Midnight Marauders And The Taste Of Asphalt

I have been told I’m am impetuous, that I tend to jump to conclusions too quickly without taking heed of seemingly natural consequences of my actions. But there are other times when I am lauded over my quick nature, to fend off bigger problems by taking care of those smaller issues before they have a chance to grow.

It is a fine line that I tread, trying to keep things balanced and well-oiled, smooth and gliding along while the world seems to conspire against me.

This time of year, the plum trees are just starting to ripen their loaded branches of fruit. These have no particular name, but are by far the best plums that I have ever grown. It would be easy if I had all the trees in one location. Instead I have one tree protected in the corner of the garden by the taller filbert trees and shop roof on the east side. I have another tree on the other side of the transparent apple tree that is close to another plum tree of a different variety, an Italian, that ripens three weeks to a month later that my early plums. And a couple more more trees further out in the orchard/garden area that are Brooks and Petite varieties that are ok but not my favorite.

Then I have the trees that are across the county road. The biggest one on the whole place stands guard along the fence row just beyond the mailbox. It is not one single tree but a twenty foot stretch of trees growing in, through and above the fencing, it is very thick with a tangle of branches we just never seem to get around to trimming in the springtime. The tops of the huge clumps of tree are clear up into the electric lines.The conglomeration hangs out over the ditch, over the mailbox and drops fruit onto the road. It hangs out over the pasture on the other side and the cows stand under it waiting for the sweet fruit to drop. The dogs always have to ‘go pruning’ to check for plums that the cows missed. There is also a smaller but substantial tree closer to the river. The big herd sire uses his long tongue to snag fruit off the branches when they are weighed down with prunes.

I have heard that there is a difference between plums and prunes when it comes to trees, I am a rebel and refer to them as prunes or plums no matter the flavor, size, variety or brand. So even though it might not be correct, when I call them plums or prunes it is the same thing to me.

So the other night, right about midnight, the dogs began to bark incessantly at something in the dark. Being prune season, I expected to see raccoons hanging around. I poked my head out of the house at the protected tree in the garden, walked out to the one out beyond the yellow transparent apple tree, then out to the Italian and Petites, but did not see anything. Still the tethered dogs barked. I aimed the bright torchlight out across the road toward the mailbox and spotted two sets of eyes high above in the prune tree.

I scurried back inside to get Mike for assistance. He with his gun and I with the brightest light I could find and an extra flashlight in my pocket just in case, we headed off to thwart the bandits and their midnight marauding. Those suckers were sneaky, for the next half hour we neither saw nor heard anything. Then I made my way through the overgrown tangle in the ditch to shine the very bright light up each branch from directly below. With one spotted, I held the light firm and Mike shot from the road. We heard the thump, thump, thump as he dropped from branch to branch and a thud when he hit the ground.

Knowing there was another one up there, I handed the bright light to Mike to keep it shined into the tree while I used my smaller light to make my way through the gate and into the pasture. With the bright light from his side and the less bright one from my side, we saw number two and Mike shot again. This time it was like a stunt in a movie, straight down to the ground with a thud and then no movement at all.

Feeling proud that we saved the prune crop, I started to come up the incline from the pasture and tripped as I stepped onto the road. All my pointy parts came in contact first, my knees and elbows, one toe and one finger had the worst of it. All the soft parts in-between hit as well. Luckily, my face did not plant onto the road or I would have tasted that asphalt. Now I felt proud, and bruised. Bruised and a little bloody. I realized, a little too late, that I should not have worn my house slippers out to wage war with the raccoons.

The next morning, I still felt a little proud, but more silly with more bruises showing, and everything was stiff as if I had been in a boxing match and lost, badly.

The prune crop was saved that night, now tonight may be a different matter…

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