Cleanup Day 2018

          This week has passed, slipping by one day at a time, and left me wondering, what in the world am I gonna write about this week?

          If you don't take note of the things happening around you, when you look back you won't remember a thing. I used to keep notes. I'd write down a simple note about a potential story and sometimes, by the end of the week, I had no clue what my note was referring to. These days I rely solely on pictures to jog my memory and I have to tell you, when I downloaded my camera, I realized I had a lot more to talk about than I thought I did! Shall we get to it?

          Saturday a week ago was our Moxie Church Spring Roadside Cleanup. Tracy, our church secretary, does a fabulous job organizing this every year. She has a cart full of gloves, safety-orange vests, aprons (if you want one), and trash bags ready to go. And Tracy drew a map — the whole route we are responsible to pick up. She used different color ink to divide the road into sections with arrows indicating the best way to travel. Just go in, get your stuff, and head out. This little beauty, holding the route map, is one of Pastor Mike's daughters.

          My team consisted of (left to right) Elisabeth, Karis, and my best girl Joanie.

          Last year when we did roadside cleanup it was almost two weeks later in the year than this year and some of the wildflowers were blooming. I didn't find any wildflowers this year but I saw this little guy when I reached down for a piece of litter and he took off. "Snake!" I exclaimed. I was startled but not scared.

          "Where?!" Elisabeth asked and came on the run. "Where is he? I want to pick him up."

          "There he goes right there," I pointed and she took off after him.

          "Get a picture of our little snake girl," Joanie said.

          I was a little slow and didn't get a picture until Elisabeth gave up and turned around to head back out of the weeds.

          "If anybody else sees a snake, let me know," she requested of us.

          The morning started cool and it had rained overnight but the sun was shining and us girls had a gabfest as we walked the roadside picking up trash.

          "I don't know why people throw garbage out of their cars," Joanie commented. That's something I've often wondered.

          It wasn't long until Joanie made her find of the day. She found a spoon and a wad of aluminum foil. "I know what these were used this for."

          "What?"

          "Drugs. I've seen plenty of this stuff." It's not what you think. Joanie works in the probation department at the courthouse.

          The deer skulls that were there last year were still in the same place this year.

          I picked this one up and set it on a fallen tree.

          There was even a road-kill deer skeleton in the drainage ditch beside the road. We gave it wide berth.

          Elisabeth spotted the next snake on a rock beside the road. "Is it dead?" she asked. "It's not moving."

          "I think it's just sunning itself," Karis answered.

          Elisabeth reached down and as soon as she touched it, he took off, too quick for her to pick him up.

          I found a beer bottle with a plant growing out the neck of it.

          Bloom where you're planted, came to my mind and I snapped a picture.

          We walked and we talked, leap-frogging our way down the road. Sometimes Joanie and I were in the lead...

...sometimes it was Karis and Elisabeth.

          I straddled the drainage ditch to pick a can out of the water and came back without my boot.

          "I'll get it for you," Joanie volunteered after we stopped laughing.

          "No, you'll get your sneakers wet," I told her.

          "I don't know why I didn't think to put my boots on," Joanie mused.

          "Probably cause you were running late."

          She laughed. Joanie's laughter is like a ray of sunshine on your heart. "Yeah, you're probably right."

          I was just glad she messaged me that morning and said she was going to participate in the roadside cleanup. I did sign up for it but I'd been working on my letter blog that morning and didn't want to stop writing. So Joanie's the only reason I didn't blow the day off.

          "I tend to get obsessive when I do things," I told her. "I'll start something and not want to quit until it's done."

          "I'm the same way," she confessed. "I'll get your boot for you."

          "No, you'll get your sneakers wet," I told her. About that time, Karis and Elisabeth were catching up with us.

          "What is it?" Elisabeth asked thinking we found something notable.

          "It's Peg's boot," Joanie told her.

          "I'll get it!" and she jumped right in and got my boot for me.

          A little later I found my treasure of the day, an old brass lamp.

          "You could upcycle that into something cool," Joanie said.

          "I'm not sure what, but I'm sure you could."

          "Maybe someone will pick it up," Karis mused.

          It was a cool old lamp but I didn't keep it because I had no idea what I'd do with it.

          Before we finished Elisabeth found her treasure. "It's a whole headlight!" and she did a Vanna White thing as she presented it to us. She didn't keep it either.

          I only know of eight people who helped with the roadside cleanup this year and we collected 30 bags plus some tires and a few bigger items too big for a bag.

          I've been feeding my kitchen scraps to the whistle-pig trying to find out what he likes and also in hopes that he'll be less afraid and easier to trap. So far I found out he doesn't like celery, cucumber or carrot peels. He does like apple cores and lettuce.

          Early in the week, Smudge went out when he saw the whistle-pig. After a few tense minutes of a standoff, Smudge flopped down on the warm concrete and watched while the whistle-pig went back to grazing.

          And Friday, oh-my-gosh! Friday Mike and I were standing at the kitchen sink when Mike spots my whistle-pig.

          "Peg! Get the gun!" he says.

          "NO! Don't shoot him!"

          "I don't see any trap out there."

          "I know. I don't have anything to camouflage it with right now. Besides, I'm getting him used to me so he'll be easier to trap."

          Long about that time I see Rascal. "Look! Rascal's gonna get him," and I pointed him out to Mike.
          "Yep," he says and we watch as Rascal skulks along.

          The whistle-pig saw Rascal but didn't seem to pay him any attention. He didn't bristle up, didn't turn to face him, so I thought he was going to make a break for it when Rascal got too close.

          But he didn't. He ignored Rascal and went back to grazing. When he didn't run Rascal laid down and watched him.

          The whistle-pig went on grazing and after a bit, Rascal crept closer. The whistle-pig didn't seem to care.

          "He's getting used to the cats," Mike said and wandered away.

          I watched for a little longer but it didn't seem like there was going to be any action in the yard today and I got on with whatever else I'd been doing at the time.

          The weather is much improved and as you might guess, we did some outside chores this past week.

          We have a dog kennel with a pet flap in it that gave our dogs access to the outside from the breezeway when we lived in the apartment — affectionately called The Shit Hole by my husband. Since we don't live in the apartment anymore, and we fenced in the yard over here, we didn't need the dog kennel, at least not for a kennel.

          "Mike can we move it around back where it'll be in the sun all the time," I asked. I did a little container gardening last year and the kennel worked well to keep the deer and other critters from eating my vegetables.

          The first thing we had to do was free it from the ground. That involved about an hour of weed pulling and chopping. Once it was free, Mike put the bucket of his tractor under the front of the kennel, hooked a chain on...

....and lifted it over the buckets and rocks that were housed inside. 

          Then he drug it around to the back...

... and we set it up on the concrete, in the full sun. We straightened the bars that were bent in the move and I'm as happy as a pig in poo.

          Once the kennel was relocated, we went to work cleaning up the old site. I'd been collecting rocks and laying them on the ground to keep the weeds down and all of those had to be picked up. We loaded them into the bucket of the tractor and Mike headed for the rock pile.

          "No!" I yelled. "I want them for outside my kitchen door!"

          Mike shut the tractor off so we could debate this. "Peg, it's not that easy. There's a lot of prep work involved. You have to make the ground even, put down a weed barrier and a few inches of sand before you can put the rocks in. I don't think my back can take that."

          "I'm not asking you to do it. Just dump them over the fence and I'll take care of them from there."

          "If you don't make them even it'll cause a trip hazard," he warned.

          "Look, I'm the one who goes out there, you don't go out there that much — I'm not worried about that. And right now I have a piece of tin and a whole bunch of pieces of wood laying around out there to keep the cats from peeing up near the house. How is this going to be any worse than what's already there?"

          Mike thought about it for a second, frowned, shook his head, and capitulated. He dumped the rocks over the dog fence off the kitchen door. It would be days until I could get to my project but in the meantime, Smudge enjoyed them.

          Speaking of Smudge...

          Mike decided he'd like to start a walking routine, walking a little every day. We started out for a walk and the next thing you know we have Smudge and Rascal following us. Mike tried to get them to go back to the house but they wouldn't go. He gave up, picked up Smudge, and carried him back to the house while Rascal followed along in the weeds. 

          Ginger and I continued our walk and had gotten almost to the Kipps' house when I heard the golf cart coming down the road. Mike parked the cart and we walked out to the blacktop, turned around, and came back to the cart. I took a picture of the sun reflecting off the creek but trust me, it was much prettier in real life.

          And I took pictures of the signed center beam of our single-lane open-grate bridge that we're going to lose next year. You have to be proud of your work to sign it, don't you?

           We got on the golf cart and headed for home. After being inside all winter it was nice to be outside, riding around on our country dirt roads. "Mike, can we go for a short ride? Just down to the top of the hill and back?" I asked.

          Mike looked at the gas gauge, it was getting low. "Yeah, I guess so."

          I scanned the roadside for wildflowers but the only one I saw was the coltsfoot.

          "Deer!" Mike exclaimed.

          "Where?" I ask automatically. Deer are like a dime a dozen. We have a lot of them around here.

          "Right there," he says but doesn't stop the cart. He knows if he does they'll take off.

          I leaned across Mike and snapped this picture just before we got past them. 

           We were almost at our turn-around point and I thought I'd have a second chance at them but they spooked and ran when they heard us come back.

          "There they go," I said.

          We watched for a second. "They stopped," Mike informed me.

          "Where?" I ask again.

          "Right there at the edge of the woods."

          I couldn't see them but aimed my camera in the direction Mike indicated and took a couple of pictures anyway. Can you see them?

          On my computer, I can crop the picture and add a little contrast. Now I can see them!

          Going past the Robinsons' farm we see a cat in the field. "Which one is that?" Mike asked.

          Me? All I can see is a dark spot in the field that I can guess is a cat. "Maybe if I take a picture I can zoom in and tell which one it is," I told Mike and did just that, but I still can't tell which cat it is.  

     

          We started clearing some black locust trees from around the barn. "Let's get them out while they're little — before they get big and fall on the barn," he says.

          Mike fired up the chainsaw, notched the tree, and dropped them right where he wanted them. I was so proud of my lumberjack.

           Then I hooked the chain and Mike used the tractor to pull the trees off the bank. We staged them for later removal to the burn pile.

          "Hook the chain on that big stump right there, Peg," Mike said and pointed out the one he wanted. "Let's see if the tractor will pull it out."

          I wrapped the chain the way Mike taught me to, so it bites in and doesn't just slip right off, and stood back.

          "Get way back in case the chain snaps," he yelled up to where I was still standing on the bank.

          A chain, under tension, will act just like a rubber band and if you get caught, it could kill you. I picked my way through the thorny underbrush, down the bank, across the driveway, and went as far as the Bradford Pear trees. When Mike was satisfied I was safe he started the tractor and went to work on the stump. 

         He pulled and the stump moved, he pulled again and the roots creaked under protest, he pulled again and the roots gave way. Once the stump was parallel to the ground he didn't make any more progress but he didn't give up. He revved up the tractor and gave a mighty pull, and he pulled, and pulled some more, sometimes lifting right up out of his seat, but the tractor didn't have enough power to finish the job. 

            Finally, Mike gave up. I think if he could've gotten on the other side of the stump and pulled again from that direction, he could have gotten it out. We'll go back and try the smaller stumps on another day, but for now, it was lunchtime.

          After a lunch of oven-baked tater tots and a small haddock filet, some fresh veggies on the side, we went back to work cleaning up the trees we had staged in the driveway. We took the girls with us, switching to our workhorse of a golf cart...

... and a tow strap and drug all the trees out to the burn pile.

          Most of the time Itsy and Ginger stayed on the cart. When we were stopped in one place for a while I let them get down and wander a little. They are both doing awesome staying nearby and not ranging too far but when I called Ginger to, "Load up!" to get back on the cart, she just turned and looked at me. Something there under the pussy willows had captured her attention and she didn't want to give up her vigil. I had to go get her. When I got close I heard a sound I hadn't heard for a while.

          "What's that, Peg?' you ask.

          And that would be bees.

          Be bees — LOL. I crack me up.

          The bees were all over the blooming willows and I took a few minutes to snap a couple of pictures. This one is my current desktop photo. Look at all the pollen on him!

          "I think I'll take the tractor and try to clean up the ruts I made in the driveway when I was trying to get that stump out," Mike said and dropped me and the girls off at the house.

          I put water in the microwave for coffee and sat in front of Facebook for a few minutes. Some people don't like Facebook, hate it even, but I'll tell you what. It allows me to keep in touch with people and places and news I wouldn't otherwise see.

          For instance, and I bet you knew there was a for instance coming, for instance, our old hometown in Missouri suffered a tragic loss. A deputy was killed in a head-on car accident on his way to an emergency. 

           It was all over Facebook and this day was when his obit came up. It was with a sadness in my heart, because our girl was also killed in a head-on car accident, that I read his obit. That's when I found out that Deputy Shoemate's mother was another business owner, someone we knew, and my heart became even heavier. I went to find Mike to share the news with him.

          I stood outside the door, on the patio, and listened for the tractor. I couldn't hear it anywhere. Where in the world is he? I wondered. Maybe he's up on the hill. I jumped on the golf cart and went to find him. He wasn't on the hill. I was coming down by the clothesline when I spotted him across the road — at the neighbors! I couldn't believe my eyes! There was Mike, at the neighbors who we've had a 10-year feud with, and he was helping to put up a birdhouse.

          Someone's been praying, was my thought. It wasn't me, and I haven't asked anyone, but that's the only reason I could see for this sudden turn of events.

          I made a decision to go through the ditch rather than around it and it was a decision I came to regret.

           I got the cart stuck. I didn't want to barrel through the ditch at a 100 miles an hour cause it would probably have bounced me right out of the seat. So I went slow. And got stuck. I climbed from the cart and walked down to where Mike was just climbing back on his tractor, talking on the phone.

            I waited until he finished his call then I gave him the news.

          "You know that Miller County deputy that was killed?" I asked.

          "Yeah?"

          "He was Betsy's son."

          "Really?"

          "Yep. And I got the golf cart stuck." I guess in the scheme of things, getting the cart stuck wasn't such a big deal after all.

          "How'd you do that?"

          "I decided to go across the ditch instead of going around it," I 'splanined.

          "You should have crossed it at a diagonal," Mike pointed out the error of my ways. I hooked the tow strap to the cart and the tractor and Mike pulled me out.

          "You wanna help cut down some of those trees that are shading your cherry tree?" he asked.

          "Sure. Let's do it."

          Up on the hill Mike went to work notching and cutting down four or five trees. 

           Then he got the chainsaw stuck. The tree had a bend in it and the weight carried it back and pinched his saw.

          "I thought I had it notched deep enough," he said. "Well, bring the cart down here. We'll hook a chain on and you pull the saw out."    

          Mike tossed the chain into a vee in the tree but when he pulled with the cart, the hook didn't catch and it slipped right on through. 

           Then we used the rope. Mike pulled and as soon as the pressure was off the saw I pulled it free. Mike gave the cart a little gas and pulled the tree right on over.

          The day was getting late so we left the cleanup for another day.

          We were sitting on the cart just chatting when a Robin zipped past us so close I could've reached out and snagged him — had I seen him coming. He landed on a branch in front of us.

           "I think he wants his picture taken," silly me says. Look at the thorns, you guys. Those are the thorns of the Black Locust tree. And just let me say this about locust trees.

          "They're evil!" Mike says.

          Yeah, there's that. He's been raked by them more than once when he got too close with his mower and not paying attention. Just cutting them down isn't good enough either. They'll just send up new shoots to torment you and it'll turn one tree trunk into a multitude of new growth — all with thorns! The farmers have a saying: plant a locust post, get a locust tree.

          The next day was another beautiful day and we were out on the cart with Ginger when we saw the Kipps on their morning walk and joined them. Unfortunately, I wasn't prepared and didn't have a leash for Ginger, so we had to carry her.

          "Here Lamar," I said and shoved Ginger at him when my arm got tired.

          Lamar was happy to carry her for a while. He loves dogs too and Maggie is much too big to carry.

          We hadn't gone much further when I hear Mike say, "I'll take her now."

          "Okay," Lamar said and turned her over to Mike.

          Now Mike! That scalawag! He didn't really want to carry Ginger, he just felt guilty that Lamar had to carry our dog, and before long he shoved her back in my arms. I gave her back to Lamar.

          A black ladybug type beetle with one red spot on each of his elytra (hard wing cover) landed on me. I took his picture.

          We have a huge concrete area in the back of the mill and that's where we made our brush pile. Our first brush pile lived there for like 12 years before we finally got it burned last year. At the bottom of the pile was this dark rich soil and Mike pushed it aside.

          "Mike, could you make me a screen so I can have that for my garden?"

          "Sure."

          He's a good husband. Mike made me a very handsome screen and helped me screen some dirt for a while until his back started hurting more than he could bear.

          "I can handle it," I assured him.

          Mike wasn't the only one helping me that day. Rascal wanted to get his paws in all the rich, silky soil and fertilize it for me. "You git!" I ordered and thumped the shovel for emphasis.

          I had to chase him off several times but he didn't go far. I just know he was waiting for his chance. Then I spot this in the tailings and had to go for my camera.

          "What is it?" you ask.

          It's the leathery shell of a turtle egg.

          Rascal gave it a go several more times before he finally gave up.

          When I was done I had a nice pile of rich black dirt to plant flowers in. 

           I covered it with a tarp, putting rocks on the edges to keep it in place and to keep it dry (and keep the cats out of it) until I'm ready to use it.

          Rain.

          We had rain and I went out to take a few photos for you.

          All the raindrops hanging from a multiflora rose whip.

          I changed position and took a picture down the whip.

          And these are the flowers of the pussy willow.

          Since it was raining, on and off for most of the day, I decided it was a good time to work on my rock project.

          I picked rocks and keeping Mike's words of caution in mind, I tried to arrange them, keeping them as even as possible, to reduce the trip factor.

          I picked up one rock and found this little guy.

          Hey! He looks just like Joanie's snake! I thought.

          Earlier in the week, Joanie sent me a picture of this.

          "Peg, what kind of snake is this?" she asked.

          I Googled snakes and the only thing I could find that was even close was a Northern Red Belly. They do have a stripe down their back as well as their belly but it isn't quite this pronounced. So I'm thinking factors like temperature and time of year could affect that.

          "Ben thinks it might be a lizard of some sort," Joanie tells me next.

          "If it has legs it's not a snake," I told Joanie, but she didn't see any legs. Chances are she didn't take much time to look at him. She just scooped him up in a shovel and tossed it across the road.

          "Is it dead?" I asked.

          "No, he's not dead. I heard my friend Peg say he's just living in his environment, going about his day."

          I love that she heard me in her head. I know sometimes you have to kill things but if you don't have to, why kill it? That would be killing for the sake of killing.

          Once I found one I realized it would be easy to miss his little legs as he pulls them up close to his body. These little guys are Red-backed Salamanders. 

          "Peg, how did your rocks turn out?" I know you want to know.

          And this is it. That should keep the cats from scratching in the dirt outside my kitchen door, don't you think?

          Oh my gosh! I had so many stories to share with you this week. And I have one more plus road pictures. 

          One of our feral girls, Anon, has been telling me something's wrong with her. Last week when I scooped out the litter boxes in the garage and the cat room she jumped in the box and squatted like she was doing her business. I waited and waited and waited until she finished. She took a long time and when she jumped out of the box there was only a tiny little wet spot. That's it. She jumped in at least three of the five boxes while I was working on them. I worried it over in my mind but vets are expensive and I let it go.

          The whole scenario was repeated again this week, jumping in the boxes as I was scooping them out and not being able to pee very much. After she left the box I scooped up her 'spot' and took it out in the sun. Is that blood, I wondered, or a piece of red litter?

          I finished, washed, and went to talk to my tall, handsome husband.

          "Mike, can we take Anon to the vet?" I was really worried about her now.

          "Why?"

          I told him about her behavior and the spot of red I saw.

          "I guess," he said, not happy about spending the money but caring for our critters just the same.

          I called the vet the next morning and made an appointment for that afternoon.

          "I don't know how she's going to act," I cautioned Dr. Lori. "She only lets me hold her for as long as she wants to be held, then the claws come out."

          "And I've only been able to hold her for about a month now," Mike added.

          But Anon surprised both Mike and me and was very co-operative with Dr. Lori and Morgan, the vet-tech.

          "Do you think she knows we're trying to help her?" I asked.

          "Maybe," Dr. Lori answered. "Animals can communicate in surprising ways."

          After listening to my story Dr. Lori examined her, looking in her mouth, ears, and taking her temperature.

          "How old do you think she is? I asked.

          "I'd say five or six," she replied after checking her teeth again.

          Anon didn't have a temperature... wait! That's not true. She does have a temperature, just not an elevated one, and tolerated Dr. Lori feeling her bladder.

          "She doesn't seem to exhibit any discomfort," the vet muttered.

          When you bring an animal to the vet that you can't handle, they get their weight by weighing the kennel with the animal inside, then weighing it again when it's empty. Dr. Lori reached for the now empty kennel.

          "Here Morgan," she said and as she went to push the kennel door shut, and hand it to her when she saw that Anon had peed inside.

          "It looks like she peed a good amount," Dr. Lori said and pulled the pee pad out. We looked at it but there wasn't any hint of blood and she handed everything to Morgan.

          Anon weighs about six and a half pounds and Dr. Lori thinks maybe she had a crystal blocking her urinary tube, which has given way. Short of getting a urine sample, there isn't any way to tell for sure.

          "And we have to get it fairly quickly after she urinates because the crystals will dissolve," she told us.

          There isn't anything to do but watch her and see if the behavior passes.

          We did go shopping this past week. We didn't need much of anything but sometimes you just need to get out — blow the stink off, you know what I mean? I didn't take very many pictures but since, when I print this, I have a whole blank page on the backside of this one, I might just as well show them to you.   

     

          The infamous smoker I got in trouble for taking a picture of a year or so ago.

          Enough!

          Let's call this one done!