I enjoyed floating through an afternoon
at my late, great, brother Jon’s;
a can of Busch beer in hand…
my butt on a picnic table bench…
getting numb with nature
in the greenness
of ‘Drunken Gardens’
among the Ironwoods and Brazilian Pepper
sitting long stretches without a word
lost in thought or boredom
occasionally going for another beer
or to take a pee…
maybe passing on news of someone
or something of mutual interest
while the sounds of Freddie King
or Stevie Ray Vaughan
painted the air with the blues…
on hot days the Kmart wadding pool
offered a Scooby-Doo wet spot to cool down
a can of old golf balls and a driver at hand
offered an oft used diversion
tearing line-drives through
the Kudzu vines…
and occasionally…
squirrel fishing
Jon had two hand-feed, fuzzy tailed tree rats
who reigned over Drunken Gardens;
a pair of skittish, wire tailed, gray squirrels
that gave inspiration to a new sport…
one the Olympic committee had overlooked
in their quest for curious competition,
but gave the human guests to the gardens
cause for intoxicated interludes
of sheer joy…
and stark terror…
the female had a nick out of her right ear
she was aggressive and fearless
Jon called her Lefty…
the male was the target of Lefty’s abuse
she controlled the yard
he was only there because she let him
she let him because he had giant gonads
that dragged the ground between his legs
when she was ready he was ready
so she kept him around
Jon called him Iron Balls McGinty,
for obvious reasons…
both of these yard sharks loved peanuts
Jon bought jumbo bags of peanuts
He had the market curbed
on un-salted jumbo roasted peanuts…
Jon always maintained three things:
Beer, toilet paper,
and un-salted jumbo roasted peanuts…
we’d run out of beer and toilet paper,
but there were always peanuts…
squirrels can be vicious
if you run out of peanuts…
Jon also had a bicycle, a surfboard,
and an aging fishing pole
that laid around his back room
for the most part untouched…
he rewound the fishing reel
in the leafy surroundings of the gardens
leaving the fishing pole
leaning against the table
for half a Saturday afternoon…
a partial bag of peanuts
sat a couple feet away awaiting
the mother of invention to arrive…
she did…
mono-filament line with a tiny lead weight
tied at the center of a roasted jumbo peanut
became the bait…
tossed with a marksman’s accuracy
the line spun out thirty feet
dropping the goober near Lefty
and getting her immediate attention
she hopped toward the bait…
we all grinned
leaning forward on the bench
to observe the engagement
of man and raw nature
man versus wary squirrel
a battle of wits where only one animal
could walk away…
[a dozen times if the line didn’t break]
Lefty snatched the peanut
but Jon was quick to tug…
the dry brown shell popped up
and danced a few feet away in the grass
the tree rat bounded forward
lunged for the nut and it was
popped away again…
reeling in the line
moving the nut closer and closer
to the picnic table…
across the yard it moved in grabs
and jerks
the nut flew up
Lefty bounced to attack
it reached the bench
the squirrel went up after it
flopping around it was finally secured
in the chiseled front teeth
of the frantic rodent…
in a tenacious grip
the animals teeth and front paws
held on to the fat prize
as it became airborne
lifted by the peanut
leaving the bench…
up, up, up onto the table top
the creature wiggled and writhed
little grunts and chirps issued
from between clenched teeth
as it spun like some mad
whirling dervish
in a crazed peanut ballet
tugging relentlessly at the bait…
the members of the fishing expedition
were in convulsions of laughter…
spilling beer and holding back
from peeing themselves
as the insane visage of Lefty
being slowly spun above the table top…
refusing to let go of the nut of her dreams…
she battled on…
a final twang of the plastic line
a quick dash across the yard
and the peanut and squirrel were gone…
squirrel fishing was born…
of course there were others
squirrels don’t mind looking foolish
if there is a fat peanut as the outcome
so there were many more encounters
that went down in the backyard of summer
Jon is gone now
he and his liver had a falling out
Lefty and Iron Balls left offspring
and finally moved on following Jon
the little wooden house is still there
but drunken gardens aren’t the same…
yet every time I pass
I see ghosts of memory at play
acting out the good times
missing moments shared
when life was simple and silly
and a true gentleman’s pass time
like squirrel fishing
was the only thing
that was real…
R. C. Arquette
4/17/03
