January 21, 2012
Avert your eyes dear friends or stop reading now.
You have been warned.
I guess I will get tougher as the farm and I slowly become one with each other, but alas, only time will tell. Today was not an auspicious beginning let me say.
To date I have set foot on the land a mere 3 times: once when meeting the original family for the first time about 18 months ago; the second time when Scott told me he had placed a firm offer that was about to be accepted by the seller on New Year’s Eve; and again this afternoon.
In the mean time, my adventurous husband has been bringing home “treasures” much like a small boy would from an amazing journey afar – into the wild yonder of …our back yard – or more aptly, 1.9 miles away to the south. Much to my dismay, and to the continuing state of cluttered disarray of our home, Scott has recently been bringing such treasures into MY space – the kitchen.
One such treasure was brought home about 10 days ago – it was dirty, caked with mud, leaves, dirt – you name it. It lived outside for a few days; then was brought inside. It was fondly and carefully placed into the kitchen sink to be cleaned. And there the decades old, 5-gallon jug sat. For 8 days. Every once in a while, one of us would take a rag to it and carefully wipe down the outside. Scott even took a toothbrush to it from time to time to get the caked on dirt loosened a bit. But alas, it started to get comfortable in my oversized single bowl sink in the kitchen. I wasn’t going to touch it, but my patience was waning.
So tonight, much to my surprise, Scott took the initiative and started cleaning it. He brought out the soap. The Bartender’s Friend. The old used toothbrush. The rags. And the jug started to look nice – on the outside.
Then it was time to tackle the inside. Water was added. Hot water. Soap. Swishing. Dumping. Repeat. Repeat. Repeat.
“Hey, what’s all that brown stuff?”
“I don’t know… probably dirt.”
“Hmm.. Wow – it’s really brown and gross looking – you should run the disposal.”
While I turned my attention to other things and began to do laundry and clean the bathroom I would occasionally turn my gaze back to this mysterious jug. More brown stuff, more gunk. Wow – that thing is disgusting – good thing he’s cleaning it out, I thought.
At one point I ventured into the kitchen to see how the progress was going. Mind you, nearly an hour had passed since Scott began his quest to get this giant jug out of our sink. He was making waves, it appeared.
I peered over his shoulder.
“How’s it coming?”
“Hey. Don’t come over here.”
“What?! Why not?”
“Seriously. You don’t want to see this. Don’t come over here.”
Like a child drawn to the forbidden land of sweet candy and colored treasures, I instantly drew closer and craned my neck into the sink.
WHAT IS THAT?! I thought. Seriously?!
Curled up in my kitchen sink were two dead mice. Oh My Lord! Get them out of my sink – and right now! Please.
He didn’t want to touch them. I guess I didn’t either.
Hmm… I began to think quickly. When I originally purchased the garbage disposal I asked for the best one they had in case my two young children (one not yet born) chucked random things in the sink without my knowing. The sales professional proudly told me they had tested this thing with chicken legs and all.
OK, Scott, just turn it on.
What? Are you kidding?
Yes, just do it. I’ll come back in 5 minutes after I finish the bathroom. Don’t tell me about it.
He turned it on. And didn’t say a word.
I didn’t come back for at least ten, maybe even thirty minutes.
What’s that in the sink now?
Bleach – lots and lots of bleach. Can’t you smell it?
Nope. Can’t smell anything. Still in shock.
Thanks for taking care of the jug and it’s contents – and for somewhat bringing my kitchen back to working order.
It’ll be just fine… Just after I use up this here GALLON of bleach mixture and Comet.
The farm and I will eventually be one. I will learn to love this farm.
Just as soon as all the four-foot snakes are out of the basement.