siblings to be the farmers, and then proceeded to maul them.

The farmers' task was to capture, corral, brand and vaccinate the recalcitrant calf.  None of those jobs was easy.  The wild calf took off on all fours to some far distant end of the house at first sight of a farmer.  Armed with ropes, the farmers cornered the calf in a bedroom.  The calf, being wild, was not about to allow itself to be quietly roped.  It put up a terrible fight butting, rearing, bawling, and running over farmers in its efforts to escape capture.

Charging through the line of farmers, trampling a little one in its efforts to escape, the calf galloped off to another bedroom.  The little farmer, realizing the dangers involved in the cattle business, wisely decided that she was too scared to enter any pasture containing the wild calf.  She got up on a piece of furniture until the roundup showed signs of success.

Eventually the calf was roped and drug to the corral.  All that was left now was to brand, vaccinate, feed, and tame it.  The calf, of course, resisted all of these efforts.  More than one corral was broken down by the wild thrashings of a calf about to be branded.  Often it had to be tranquilized after its third capture in order to complete the branding ritual.

The branding iron was Margie's potato masher.  More than one meal was served with unmashed potatoes simply because the branding iron could not be located come mealtime.

Two ladies came calling on Margie one day during a game of "Wild Calf."  Margie had been busy in a back bedroom and had not heard them drive up.  The farmers and calf had not heard, either, being too absorbed in their game.

Normally when company arrives unannounced, a warning goes through the house:  "Somebody's here!"

This announcement is followed by an order:  "Quick, everybody straighten up the living room!"

Thus in the time that the callers take to get out of their cars and walk to the front door, the living room has a wand waved over it magically transforming it from barnlot to an orderly front room fit to receive company.

On this particular occasion, however, the callers were at the door before their presence was detected.  There was no time for subterfuge.  They were invited into the barnlot.

Following explanations, one lady remarked wonderingly, "It would never occur to my kids to take the cushions off the furniture."

"What do your kids play?" Margie asked the chiropractor's wife.

"They adjust backs" she replied.

Another memorable embarrassment occurred one Monday morning as Margie was preparing to bake bread.  The wheat grinder was going.  We had purchased it cheaply from a lady who had wanted to sell it because its loudness upset her little girl.

To make maximum use of her time, Margie was cleaning and defrosting the refrigerator while waiting for the wheat to finish grinding.  The refrigerator was empty, and every counter was stacked high with its contents.  With her attention diverted by the refrigerator, the wheat grinder vibrated its flour drawer part way open.  When Margie looked up, the kitchen was enveloped in a cloud of flour dust.

Meanwhile in the living room a lively game of coyote was being acted out.  For reasons that can only be comprehended by juvenile minds, two laundry baskets of dirty clothes had been drafted to serve as coyote dens.  They were full from Saturday night baths and bed changes, and had been hauled from the laundry room to do their duty in the coyote arena.  Both had been spilled by over-active coyote pups.

That was the moment the quiet, sophisticated couple from the South appeared at the door.  The wheat grinder had masked the sound of their arrival.

It's difficult to say which was the more embarrassed, Margie or her guests.  Explanations seemed futile, so Margie tried to act as graceful as she could under the circumstances.  The southern couple, in turn, chose to act as if visiting dusty coyote dens was a routine matter.  They stayed until lunchtime when Margie felt duty-bound to offer them sandwiches.

They politely declined.

Bulls, alligators and evil lions are other denizens that periodically inhabit our home.

The bull game was a timed race that Aaron, Adam and Danny engaged in.  The bull waited on all fours at the doorway leading from the living room to the hall.  A farmer stood in the middle of the room.  The third boy held a stopwatch.

At the word "go," the stopwatch was started and the bull charged into the room heading for the fireplace.  The farmer bulldogged the charging bovine to delay or prevent it from touching the hearth, at which time the stopwatch was stopped.  The bull with the best time won.

"Alligator" was a game handed down from previous generations.  I learned it from my father who was the alligator inhabiting the water represented by the living room floor.  Furniture was dry land.  The object was for innocent children to dash from island to island without being caught by the alligator.  It was terribly exciting.  Adrenalin flowed freely as near misses left children trembling on their islands of safety.  Adrenalin flowed more freely when the alligator successfully snagged a victim and helped himself to bites of necks and tummies.

"Evil lion" was a spinoff of the alligator game.  The evil lion stalked his lair looking for prey.  Matt was the inventor—and the lion—and a fearsome lion he was.  Only the stoutest hearts dared risk falling prey to such a wicked cat.