Not as always, I will have to leave the festivities early today. At about 3:00 pm CDT, the tree guy is coming to estimate the damage of the derecho. I trust that you will all play nicely, as everyone always does at the not-Family homestead.
Mole-evolence, the Hole Story
Elizabeth glanced out her living room window and cringed. Their front lawn looked like it had been attacked by an amateur golfer who had experienced a meltdown after missing every shot. The resident moles had been busy, coming up at numerous sites scattered across the lawn, leaving a mound of loose earth in their wake at each opening. Tunnels from hole to hole were evident by ridges of dirt and dying grass in strips across the sod. Arthur had said he'd take care of it and she'd hoped he would get the place in shape before her book club met there the following week. That seemed very unlikely at this point.
I know it’s kinda’ hard to see in this photo, but those aren’t bare spots in the lawn. Those are mole hills that not-Arthur has driven over with the tractor. Not very effective, but emotionally satisfying.
When Elizabeth had first investigated the damage she'd been dismayed to find some mole holes further excavated by a curious Buster. On the ones where Buster had explored, the mound was a larger hill and the depression reminiscent of a sink hole. It didn't help her mood that Arthur had lightly referred to Buster's handiwork as “extreme lawn sculpting.”
“Thank goodness Annie doesn't do that,” Elizabeth thought. “She's got more sense than to mess up the lawn in search of some stinky mole.”
Actually, Elizabeth was warming to Annie. She was usually calm and sedate and nothing much rattled her. Yes, she could be stubborn, but Arthur was the one to deal with that. When Elizabeth talked to Annie she was belly-up or ready for snuggles.
“No, Annie is much tidier and neater, even if she is a bigger pooch,” Elizabeth mused. “She's not responsible for this mess.”
Arthur had visited with the local greenhouse manager about possible mole remedies and had been given numerous options for discouraging the rodents. Since he wasn't too keen on actually killing them or handling their carcasses he'd opted for the easiest one to try first. In addition to the holes, this first option was responsible for Elizabeth's increasing unhappiness as she looked out the window.
A plethora of gaudy, shiny, rotating pinwheels adorned her lawn. Folklore had it that these devices, stuck in the ground at intervals, would discourage moles from a yard because they didn't like the vibrations produced. Arthur was sticking them at random across the front lawn and around the side of the house, and their garish colors shone in the sun, lending a carnival atmosphere to the surroundings. She did want the moles eliminated but at what cost?
Arthur's cheerful mood was also putting her a bit on edge. He was just now finishing his placement of these wind devices and singing at the top of his lungs. The Sound of Music was his choice of material today, and he was performing a lusty rendition of the yodeling song. But Arthur couldn't yodel, so what came out of his mouth sounded very much like “you're old, lady, you're old, lady, you're old, lady, you!” This was an unwelcome topic to a pair of sensitive ears that had recently marked another birthday.
Arthur had promised that if the pinwheels didn't produce results in a few days he would try something more drastic. Elizabeth had been about to ask what he would do if the wind didn't blow but had thought better of it. An image of pedestal and box fans in addition to the current lawn ornamentation was more than she could bear. She would just wait it out. It was hard to tell if Elizabeth was mellowing with age like a fine wine, or just suffering from fatigue.
Arthur planted the last pinwheel and turned to view his work. Buster had been helping; at each pinwheel he'd stopped to donate some personal moisture to the newly located stick. Thinking this must be what the Buddha meant when he said, “From a withered tree, a flower blooms,” Buster intended to assist all he could. Arthur, oblivious to fancy quotes, encouraged him. Maybe Buster's contribution would be an additional deterrent to the rodents. One could only hope.
A few days later a discouraged Arthur had to admit that his ability to corner the market in pinwheels had not solved the mole problem. He had reached the stage where euthanasia was something to consider, but only in a way that the deceased would not be handled. After reviewing the other options suggested by the greenhouse manager, though, he eliminated them one by one. Trapping them was out because of the need for carcass disposal, dropping dry ice down the holes made him nervous because either dog might decide to dig and get burned by it, spreading repellant would be time-consuming and involve another trip for supplies, andplanting daffodils was even more labor-intensive.
He decided to turn to the internet in his quest for a remedy. But a quick search gave him exactly the information he already had. It was time to branch out and check some online videos. And that is how he became aware of the Gladirodenator, the Tunnel Terminator, and Stephen's Baler Twine Trap. A new world had opened up for him.
Ralph was relaxing in one of the many Cloud Nine lounges in Heaven when he had an urge to check in with Arthur. Setting aside his scotch and toilet water, he hovered down just as Arthur was finishing his evaluation of the merits of mole eradication methods as extolled online.
“OMG,” thought Ralph. (He had no time to spell things out, Arthur was in danger!)
An enthralled Arthur was contemplating the beauty of employing the Tunnel Terminator. It involved shooting oxygen and acetylene down the mole hole and igniting it with a BBQ lighter. He was mumbling to himself, “Hmm, I have the lighter but I don't have welding torches with an acetylene tank, and my neighbor with emphysema probably isn't going to loan me his oxygen tank. But, it's so efficient! And the burial is included for free! What's not to like about this concept?”
Careful Buster! There are enough inflammables in that picture to blow up the homestead!
Ralph could have given numerous reasons on the negative side, but his vocal ability was limited. He might need to enlist the help of Buster and Annie at some point. “Whoa, look here,” Arthur continued. “This guy has modified the Tunnel Terminator method a bit; uses propane and air instead of acetylene and oxygen. I've got propane!”
He did, indeed, have twenty pounds of it in a cylinder typically used for barbecuing. He was in business and it was time to set things in motion.
Arthur whistled for the dogs and they all hustled outside. He let Buster and Annie roam while he went about setting things up. He'd be sure to get them safely away when the time came for detonation, but for now, they were sharing in his evident excitement.
Buster was sniffing from hole to hole, trying to determine if more digging needed to be done. Annie sniffed a few holes as well, a look of disgust on her face; prior experience informed her that moles were not an epicurean delight. Abandoning all interest in the holes, she galloped after Arthur. He was hyped, and she was sure that something good was about to happen.
Arthur dragged the propane cylinder around to the front of the house and situated it close to the largest of the mole holes. As he made a final trip back inside for a wrench and hose, a loud rumble filled the sky.
Many things are ended due to rain. A picnic is canceled, a burrow remains untouched, and sometimes a story is concluded with minimal fuss, as might be the case here. In short, Ralph didn't need the help of Buster and Annie to derail the impending catastrophe. Within minutes, a random cell not only hovered overhead but decided to dump copious amounts of water on all who were outside. A disappointed and drenched Arthur herded the dogs back in, pulled
Someone should tell Arthur that Annie is a herder, not a herdee.
his propane tank around to the shop, and sighed. This project would have to wait until tomorrow. For now, he would just retreat to his computer and enjoy on the screen the glory he'd imagined would have happened in his yard.
Back at his computer, Arthur downloaded a video of the modified propane Tunnel Terminator in action and settled in. The camera quality was shaky but the dialogue was confident. “I'm about to demonstrate this version 2.0 Tunnel Terminator!” a voice boasted. The camera zoomed in as a hand reached down and opened the valve on a twenty pound cylinder. A tube from the cylinder was shoved into the burrow, and there was an audible hiss as propane escaped into the tunnel. “Well, guess that outta do it,” the voice chuckled. “Now, here goes!” A lighter filled the screen as it was lowered down to ignite the gas in the tunnel, and the film captured the explosion at the opening.
But that was just the beginning. The combustion proceeded to create a chain reaction that rumbled through the burrow under the lawn. When it reached the end of the tunnel, situated beneath a shed in the back yard, the ignited gas sought the path of least resistance, which was straight up through the dirt floor. The shed exploded, chunks of timber flew everywhere, and camera quality further deteriorated. An astonished voice uttered some unprintable comments, then the video went dark.
A startled Arthur froze for a moment. That could have been his shed. Worse, it could have been a corner of his house. Humbled and chagrined, he went downstairs, phoned a professional exterminator, then headed outside to gather a bouquet of pinwheels.
Back in the Cloud Nine lounge, Ralph returned to his scotch and toilet water and breathed a sigh of relief. He hoped Arthur had learned a lesson. It was just too much work to conjure up a thunderstorm on such short notice
