It’s fun watching the squirrels run amok, up, down and around the trees this time of the year…Hey, it’s better than imitating a manhole cover on Crest Forest Drive. And it’s not uncommon to see them gathering acorn nuts but, it was so hot the other day, I actually saw a squirrel soaking its nuts in ice water. And with Hurricane Alberto unleashing its devastating wind and flash-flooding in Texas, their soggy nuts will get scattered all along the southern coast.
Last week’s tropical weather arrived just in time to lure scads of folks (I was gonna say “flatlanders,” but that would be wrong) up the mountain to enjoy the cool shore of Lake Gregory. OK, so it wasn’t all that cool, but it’s gotta be cooler here than down in the city. Coolness is a relative thing and, come to think of it, I have a relative who’s really cool. Matter of fact, I married her.
Hot town, summer in the city, back of my neck getting dirty and gritty. Been down, isn’t it a pity, doesn’t seem to be a shadow in the city.” (“Summer in the City” – Lovin Spoonful – 1967)
I don’t mean to change the subject, but that’s exactly what I’m about to do. It seems I ran across an August 2010 copy of The Mountaineer magazine, a bi-monthly periodical that sprang forth from what was then known as The Alpenhorn News. In it there was an article about Mountaineer Days, a yearly carnival that was held in what is now the south shore parking lot of Lake Gregory. In addition to vendors booths there was a gunny sack race, pie-baking and pie-eating contest, a Ferris wheel and a ride called “The Hammer,” which spun around vertically with a cage that you were strapped into so’s you couldn’t escape, and I’ll be danged…scuse me for cussin’, Mom, if the dang thing didn’t get stuck at the top of the loop with me strapped in sideways for the next 15 minutes. Oh, and then there was the jail for folks who forgot to wear their Mountaineer Days badge. In fact, I was one of their first customers.
What I dislike most about hot weather is that it encourages the ants to come marching into my kitchen. One morning, I found them advancing toward my Frosted Flakes. And, to add insult to injury, they were swarming all over my can of Raid, sticking their little tongues out at me. That was the last straw! So, back from Goodwin’s, armed with two more cans of Raid, I issued a fatwah against the ants.
The ants go marching one-by-one, hurrah, hurrah, the ants go marching one-by-one, hurrah, hurrah. The ants go marching one by one, the little one stops to suck his thumb, and they all go marching down to the ground…Boom! Boom!
Even though I was outnumbered by about a thousand to one, not to be discouraged, I whipped out my last can of Raid… Boom!, Boom!, Boom! In unison, they shouted, “RAID!!!” and that was the end of that sad saga.
Hot town, summer in the city, back of my neck getting dirty and gritty.
Keep it flyin’,
Uncle Mott
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