It happened this way.
It’s been a busy couple of years for us, Brenda and me. We
aren’t the neatest people in the world for starters. In addition, we both
suffer from Tentyseconditus. For those
who don’t know, that’s a medical syndrome whereby one can pick up a strange
item, one that he or she doesn’t remember acquiring, one that he or she has no
idea what it could possible be used for, one that he or she cannot remember having
seen before, … but … after staring at it for 20 seconds can imagine a tres charming use that it might be put
to, rendering it worthy of saving.
A year ago, there were maybe 15 piles of such items
scattered at various sites near the entrance to our farm. Any discussion of
removal of the slightest item, no matter how rusted, bent, corroded, or absent
major parts, instigated an argument the likes of which haven’t seen since Helen
fled to Troy with Paris. Several new words have been added to Webster’s Unauthorized Dictionary of
Profanity as a result of these discussions. So, the piles remained in place.
Grass and weeks grew up around and within the piles. A bittersweet
pecan tree arose from one. Poke sallet soared above others. The piles lay
undisturbed and developed a someone mocking demeanor. We simply mowed around
them as best we could and discouraged visitors.
Then the snake showed up. Our dogs announced the fact by
circling it and emitting, in seven-part harmony, their “snake-bark.” The snake
itself stayed calm, coiled and daring a canine entry into the strike-zone. Its
tail quivered that message which, translated from the original Rattlesnake,
means, roughly, “Don’t **** with me.”
Then La Jefa, “The Boss” appeared, shocked at such a saucy
intrusion into her yard space. The dogs parted in deference to the higher authority.
The snake made the mistake of turning its narrow eyes toward her. Then it went
to see Jesus, suffering an expiration from more or less natural causes.
Next, a search began for a site of origin. There were at
least five piles of unclassified junk, covered by weeds and grass, that could
have accounted for this herpetological nightmare.
May I proudly state that almost all the piles of trash and
weeds have now been removed? A multitude of trash bags, containing the objects du hoarding, now await transportation
to the county dump. Tired, sore, but proud muscles stand ready for the task.
Oh, we didn’t get away scot-free. We did retain something that looks like part
of an old music stand. You just never know. Also, there is a twisted object that
might be one of those tools country women once used to lift hot jars from pots.
“I might start canning again,” was all she said. I knew to keep my mouth shut.
The lesson? sometimes we don’t pay attention and our world
gets clogged and profaned with piles of trash. They fester and grow if not
stopped. They attract more vermin if we don’t stand up to the task. Sometimes we feel it is just too great and we
don’t have enough support to get the job done. We argue amongst ourselves as to
the best course of action. We suffer malaise. We long for a cleansing motivator.
All it takes is a rattlesnake.
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| Make America Beautiful Again |
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