We surely
enjoyed swinging from the bridge rope that day.
The temperatures hit the 110 mark at least. And the hills outside of Livermore are mostly
covered in knee high dry grass, a hard pressed oak tree here and there, and
poison oak. The bridge crossed the river
at the upper end of Lake Del Valle.
Spanning a narrow, deep ravine with a roc wall on one side, and a grass
covered hill on the other.
We took turns catching
the rope, climbing the cliff next to the bridge with it, and launching ourselves
outward, swinging through the full arc out and back, and dropping on the second
swing. Wind sound buffeting the ears and
being driven down into the green lit underwater of the river was just a pure
joy in release from the brutal heat of the sun.
All too soon it
was time to call it a day. We pulled up
stakes and jumped our bikes an hour early or so such that we could retrieve our
hidden raccoon, finish our chores, and get on with the skinning and taxidermy
work that lay ahead.
I remember it
seeming funny to me. When we got back
and pulled that raccoon out from that metal culvert, it sure looked bigger than
I had remembered it being. But no matter;
all the better as a display once we were done with it.
We strapped it
onto the rack on the back of one of the bikes so that everyone could see our
prize. Jumped on or bikes, and sweated
our way back into town.
Old Mr Peck must
of seen us coming. By the time we had
our bikes put away, the last chores done, and a worktable set up out back for
the skinning, he had pulled a chair out onto his back porch, had a cool drink
at hand and was chuckling under his breath as he puffed on his pipe.
We weren’t sure
exactly what he was chuckling over, but we were happy to have an audience so as
we could show off our treasure. Somehow,
again, that treasure seemed to have become even more plentiful than when we
picked it up.
So we gathered
our tools, tape measure, X-acto knives, scrapers, salt for the hide, tanning
chemicals, and such. Then we tossed to
determine who was going to get the honor of doing the cutting. Truth be told, Jeff had the best touch for
that part of the work, but Barry and I both knew there were bragging rights
that would go with it, so we each wanted a crack at doing the cutting.
If I remember
right, Barry didn’t win the toss, but he pulled rank on account of being the
eldest, and he settled in to start work.
Watching, it seemed to me that that old coon was as puffy as a balloon,
sitting there on the table in the full sun during the heat of the day.
Barry carefully
combed and parted the fur along the mid-line of the critter’s belly, and
steadily slipped the knife into the belly skin.
There was a
slight rush of escaping gas.
The raccoon got smaller.
All three of us
boys began to gag.
Mr Peck stopped
chuckling and started flat out laughing.
Lord, that thing
was ripe.
Now you need to
understand, this is coming from a guy who has changed the diapers of very sick children; has cleaned and gutted his share of fish, and deer, and pigs; and
even weathered a bad storm sleeping in an outhouse once.
But that raccoon…..
That raccoon
just purely reeked.
Mr Peck reached
in the house and got out a can of air freshener, and he was a good 40 feet
away.
We boys figured
it would dissipate pretty quick, so we sucked it up and Barry tried to get
on with the skinning. Problem was, the
skin kept shredding on him. And the
smell wasn’t getting any better. And he
was at serious risk.
Ask any
surgeon. They’ll tell
you.
One hand is at risk if the other
hand is holding a sharp knife and the guy who owns both hands is busy with the
dry heaves.
We decided that
we needed a clear head to rethink this.
So we all stepped back, way back, actually we climbed the fence and
stood within the halo of Mr Peck’s air freshener.
What we needed wasn’t
so much a clear head; as it was clear air and a new plan.
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© 2013 - Marty Vandermolen - All Rights Reserved
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