Yesterday morning, before the dew had dried, I said to The Husband, "I'm going to put on my boots and go play in the garden instead of sitting on my toocus staring at a screen all day." The Husband said he'd be down there later, after the grass dried, to mow Nanny's yard. I put on my hat and my gardening apron and struck a trail down Nanny's long driveway.
On the way, I saw where Nanny had dusted several fire ant hills with ant killer, and I saw several more ant hills that must have erupted since she'd done her work. Before setting foot in the garden, I retrieved the fire ant killer bottle from the shed and circled Nanny's yard, looking for new ant hills. I found several. This is worrisome. And creepy. We need a better solution than that bottle of powder.
There wasn't much that could be done in the garden. The ground was too wet to do anything about the grass in the soon-to-be turnip greens patch. I pulled up a couple of the worst-looking squash vines, picked the few purple hull peas that were ready, gathered a few tomatoes and squash, and came on back to the house.
Instead of offering the peas to Nanny as I've done all summer, I brought them home and shelled them. They yielded about 2 cups of shelled peas, which I plan to cook for supper tonight.
It wasn't long before I was back to sitting on my toocus, staring at a computer screen.
At noon, I heard the wail of a siren. The closest little town, 5 miles away, tests its emergency sirens at noon on Wednesdays and Saturdays. This siren reminded me that on Saturday afternoons, The Husband's ukulele group meets online for a virtual jam session. He was puttering around in the back yard when the siren sounded, and I hollered out to him to remind him of the jam session. He said it usually happened around 1 p.m., not noon. Since I had music on my mind, and nothing better to do (that's not really true), I went inside, got my mandolin, and brought it outside to practice.
Friday evening, The Husband and I had talked about how nice it would be to have our children and grandchildren gathered on the porch, playing music together. Both of our sons play the guitar. Our grandson and our oldest granddaughter are both in their school bands, and both of them have been learning the guitar. Our younger son and his family have been living all the way across the state for the past two years, but they are moving home in less than two weeks and will be living with us until they can find a house. This family music jam should soon be do-able, if we can find times when everyone is available. I need to become a better mandolin player. Soon!
An hour later, we logged on to the ukulele jam. An hour after that, The Husband went to mow Nanny's yard.
We keep our riding mower in Nanny's shop. We also keep the new tractor there. For some reason, The Husband parks the lawnmower in front of the tractor, so that the tractor has to be moved to get to the lawnmower. (I suspect that the reason for this is that he needs an excuse to crank up the tractor once a week.) He backed the tractor out of the shed, backed the lawnmower out of the shed, mowed Nanny's yard, then put everything back the way it was.
Not long after he came home from mowing, the phone rang. Cousin Roger. He said, "Hey, where's yo' huzzzband been hiding that tractor?"
I said, "Roger, I can't tell you. It's a secret."
He said, "Well, I need to use it - "
and before he could finish the sentence, I thought to myself, Fat chance of THAT happening . . . .
" - or get HIM to use it. I'll help him, of course."
I asked him what needed doing.
He said, "I want to tear this ragged-ass front porch off my trailer."
In the space of a millisecond, a full-length documentary developed in my mind, one in which Roger's trailer is dragged completely off its foundation.
I managed to suppress a laugh and said, "Hold on. I'll let you talk to him about it, if he's out of the shower."
I took the phone to the bathroom. The Husband was standing at the sink, shaving, with only one side of his face done. I handed him the phone. "Roger wants you to come over there on the tractor and tear the front porch off his trailer. He said he'll help you."
He said, "Oh, Jesus," but his eyes lit up, and he took the phone.
I left the room.
A little while later, I heard the end of the conversation. " . . . Well, just call me when you're ready to do it."
I will be there, filming it, when it happens.
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