The Saturday Journal: Mice and Crows. Ferns and Men in Overalls.

tathelmillerwriter
May 24
5 min read

There's this side street in our town and it's really not the best street to travel--there's a lot of activity on certain days, although it's the only business on the street. The business operates from both sides of the street and recently they placed speed bumps during the busy hours. And when a person travels this short piece of road--you have to cross old railroad tracks too. Many in my town won't travel this street--they avoid it. But I love this street--this local business has been there for, I bet hundred years, and does a good service for many.

Anyway, at the end of this street is a stop sign and I always turn right when coming into town--requiring me to look left. And just in eyesight--across the road is another local business. The building is white with a front porch stretched across the front--ferns hanging between each post. A front porch is just not as inviting without ferns--I don't think.

And on some mornings there's a group of men--employees--maybe four or five--a few in overalls and they are sitting on the porch--not in rockers or chairs, but on the floor of the porch--on the edge. And the porch is a high porch and these men--their legs and feet--they dangle--never touching the ground.

This scene--every single time I see it makes me smile the biggest smile. The scene reminds me of a picture I've seen of children sitting on the edge of a country bridge--fishing--their legs free to the wind. I can only imagine these men's morning conversations--stories that are told right there on the front porch.

I sit at this stop sign as long as I can taking in this happy scene or at least until some rude person blows their horn--yeah, yeah I'm going.

I actually do business with this business and each and every time I walk on the porch--through the doors--I feel welcome. They do a lot for others--they have done a lot for me. And to show my appreciation to them--one early winter morning I took them a couple dozen doughnuts--plain. You can never go wrong with plain. And as I laid them on the counter--they thanked me and their conversations began--sharing with me their favorite kinds of doughnuts. And one older gentleman said, 'I like the creme-filled doughnuts best.' A younger employee--he laughed and chimed in--called this man by name and said in his best country tone, 'I would have never figured you for a creme-filled man.'

I could have stayed there all day--listened more--soaked in their conversations--their stories.

I watched this crow--he was strutting across the ridge of the rooftop. He was strutting his stuff proudly on this morning--chest puffed out. He reminded me of how much my Grandpa disliked crows--he took care of them every chance he got with his shotgun--out in the backyard. They are a menace--so to speak. Especially in the corn patch. Laura Ingalls Wilder wrote how the crows were just destroying her family's corn crops this one summer and her Paw had no choice but to kill as many as he could. And one day they decided surely they were good for something--so Maw cooked them up--crow pie, among other dishes.

Did you know a crow is highly intelligent? According to research. I guess sometimes they are just misunderstood.

And oh the mice--timid and feared by many.

There was this woman and every Sunday she cooked Sunday dinner for her children and grandchildren--right after church--they would all pile in her home. And on this one Sabbath she graciously asked my family to join them. The kitchen was busy--all the ladies and kids scampering about--filling the bar and tables with dishes of meats, vegetables, desserts...you name it. And all of a sudden this tiny little mouse found his way into the noise of this busy kitchen. The kids ran--the ladies screamed. Two of them jumped up on the bar and sit there.

From what I can remember the menfolk were all outside--so I tried to help the woman of the house and picked up an old shoe there by the back door--I was so close--knees on the carpet and the shoe tight in my hand. I raised the shoe high--preparing to do the smack-down on this uninvited mouse and the woman of the house--she kindly slipped behind me and took the shoe out of my hand. 'We can't have a mess on the kitchen floor.'

Okay--then she handed me this "Ball wide-mouth canning jar" and said, use this. Scoop it up was my thoughts?

Exactly. Hers, too. And thank the good Lord, it worked.

Now, what? I asked.

I'll throw it out in the woods--in the back yard. Nope--none of that she said. He'll get back into the house. She told me to take it to the bathroom and I did. It was her house--her rules. And I'll leave the ending to just say this---I'm positive mice can swim.

Another mouse story, I'll share--both of these are true stories--by the way.

At the time, my washer and dryer were in the basement and what does everyone do with their dryer lint--they throw it away, of course--in the little trashcan next to the dryer--at least that's what I did. And on one cold winter evening I looked down and what did I see--it had to be at least ten tiny sets of eyes looking up at me. Baby mice--all warm and cozy--deep in the dryer lint.

Crap.

I can't kill these baby mice.

So I took them a few yards into the woods--right past the grass line and gently turned the trash can upside down and I watched them run as fast as baby mice feet would go. But guess what--within a few days I had two baby mice in my basement. They came back--just as the woman of the house said they would.

There they are again--bright and early on this spring morning--the men in overalls--their feet dangling a good two to three feet off the ground--like children--talking in conversation--not one foot touching the ground--and maybe there're not supposed to---

Stories--Conversations--they do this to us--They can uplift us--encourage us--inspire us--they can bring a tear--a smile--laughter--recall a memory--instill a change...

There's a little restaurant in my town--one of my favorites--daily specials each day--closed on Saturdays and the Lord's Day. Inside it's cozy--the tables sit close. I placed my order and this older man and woman sitting across from me caught my eye. They were waiting on their food--their noses deep in their phones--their eyes glued to the screens. Reading--scrolling--checking messages--social media--I don't know. But I couldn't help but think--how sad, there they are sitting there--together--with nothing to say.