On Point

The joys of family bonding

Linda McCarthy
   The change in the weather signals it’s time for fall clean up. This past weekend I bleached everything that didn’t move. The spectacular, sanitized results lasted about 20 minutes. I should have taken a picture. Never one to dwell on the negative, I turned my attentions to the outside. I figured I could enjoy the fall air and get some yard work done at the same time.
   Recruiting my kids to help is futile. You can tell who does all the hard labor around here by the condition of their skin. My boys have the hands of royal infants … soft, supple, devoid of calluses and remarkably clean. I could never understand their aversion to gardening. There is something so earthy about digging in the dirt.
   The outdoor adventures also yield a ton of surprises. You never know what you’ll find out there. I start by using a metal detector so I can locate the garden tools I left out all summer. Fortunately they were under a bush, just where I left them. I had to relinquish the old work gloves I found under there, too. It seems a family of mice took up residence and as adamant as I am about gardening, I’m equally adamant about keeping my distance from vermin.
   Weeding is my strong point, but I have real issues with cleaning up after myself. Some one has to trudge behind me with a wheelbarrow and an iron rake. I begged my poor husband for help. Getting a man to work outside during football season is like coaxing a bear out of hibernation. You can do it, but do you really want to?
   After promising a whole host of things I have no intention of delivering, he lumbered outside and began the cleanup. The job took two full days. We found lost bathing suits, decomposing beach towels and two paperbacks from the best-sellers list. We found the remains of something that crawled under the deck and stayed there. We pulled the last remnants of summer annuals and discovered budding fall mums underneath.
   We pruned trees, hedge clipped and trimmed rose bushes which had thorns like sharp daggers. To our surprise, we discovered an underground bee’s nest. Luckily the angry little fellas flew past me and headed straight for my husband. Even though he took the attack as a sign to quit, I convinced him we should push to finish the job.
   After all that togetherness we’re about done. Oh, and as an added bonus we are both covered in some horrible rash that has us scratching in unison. He said he wasn’t allergic to either poison ivy or poison oak, so it must be some mutant strain of plant that caused all the misery. He’s hoping it’s not a flesh eating disease. If it is, it can start on my bottom because somehow it wound up there, too. If I thought he was unhappy before we started, words cannot describe how he is feeling now … maybe itchy with a bee.
   Linda McCarthy resides in Robbinsville with her husband and three children.