SPRINGTIME CLEAN-UP

By James R. von Feldt

Annie Rudd entered the Gas & Grill waving her arms and exclaiming, “It’s springtime, it’s springtime, and daylight savings makes it bright almost to eight o’clock.” Everyone at our table chuckled as we were discussing just the same topic.

“Come sit with us,” Lacy said. “We’re not done exploring all we’re going to do. We need some help. “

The town Spring Clean-up is a popular topic at morning coffee clutches weeks in advance of the town hall meeting on the same topic. It’s also a time to jar some people into getting rid of the junk in their yards.

Every spring, the town rents a dumpster. The men in town go from place to place and help collect old stuff people want to get rid of.

Our county doesn’t have zoning laws related to broken down old cars, trucks, tractors, or other objects. Such things can become an eyesore in town. We have discussed such a law for years but can’t seem to come to a consensus. So, what we do is discuss what we think is an eyesore in town. That seems to get results without a town council meeting.

A few years ago, the state came through town and cut down old trees that looked like they would fall on the state highway. Rather than send the logs to the landfill, I suggested they pile them up in my empty lot behind Grama Laurel’s house. They would make good firewood. It made quite a pile. I couldn’t chainsaw them up fast enough for some people. Somebody thought it was an unsightly mess. I received a polite hint which got me going quickly. I didn’t think it was that messy. It was an empty lot, my empty lot, and that’s the rub. People see things differently if it's their junk.

“Those junk cars in Issie’s yard give the town a bad name. Morine was pointing across the road at Issie’s place. “Everyone driving the state highway through town sees them.”

“Just look at that. He’s driving over the curb to park that old rusty truck in front of the porch. Yolanda can’t be happy about that. There are always two or three old cars in the driveway and yard.”

“Now look here, Morine,” Frosty said. “Issie’s working his butt off trying to build a business and make ends meet. He works full-time as a mechanic at the tractor place in Memphis, then comes home to fix cars in his shop. I’ve seen him working till after midnight some nights. He’s building up a business. A lot of the guys bring their old cars to him. In my opinion, I think he deserves a medal.”

“Sure, give him a medal,” Morine replied, “but how can we ask anyone else to clean up old junk if his place looks so bad?”

“Well, you got me there,” Frosty replied. “Got any suggestions?”

“Sure, send him a letter. Tell him to clean it up.”

“That’s mighty direct,” Annie said. What would you do if you got a letter like that?”

“Clean it up,” Moraine replied.

Pastor Zook squinted his eyes and looked directly at Morine. “It’s fuzzy, but was it you who was all upset with Oren Dyer when he suggested your grass was getting too long last summer?”

“That’s different.” Morine retorted. “He was trying to tell me what to do, and how he said it made me mad. I know when to mow my grass. I’ve been doing it for years. Besides, Orin apologized.”

The temperature was going up a bit in our conversation, and we all knew it.

There was a pause for reflection and cooling down.

Vickie, who was serving another round of coffee, had been listening in as usual, and she put in her two-bits.

“You’ve got a good point, Morine. It’s how you put it that counts. It looks to me like Issie’s got a parking lot problem. They need two places just for their cars then more space for the cars he’s fixing. And he’s not the only one around here with that problem. Johns got three kids at home over on Lincoln Street. He drives the company truck, and I count three other vehicles when I go by there. The kids are driving back and forth to school and part-time jobs.

“Becky drives to work too,” Lucy added. “She just got promoted to supervisor at the school bus barn.”

With that, Vicki moved on to the following table with a comment or two. Isaac Miller and Amos were debating the enduring values of organic versus standard farming practices.

What’s the schedule for re-building the Park Pavillion?” Ben asked.

“Don’t change the topic. We need to do something about Issie’s.” Morine added.

There was another lull in the conversation.

“What if we could come up with a solution and help Issie with doing it?” Annie commented. “Remember when we helped Ralph put on a new roof. We even got the materials from the old barn Eric was tearing down. That saved his house. They couldn’t afford anything at that time.”

Another pause as everyone seemed to be mulling the problem over.

Ben interrupted the silence by addressing a question to Frosty.

“What’s the condition of the alley behind Issie’s? That’s your backyard. You use it some, don’t you?”

“Yeah. But what are you getting at?”

Ben scratched his chin and then began.

“What if we petition the council to improve the alley and add gravel in the back behind Issie’s workshop while they are at it? He could store the cars there till he could get to them. That would free up his driveway for his cars and get the clunkers away from the front yard.”

Lacie injected, “But how would he get the cars into his workshop? Some don’t run when he gets them.”

“The town tractor,” Ray injected.

Ray was sitting at the next table. His relatives were with him and Nancy. They were all listening to our conversation.

“Frosty, you sometimes keep the town tractor over by your garage, don’t you? Well, why don’t you let him use the tractor when he needs to move cars.”

“That sounds like a plan,” Morine said. “Who will tell Issie?”

I can do it.” Ben offered. “Helen and I are having Yolanda, Issie, and the kids over for dinner after church Sunday. Is getting the council to approve the gravel going to be a problem?”

“Don’t think so,” Frosty said. “I’ll be meeting with the mayor this afternoon. They’ve been planning on improving the alley sometime this year anyway. I’ll call you if there’s a problem.”

Vickie interrupted. “Here, Ray, these are for you.”

She laid a package gently on the table before him with a big grin and dramatic flair.

Ray opened the envelope and poured the contents on the table: a phone and a wallet.

“What?” When did you get these?” Ray said excitedly.

“A minute ago,” Vicki said. A big guy came in and gave it to me. He said to give this to Ray when he comes in. Oh, and he said his name was Jake.”

Chairs turned over, and coffee was spilled to get to the door to see who had delivered the package.

By the time they got to the door, no one was in sight.

Well, that’s it for now.

From where the corn grows tall, and pigs fly.

Take care.

All my love.

Grampa Jim