My name is Mrs. Grega and I live in the country on an ace lot. One a week I get on my zero radius turn mower and mow the acre. I love doing it. It has been fun watching the yard change as the trees and plants grew over the years.
On the west side of the property I purchased a dozen Christmas tree seedlings from some kids raising money for some school project. I will never forget planting them. I strung a string from one metal surveyor rod that were hammered into the corners of the property to the other. Then I laid a 8 ft 2x4 on the ground and planted them exactly 8 feet from my property edge. The part that hurt was not only the cold weather but the fact that I was hurting because my mother was dying. It felt like with each hole I was burying a part of my heart.
Now here it is some 30 years later and the trees are huge. They protect me from the westward winds in the winter and provide cool shade in the summer. In the shelter of these trees I have chopped wood and my grandchildren always run to the last one and play under the tree. They unsuccessfully try to make ladders out of stiff grass.
Well I am getting off track again. I was cutting grass and when I arrived in the shade between the trees and the stacked wood I saw a momma mouse scurry by. I scared her with my noisy mower. The blades were spinning fast and kicking up the grass and wood chips. She ran under the wood pallet.
I forgot all about momma mouse other than when I would get into Mr. Grega truck. Momma mouse and her family would build their homes in the glove box, in the air filter attached to the motor and who knows where else. It just seems sad to see the poor pickup truck that is parked out back like a dog tied outside pretty much ignored until it is time to pick up something big and heavy. I guess you could say it has become friends with the birds and the mice.
Yesterday Mr. Grega and I dragged tools, saws, wheelbarrow to the back corner lot of the shaded tree. We were going to split wood now that the weather cooled off a bit.
Wake up old truck, tell all your mouse friends living in you to jump out of your rusty skeleton, you are mine today. Up the grassy hill we went toward the street and backed up on the asphalt driveway. I bet the lonely truck was glad to see the two cars parked in the garage spoiled to be parked in a garage. I hooked the heavy powerful log splitter to the back hitch on the truck and drove the truck back down the hill.
We laid out a sheet of plywood and stood the wood splitter up on end. The wood is laid down to make it easier to slide the huge logs under the part that will split the logs.
The big black wood splitter came to life. Its powerful ax didn't chop like a human would chop wood, it used its hydrolics and pressed its blade into the log. You could see the flesh of the wood buckle as it inched into the wood. Then you would hear cracking and the poor wood that was probably fifty years old gave way and split in half.
Mr. Grega and I would continue this process over and over trying to get it all done in one day. Some logs held hundreds of ants and tearmites and would scatter everywhere carryong their eggs in their mouths. We would stop and use half a can of Raid on as many as we could. One was even attempting to climb up my shoe! The next log was rotten in the middle. When we split it we saw a nest made out of dead grass. Our curiosity got the best of us. Mr. Grega was kneeling on the board and I wanted to know what was in the clump of grass so took my gloved hand and slowly pulled the clump of grass out of the log. Holy cow there were about a half dozen baby mice in the grass. They Were so tiny and cute. The were grey with white chins and pink feet and tail. There eyes were not open they were probably only a few days old.
We were tired and hot and it was a split fast decision that had to be made. Do we move them or kill Them?
I have never killed an animal before. Mr. Grega rose to a standing position so he could step on them. That grossed me out. I imagined feeling the pressure of their flesh under his foot and the squishing of their organs! What if he didn't step hard enough or quick enough? What a horrible painful way to die.
What should I do? What could I do? Well I picked up the heavy log and dropped it on the babies before Mr. Grega could step on them.
We continued splitting. I feel like a murderer. The Bible said though shall not kill and I did. So for all the wildlife in the back yard look out. I am now their worst nightmare. They will write scarry books about me like the farmer Mr. McGregor, and the three pigs and the fox. Maybe there will be a video app like Friday at Freddie's and I will be portrayed as the ugly monster.
So you all be careful when you see me coming make sure I am not carring a log!
The End
For Madison and Tyson
