I
might have mentioned that we've had some pretty strong winds this winter. Yard clean up is an annual springtime chore. Fallen branches were dragged to the burn pile separately. The cart is full of twigs from the front yard oak, and that's from not even half the yard, but that's all my back would stand for (bend for?). There are rules to this game of Pick-Up-Sticks: you have to start at one edge of the yard and work your way across. You have to pick up what's in front of you and not skip around getting the bigger, easier pieces. Once you begin, you have to keep at it until you can't bend/stand one more time. I don't know what the penalties are for infractions, because my supervisors are always on the job and keep me on the straight and narrow. Bessie's responsibility is to lay in front of the cart and keep it safe from marauding twig thieves. She lulls possible intruders by keeping her eyes closed, but I know she's on the alert. Pearl is the ramrod on the job. She stays at my side, making sure I don't miss anything or try to break a rule. Frank...well, Frank does his best, but he loses interest in work and would rather play with the leaves. I pick up sticks for aesthetic reasons, otherwise the front yard would look like a hedgehog, and for practical purposes. It won't be long before I have to drag out the lawn tractor and mow down the weeds and I don't want to mess up the mower blades. There isn't any grass, but we do try to maintain appearances. The sun was warm, a soft breeze blew, the mourning doves played a minor-key accompaniement, I could keep an eye on Sheila...there are worse ways to spend an afternoon.
