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For miles, nothing came remotely close that rivaled her attraction.
No one ever told us, but she looked like some kind of smoke stack,        
utilized for burning debris or unwanted materials from the large farm.

We were just poor kids growing up on a large farm, underprivileged and
overworked. If there were child labor laws back then, no one told us.
Perhaps they did not apply to us or maybe no one cared to abide. We were
underserved without playground equipment or even playgrounds for playing sports. Rather than complain about not having a swimming pool, we found creeks and jumped in. The angels must have watched over us, because no one told us about pollution. This is not meant to be a sad poor me story. It's simply a childhood memory, and that tall tower was a great part of that memory. In one sense, she symbolized a place where we took our painful experiences and buried them, a place where we took our bitter lemons, made sweet lemonade and drank to our heart's desire.
			      
Anyway, she was a place of play and fun, and we cared not what she used to be. She stood strong as a high towering giant among midgets-human and other wise. As kids, we never heard nor were ever interested in the 'why or how' of things. We only knew that her services were not only curtailed but totally abandoned.

High up about midway were the imprinted words, 'The Orange Crust' which we came to suspect such was an ad for the 'soft drink'. But really, what was that to us? She did not look the part, but for us, she was a play-station, a get-away, a hide-away. One of our favorite things to do was to yell, holler, and shout at the top of our voices. We only played by day and departed by nightfall. Our little farming community got real dark at night and darker still inside the tower. We had no interest in heroes. Our 'pay-dirt' were the echoes.
                              
072820PS
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