Mucking Out the Duck Pond

Mojo Memories of Mucking Manure..

 The Girls had a chore ahead and the day wasn't getting any younger, grandpa mumbled under his breath, "Kids can't be laying around watching Sally Jesse trash tv, go water the birds" Summer was hot in Oklahoma and watering the animals was a crucial element in the circle of life on a farm. Birds are messy creatures. They poop in their own watering source, and as a 14 year old kid, it was my responsibility to help grandpa keep the animals fed and watered with fresh, clean water, everyday- sweltering heat & frozen temps included.

 

The girls ran out of the house choosing to find their own chore to focus on for the afternoon. It was hot out already and the pond was looking a little like an oasis.

 

Out back in an enclosed area surounding the grandparents house was a duck yard full of ducks, geese, peacock, foul of all sorts, coming and going as they pleased. Grandpa was a DIYer and made all sorts of shallow concrete water ponds for the animals drinking and bathing pleasure.

 

The one in the imediate enclosed back area was a managable size and the girls proceeded to jump in and muck it out by the bucket full. It was green and slimey and the smell was indescribably foul. Just picturing the memory can bring back the exact odor and the funny day of slinging it on my best friends face, hair, backside.

 

The laughter and hilarity is what I remember most, not the horendous chore of cleaning out a green slimy body of poop water.

 

The end reward after all that disgusting poop wrangling was a sparkling clean cold body of water on a very hot summer day that could be floated around in like a mermaids menagere full of squacking animals and endless towering sunflowers. Floating on weightless backs gazing up at the blue sky and fluffy white clouds. That was a memory that stuck and is revisited time and time again. I never cease to smile when going back to those endless summer days where I explored the land and talked to the animals, just like grandpa did while alive and here on this earth.

 

These memories shape my view and keep me centered. I think of building my own ugly concrete duck ponds for my kids and grandkids to muck out and make a memory of their own. Living with and raising animals teach children more than most realize. Farm life lessons last a lifetime in some instances carry on to the next generation.

 

Education come in all shape and form. Events in our lives serve as educational tools.

 

I can remember planting a sprouted potatoe from grandma's kitchen pantry. We did not have food gardens at the grandparents house, just animals. We farmed exotic animals as pets and hobby, anyways, this potato soon sprouted green leaves from the dirt in the area I buried the sprouted spuds. I suddenly became the family food farmer. I was about 11 when I earned this very cool title. The plants continued to thrive as the area had great soil. Reflecting back the soil was rich and fertile from not spraying any poisons and from birds shitting all over the place. I could stick my little arm into the soil all the way up to my elbows. The earth at that farm was rocking with green magic!

 

I was the eldest grandchild and I pretty much had a say in whatever projects were being done. I worked hard for my grandpa because he was the neatest man alive. Handsome in a Elvis Presley kind of way. Sparkling blue eyes, high cheekbones, and a grin that probably took a few women's breath away. Grandma was a looker as well. Tall, graceful, a smile that could light up any room, anywhere. Grandma was fun. She danced around the kitchen cooking and cleaning imitating a can can girl and kicking high up into the air. I thought this was very amusing and funny and it always made me laugh so hard watching this grown up lady have fun taking care of her family.

 

This was a time in history when women seemed more chore oriented than the men. Just an observation from my personal memory of the times. In my family the women did everything. They ran the family pawn shop 6 days a week, did the grocery shopping, then came home and cooked for masses of family, people, kids, and babies and cleaned up the whole mess of life after that. I remember all the men just got their plate made for them like the kids. We all danced around grandpa's chair and he held court like a king. He was a king. Grandpa's birth sign was that of a leo and he was king of the jungle in our family circle. He was a stinker who played endless practical jokes with no one able to resist the humor in his quest to pull tricks. Jalapeno oil rubbed on the ice tea glass rim, fake howls from behind the tent while grandaghters camping in the backyard, postal mailed beetles to bug phobia daughter, unexpectedly unplugging the phoneline while grandaughter talking.

Grandpa loved throwing rats, snakes, possum, and anything he could catch barehanded onto the sqeamish.

 

I developed a curiosity to the animals instead of fear but he alway got me on the surprise factor in his sick twisted humor exploits for fun. At one point I imagined possum as cute creatures who gave their babies mama boat rides upon her back. So very cute in my Ranger Rick magazine script of the time. No, a possum is a giant, wirey gray haired rat monster with knashing teeth and claws that cling to flesh and tank top material.

 

Insisting on going with grandpa meant you could be put in a life endangering predicement. On that particular day we were picking up hay at Jody's place, from Jude and Jody's Furniture. We loaded the hay and grandpa found a nest of possums. He threw the surprised momma possum onto my quickly fleeing back. Momma possum was snarling and hissing, I was running, my feet barely hitting the ground, flung that sucker off my back. Jeez! Grandpa laughed so hard I feared for his health. The ride home was silently chilly as I tried to stay mad at this smiling giggling gloating old man. Dinner that night was full of tales of the flying O'possum.

 

There was more laughter a million days ago when I was a child. I hope to pass what my grandparents passed to me. Laughter, love, nature, free to be

 

I have some spuds ready for my eldest grandchild, Mercie, age 6, ready to be planted on her weekend visit to her father, my son. I am going to give her the title of family food grower ;)