My first experiences playing Pokémon Go occurred in the late
1950s when we ran free on our Midwest farm. The only screen we accessed was the
swinging door that banged shut behind us on a summer day as we charged out to
search for creatures—some virtual, some frighteningly real.
Our own form of “drowzees” and
“zubats” hid in the high grass along the creek, but they slithered and jumped—as
snakes and frogs do. The “krabbies” in the backwater had actual pinching claws,
and we called these small crab-like creatures “crawdaddies.” They made good fishing bait. Ground squirrels,
muskrats, bullhead fish—the creatures we searched for were not as cute or
animated as the Pokémon menagerie,
but we had plenty of enthusiasm during these childhood quests.
At times I would go it alone
and build a virtual world, but I was not copying Pokémon’s Ash Ketchum. I was the Lone Ranger or Davy Crockett—and
yes, we did own masked-man badges and coonskin caps back then. At least these
accessories did not need to be recharged at regular intervals.
Usually my siblings and I
joined cousins who lived on the neighboring farm, and the outdoor environment
provided its own “lure beacons”—haymows containing nesting pigeons and occasional
litters of newborn kittens; shady groves filled with fleeting squirrels and low-hanging limbs to climb; and pastures lined with worn cow paths and meandering
streams.
Today’s Pokémon Go might have security
issues, but dangers awaited us also. Bees, wasps, and thistles had a real bite
to them. Red-winged blackbirds (the original “angry birds”) protected their
nests by dive bombing us, and we always gave skunks a wide berth. You could “swipe”
all day after getting sprayed by them, and you’d never dodge the stink.
Our ultimate “Poke Stop” came
on days when we hiked farther downstream—past Crow Hill, through neighboring
fields, and to the beaver dam area. Occasionally we’d hear tails slap on water
or see the creatures leave a wake across the still surface behind the dam.
Usually we just examined their construction techniques and wondered at the
type of front teeth needed to gnaw down small trees.
As we grew older, we “leveled
up” and changed more to team play. We didn’t battle “gym leaders” but instead chose
sides for baseball, football, or steal-the-flag. And we didn’t gain “badges.” We
were content to outscore or outrun a cousin or brother. The competition might
be called on account of fights, chores, or darkness—but we never had to pay for
upgrades, and our batteries always seemed charged.
Most of our farm-kid Pokémon Go activities ended as we
became adults, but old photos and nostalgic flashbacks can take me back to those
free-range days. I've conveniently forgotten about poison ivy, severe sunburn, or
being shoved into the creek by a feisty cousin. Anyway, I guess that’s better
than walking into a creek while staring in a stupor at a “smart” phone screen.
by dan gogerty (images from celestelaurent.com and rxflyfishing.com)