green is my pond

A friend once commented upon meeting my family that we lived life as if we were in a sitcom.  He meant it as a compliment.

I thought about his remark this week with my return to laguna cleanup.  Humming --

Green acres is the place for me.
Farm livin' is the life for me.
Land spreadin' out so far and wide
Keep Manhattan, just give me that countryside.

I do not live on a farm.  But, some of my chores have a rural resonance.  Harvesting the water cabbage, for instance.

But Oliver Wendell Douglas I am not.  I never was a member of a silk stocking law firm.  And most of the socialites I dated were no Eva Gabor.

At least, I thought I wasn't Oliver Wendell Douglas.  My rope purchase this past week may make me re-evaulate that conclusion.

As you know, I returned from the highlands to discover the rope for my grappling hook had disappeared.  It was as useless as a pirate or burglar tool as it was useless as a weeding implement.

I finally bought a rope at my favorite hardware store in Melaque.  You can see it wedded to the hook.  A nice bright yellow rope.  Nylon rope.

I knew when I bought it I was making a mistake.  I have enough experience as a sailor to know why most lines are made of cotton rather than nylon.  They are far easier on the hands.

It took me only three throws of the hook to realize my innate knowledge was far wiser than my purchasing impulse.  The nice thing about nylon rope is that you can fast forward past the blister stage to the fully-lacerated fingers stage.  Having writer hands, rather than sailor hands, may have been another contributing factor.

There were two options I ignored.  The first was to wear gloves.  I had none at hand.  But I could have bought a pair.

The second was to tape my fingers before I started rather than needing to do it after -- and then trying to figure out how to photograph my right hand while staying in focus.  (Please ignore whatever gang sign I have inadvertently made.)
 

My neighbor has cleared away enough of the water cabbage that I can now verify our two regular crocodile visitors survived the multiple emptying of the laguna this summer.  I have seen each of them at night over the past week.  The smaller one was there at dusk last evening.

One advantage to staying where I am is to enjoy nature in my back yard.  Eva Gabor may have preferred the stores.  I prefer the chores.

Sometimes.