Wednesday, June 01, 2005
Shock to the system
The down-mountain side of the house is the long side. The main house sits up top; the guest studio and deck are mid-level; a big open space lays the foundation. Needing a break in the monotony of pulling weeds and remaining silent, I decided to lay a trap of sorts for the Mute. A sure-fire way to induce conversation was just the thing to bust up the day.
My plan was to be executed heading back to the house for lunch.
Taking a break from pulling weeds, I got my trusty machine out and whacked them instead. The Mute was neat the bottom of the farm pulling weeds. Noon made a stealthy approach, and before I knew what was happening I saw the M begin his plodding walk up the hill. At this time I was between rows of coffee trees, attempting to batter waist high weeds without blemishing the trees. Seeing him move off, I killed the engine and raced to the road opposite the orchard from him. Giddiness propelled me on, and I was able to stow the machine in the shed that stands mid-farm. The protective gear I was wearing found itself tossed into various trees as I continued my race against time (one well-aimed shin guard bounced off the head of a rooster, an accident that set me to giggling).
Pausing at house level to look back down the road I saw my prey still well behind. Perfect! Onto the deck I skipped, and over the rail I bounced. I tried to shove my feet between 2 wooden slats, but my boots were too bulky. Off they came and once more I tried. It was close, but turning my feet sideways I was able to remove the bunions from the equation and the poor little footsies found themselves on the safe side of the rail. "Adieu," I bid them, and slowly lowered my upper body until I hung from my now protesting feet. My arms fell up/down, and my face grimaced as though my predicament was purely accidental. This face was hard to maintain, as laughter kept bubbling up my gullet from my stomach and fermenting in my mouth, strangling me while simultaneously forcing a grin to break.
The last papaya tree receded from his line of sight, leaving my dangling form to fill his view. Not a flinch!! He didn't even slow his pace! Unbelievable!
Instead, he quickened his pace and grabbed hold of a rooster and a rope. Uh-oh. Still unconcerned, I made no move but dropped the idiotic face I'd been making.
Now I got worried. The normally expressionless face had an idiotic grin of its own, and M was undoubtedly moving my way.
Before I could raise/lower my arms (I was upside down, so I'm not sure which verb is correct. Both, technically I'd say) he'd shoved that damn rooster into my shirt and instead of tucking it into my pants (a risque maneuver) he used the rope to tie the friggin' thing down!
Let's recall my feelings on roosters. On my list of 'dislikes', they are preferred to mosquitos and reality tv and more hated than core shots to a pair of brand-new skis. Rumor has it one fell to my sleep walking violent tendencies, and many on this farm cluck away when they see me coming thanks to closely landing rocks, branches, gas cans, and cats that I've thrown their way. Bottom line-I don't like them.
And here I'm hanging with one of the damn things tied inside my shirt! A conundrum, I tell you. Frantically I tried to loosen the rope while the little red rooster began to flail. Meanwhile, the bunions on my left foot (smaller than the bunions on my right foot) reached the limit of their patience and contracted, allowing my foot to slip thru the rail.
Hanging by one foot, a pissed off rooster scratching up my new sunburn, and tired hands vainly working on a hell of a good knot, I began to regret my choice of practical joke. Though my admiration for M's reactionary skills reached new heights.
Finally I got the rope off and hucked the stupid rooster into the bushes. He, of course, decided to declare victory and pranced and strutted across the yard, crowing exultantly. Unfortunately for him he made an effort to scratch dirt into my face just as Mr. Right Foot also tired of the effort and slipped thru the rail.
Dinner tonight was fried rooster.
My plan was to be executed heading back to the house for lunch.
Taking a break from pulling weeds, I got my trusty machine out and whacked them instead. The Mute was neat the bottom of the farm pulling weeds. Noon made a stealthy approach, and before I knew what was happening I saw the M begin his plodding walk up the hill. At this time I was between rows of coffee trees, attempting to batter waist high weeds without blemishing the trees. Seeing him move off, I killed the engine and raced to the road opposite the orchard from him. Giddiness propelled me on, and I was able to stow the machine in the shed that stands mid-farm. The protective gear I was wearing found itself tossed into various trees as I continued my race against time (one well-aimed shin guard bounced off the head of a rooster, an accident that set me to giggling).
Pausing at house level to look back down the road I saw my prey still well behind. Perfect! Onto the deck I skipped, and over the rail I bounced. I tried to shove my feet between 2 wooden slats, but my boots were too bulky. Off they came and once more I tried. It was close, but turning my feet sideways I was able to remove the bunions from the equation and the poor little footsies found themselves on the safe side of the rail. "Adieu," I bid them, and slowly lowered my upper body until I hung from my now protesting feet. My arms fell up/down, and my face grimaced as though my predicament was purely accidental. This face was hard to maintain, as laughter kept bubbling up my gullet from my stomach and fermenting in my mouth, strangling me while simultaneously forcing a grin to break.
The last papaya tree receded from his line of sight, leaving my dangling form to fill his view. Not a flinch!! He didn't even slow his pace! Unbelievable!
Instead, he quickened his pace and grabbed hold of a rooster and a rope. Uh-oh. Still unconcerned, I made no move but dropped the idiotic face I'd been making.
Now I got worried. The normally expressionless face had an idiotic grin of its own, and M was undoubtedly moving my way.
Before I could raise/lower my arms (I was upside down, so I'm not sure which verb is correct. Both, technically I'd say) he'd shoved that damn rooster into my shirt and instead of tucking it into my pants (a risque maneuver) he used the rope to tie the friggin' thing down!
Let's recall my feelings on roosters. On my list of 'dislikes', they are preferred to mosquitos and reality tv and more hated than core shots to a pair of brand-new skis. Rumor has it one fell to my sleep walking violent tendencies, and many on this farm cluck away when they see me coming thanks to closely landing rocks, branches, gas cans, and cats that I've thrown their way. Bottom line-I don't like them.
And here I'm hanging with one of the damn things tied inside my shirt! A conundrum, I tell you. Frantically I tried to loosen the rope while the little red rooster began to flail. Meanwhile, the bunions on my left foot (smaller than the bunions on my right foot) reached the limit of their patience and contracted, allowing my foot to slip thru the rail.
Hanging by one foot, a pissed off rooster scratching up my new sunburn, and tired hands vainly working on a hell of a good knot, I began to regret my choice of practical joke. Though my admiration for M's reactionary skills reached new heights.
Finally I got the rope off and hucked the stupid rooster into the bushes. He, of course, decided to declare victory and pranced and strutted across the yard, crowing exultantly. Unfortunately for him he made an effort to scratch dirt into my face just as Mr. Right Foot also tired of the effort and slipped thru the rail.
Dinner tonight was fried rooster.
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