Holes

  I'll attribute it to rodents: mice, chipmunks, possum or skunk. 

      After what was most likely the last mowing of the season, I swept out the shed, remembering the mice were likely to resume their winter gnawing of the wires in the mower. I had not  much luck deterring them with a variety of measures, so decided to give the mothball routine one more try. After all, the previous mothballs were old, inherited, so I became a first-time buyer of fresh mothballs. They weren't easy to find either; who wears wool anymore. So I flung some around in the shed, and on my way back to the house threw a few under the ramp, also known as the home of the chipmunks.  And I noticed that I saw no chipmunks for a few days. Coincidence maybe, but could be they moved away.

    I had noticed  several holes newly dug in the ground outside the doorway to the basement. They could be the homes of snakes, chipmunks, bees--who knows. So, as the holes are directly beneath my kitchen window, and I still have a supply of mothballs, I opened the window and aimed some mothballs toward the holes. Close but no direct hits. OK, I'll go down later and shove the mothballs into the holes, three of them as I'd detected.

    Now let me tell you something about falling.  My younger self once ran out the front door, tripped on the step and flailed my way  in spasmodic gyrations  all the way across the lawn before regaining my balance at the mailbox, which had been my destination. But not this time:  when rounding the house to place some mothballs, I was walking and then I was sitting down with my foot stuck in a former bee-hole which had been excavated  by some predator or another. The marker was long gone, the hole covered by fallen leaves, in the style of a bear trap, and I was the victim. I heard nothing snap and felt no pain. I got up and pushed the mothballs into the holes. I am now going to get a pail and shovel and fill the hole.