Tearing It Out

 

          We’re tearing it out.

          “What’re you tearing out?” I know you wanna know.

          We’re tearing out the dog run.

“Why?”

Simple. Because I don’t want to mow anymore. Mike’s been mowing the big part of the dog run for me but there’s a section that runs down beside the house that’s little wider than a walkway, and that funnels into a larger area at the front. There’s no gate on that end and Mike can’t get the zero turn in there.

Recently, one of our neighbors had nine more sections of fencing they wanted to get rid of.

          “We could redo the dog run.” I plead my case to Mike.

          Mike loves me and denies me very little (if anything).

He got the fence.

And we started that.

“Let’s use the tractor to pull them out of the grass,” Mike suggested. “Instead of busting a gut.”

So that’s what we did.

The tractor worked beautifully pulling out fence and t-posts.

Now, speaking of t-posts...

What comes out must go back in, just in a different place.

“It’s going to kill me to pound the posts back in,” my handsome mountain man said. “I’ve been looking at automatic post drivers on the internet.”

“Great idea! Get it.” I’m all for spending the kid’s inheritance.

“It’s kind of expensive.”

“I don’t care. If we have the money and it saves your health; I don’t care what it costs.”

For a few extra dollars we bought the shipping insurance on it.

Nothing but the best for the Lubys! We got the one that had the most power with the lowest amount of vibration. Guys, this thing is heavy!   

          The little gal that delivered it pulled the box to the back all by herself then Mike set it off the truck.

          “She must be strong,” Mike said and went for the wheeler.

          We were both excited to see our new toy, although I expect Mike will be the one to use it. On the patio we opened the box.

          Surprise!

          It came in its own heavy-duty plastic storage case.

          “If I’d’ve know that, I wouldn’t’ve bought the insurance,” Mike said.

          He unpacked it and stood it up.

          Now, using this thing requires the strength of a body builder. It weighs forty-five pounds.

          “How are you going to lift that to the top of the posts?” I wondered.

          “I’ll have to stand on a ladder.”

          Will this work?

          Will it not?

          That remains to be seen. All I can see is someone has to hold the post until it gets it started into the ground. Any guesses who that might be?

          “If we can’t do it we could ask Pastor Jay to come and help us.”

          Pastor Jay is such a good shepherd of his flock. He’s always there for anyone needing help — and he has a couple of strong boys that could be recruited, too!

          We blocked off part of the dog run so the girls couldn’t get out. They came and watched for a little while before they tired and went into the house.

          I took the time to get a picture for you, even though Mike was waiting on me to hook the chain on the next section.

          Once the fence was taken down, Mike got the zero turn and mowed the section I haven’t mowed for months!

          Speaking of making Mike wait...

          I also made him wait while I took this picture.

          There were woolly bears marching across the section of yard where Mike was driving his tractor and I didn’t want him to run them over.

          When you pick up a woolly bear they curl into tight little rounds. I gave them a gentle toss into the tall weeds.

          No woolly bears were injured during the relocation process.

          “Peg, tell us about woolly bears,” you say.

          In the fall, the woolly bears start showing up on the roads and in your yard. They’re on the move, searching for a good place to spend the winter. People think their brown stripe predicts the weather but it only indicates how well they ate during the summer. A caterpillar with plenty of dandelion, clover, and plantain ends up with a wider band. A lean summer makes a narrow one.

          “But isn’t lots of food in the summer God’s way of preparing them for a hard winter?” you wonder.

          I know, right! I wondered that, too. So I asked Copilot, my AI buddy.

          “Some folks look at a good food year and wonder if it’s God’s way of preparing woolly bears for whatever winter they’re about to face. That’s not a weather prediction — just provision. A well‑fed caterpillar is better equipped for any winter, mild or harsh,” is Copilot’s answer.

          The most impressive thing about the woolly bear?

          Their bodies make a natural antifreeze that keeps their cells from breaking down. In the spring they thaw out and keep going like nothing happened!

Up in the Arctic, there’s a cousin that freezes and thaws for more than ten years before it finally becomes a moth!

          “What do they turn into?” I know you wanna know.

          Woolly bears turn into the Isabella tiger moth.

   

          Speaking of moths...

          I was outside with the girls before bed one night when we all heard a noise. They heard it enough before me that their barking prevented me from pinpointing exactly what it was. They’d stop barking and we’d listen. The sound would come again and they’d bark again.

          “In the house,” I commanded after the third time.

          I went straight through the house and out the front door. I was thinking it was a cat fight. I turned on the flashlight mode of my cell phone and shone it out into the yard, sweeping it back and forth, and waited to see where the cat fight was.

          “What were you going to do if it was a catfight?” you ask.

          I don’t know. I didn’t really think that far ahead. Mostly likely I’d just yell at them but I guess my aim was to see who was fighting.

          Suddenly, I heard it — and it most definitely was not a cat fight.

          “What was it?” you ask.

          It was the scream of a fox. Have you ever heard that? Oh. My. Goodness-gracious-mercy-me! It is a scary sound! Google it.

          The first time I ever heard it, it really freaked me out. Scared me to pieces! I was telling the neighbor about it when their little girl (at the time) asked, “Was it a fox?”

          “I don’t know,” I said.

          Jonecca got on a cell phone, whether it was hers or her mom’s, I don’t know, and called up the sound of a fox scream.

          “That’s it!” I had no idea that’s what a fox sounded like.

          So, it’s dark. I’m standing at the edge of the driveway, not too far from the house in case I had to duck inside, and I heard the fox. Now I’m in fox-searching mode. Most of the time it’s the females that scream, looking for a mate, don’cha know, and I’m watching to see if she’ll come up towards me.

          I was watchful, and alert.

          A moth, attracted to the light, fluttered at me. I saw it. It didn’t scare me. But what did scare me was the giant shadow that suddenly appeared on the ground to my left.

          Flight or fight said it was the fox and I started for the door. But the next second I realized it had only been the shadow of the moth.

          I laughed at myself as I shut the patio door.

          I was still laughing when I went in.

          “What’s so funny?” Mike asked.

          “A moth scared me.” I chuckled. “So I decided that if a moth scares me, I’d better come back in the house.”

 

          Do you remember the gates I talked about last time?

          This past week we were coming back from shopping when Mike missed our turn onto the Veterans’ Bridge that separates Wysox and Towanda.

          “Where are we going?” I asked.

          “You’ll see.”

          Where we went was back to the junk store for the gates!

          “I don’t need those gates!” I told him when I realized where we were going.

          “You said in your letter that you’d like to have them.”

          “Yeah, but I don’t NEED them! Besides, we don’t have any way to get them home.”

          Michael would not be dissuaded.

          It’s good to have friends.

          Lou was coming up this weekend. We met him through our neighbor, and he bought Charlie Cheshire’s old house when Charlie died. Lou lives down near Philly and is the kind of guy that would give you the shirt off his back and not expect anything in return.

          Friday they picked up my gates.

          I was surprised to see Mike climb out of the driver’s seat.

          “Lou didn’t want to drive,” Mike said.

          Mike’s idea to tee-pee the gates worked really well.

          They pulled the gates off the back and Lou drove the truck out from under it.

          “Those gates don’t look as tall as you said they were,” you say.

          I know, right! In my mind’s eye, and relying solely on memory, they were ten-feet tall. In reality they’re only seven-and-a-half feet.

Together the gates are fourteen-feet wide. Our driveway is wider than that but they’ll still be a piece of awesome yard art!

Mike offered Lou gas money but he refused.

“How about breakfast then?” Mike asked.

“That’d be alright,” Lou said.

We arranged to meet at Ashley’s at seven in the a.m.

“Let’s get there early,” Mike said.

“Why?” I wanted to know.

“Because I want to tell the waitress to give me the check.”

“I don’t think they’ll fight you for it,” I said. They as in Lou and Vernon. We invited Vernon to go to breakfast with us, too.

“I know but if Vernon thinks you’re paying he won’t order anything.”

Have you ever known anyone like that? I knew one other person who was like that. They’re just uncomfortable with “owing” someone.

Me?

I don’t care who’s paying. I’m going to get what I want. If Mike was paying and I wanted steak, I’d order steak. But I never order something expensive just because someone else is paying. If I want grilled cheese and soup, that’s what I’m ordering.

Ashley’s hours say they open at five-thirty. We get there at six-thirty and it’s not open.

“There’s a note on the door. It says they’re closed today,” I told Mike.

We went back to the car and called Lou.

“Let’s go to Pam’s in Dushore,” Mike said.

I got some early morning shots for you.

The rising sun was shining on the church as it stood guard over the town.

          Yes. Gas is four thirty-nine here this morning.

          We had breakfast, which was totally unremarkable. What can you say about toast and fried e—

          Oh! My! Gosh!

          Do you have any idea what I almost wrote?

          No? Let me tell you!

          I was typing away, not thinking about spelling as my fingers usually know where to go, and I ended up with fried eyes! Now that would be remarkable, despite the fact that eggs could look like big yellow eyes staring up at you!

          By the time we sat there and jibber-jabbed for an hour, the sun had burned off the fog.

          Oh my gosh! Life is so funny sometimes.

          I put the last two pictures in my letter blog, saved it, and closed Word. It was Saturday, late afternoon, I was tired, and it was time to make popcorn and head for the recliner.

          Before I shut my computer down, I checked the email and did a fast scroll-through on Facebook.

Guess what comes up?

Egg eyes!

          “What in the world was that post about?” you query.

          I think it was a recipe, but do these not look like eyes?

          This is the week of our county fair.

          Our electric company will give you twenty dollars off your bill plus thirty dollars in vouchers to spend any place at the fair you want to. We registered for the money off our bill and got our six five-dollar tickets. We always spend it on food.

          As we left Claverack’s tent, we split up. I tore off two tickets and gave the other four to Mike. He went for his favorite Italian sausage sandwich stand and I went to see if the church stand was back this year. My favorite thing is the pierogies, but I hear others rave about their haluski. I’ve never tried it because I can’t get past the pierogies.

Last year they weren’t there because they couldn’t get enough help. Sadly, and despite my high hopes, they weren’t there this year either.

          Sigh.

          “What was there?” you ask.

          Instead of the church ladies selling their delicious food, Loch’s had their store in the spot. 

         They sell maple products. And it’s also the place where I got the only other thing I eat at the fair.

          “What would that be?”

          That would be a Walnut Bowl Deluxe. A waffle bowl with two scoops of ice cream, Maple walnut sauce, whipped cream, and a cherry — which I ate before I took the picture.     

          Speaking of the fair...

          Before the church ladies stopped coming, I bought a dozen of the frozen pierogies to take home and make for my beautiful West Virginia friend. Trish would be visiting the next month.

          Trish came and went and the pierogies had been forgotten.

          Thinking about the fair, Mike said. “Are those pierogies still in the freezer?”

          “They are!”

          “Don’cha think it’s about time you made them? They’ve had a birthday in there, haven’t they?”

          “As a matter of fact, they turned two!”

          Two years those pierogies were in my freezer! I didn’t hold out much hope that they’d still be good.

          I thawed and fried them, just the way Momma liked them. I’d already sautéed some onions. And you know what? They were okay! Surprising, isn’t it?!

          While we’re in the kitchen, let me tell you something else that happened this week.

          I bought a gallon of milk. The side of the carton was indented, but I didn’t see it until we were checking out and I was too lazy to go back for a different one.

          That gallon sat in the fridge a day or two before I decided to make pudding. I emptied the last of the old gallon and opened the new one. In went the air, out popped the side, and my full gallon of milk was no longer full! How about that?!

          I let the gallon sit while I crossed the kitchen and got my camera.

          I wondered how much was missing but not enough to measure it.

          I set the camera down and picked the gallon up. There was milk on the counter under the jug. I didn’t think I’d spilled any but I moved it to a new, dry spot to double check.

More milk under it.

I moved it to a different spot, waited a second or two and picked it up.

Guess what?

There was more milk on the counter under the jug of milk.

Now that’s a conundrum.

          The gallon didn’t leak in the fridge and it didn’t leak on the counter until I took the lid off and the side popped out.

          My guess?

          The plastic cracked when it expanded.

          Since I’d just emptied a gallon, I transferred the milk.

          That was weird and has never happened to me before.      

 

          Mike had an early morning appointment for a three-month check of his eye after his second retinal detachment surgery.

          I took road pictures.

          Crossing the Susquehanna into Towanda.

          Onyx is missing. I don’t actually know why I took this picture, but I did, and now you get to see it.

          Dr. McClintic wants to leave the oil in Mike’s eye for two more months.

          “When I get in there and start looking around I’ll decide if I need to put gas in or if I’ll need to put the oil back in,” he told us.

          I think there’s still a little wrinkle in the retina and he’s not sure what’s causing it. If it’s scar tissue he’ll scrape it out and make the decision then.

          So that’s where that stands.

 

          There are a couple of more pictures in my file and I can’t say for sure when I took them — and it isn’t really pertinent.

          A buck crossed the road in front of us.

          I saw this sign and it made me think how confusing our language can be.

          To someone just learning to read English, how would they know if it’s wine-ding or win-ding?

         I was thinking about other words, like the word live. It could be lyve as in, I like to listen to live music. Or it could be liv, as painted in big white letters on a big rock beside the road as you leave Meshoppen, Slow down and live.

Is it win-ding or wine-ding?” I asked Mike.

He thought about it for a moment. “When would you ever say win-ding?”

          “Well, if the wind is blowing really hard, you could say, ‘It’s really winding out there!’”

          It’s okay to have a laugh at my expense. We did.

 

          I saw this and wondered what it meant. I asked Copilot.

          “The left side looks like KC, the right side looks like a person surfing with stars. Put together it reads KC surfing stars.”

          I don’t see it.

          “It could be a personal or small-brand logo or something meant to evoke freedom, ocean energy, or costal lifestyle. There is no universal cultural or religious meaning attached to it.”

          I think AI makes stuff up sometimes. For all we know it could be the remnants of something someone tried to peel off.

          Let’s end with this cutie-patootie. Tiger continues to want to be where we are. He makes it hard to play cards and sometimes sits right smack in the middle of the table, on top of our cards!

          Let’s call this one done.

          Done!