Indiana Jones and the Monster Pothole Weasels

Hansel, age 8, hangs out the back window of his family’s idling car while we old people talk.  He still has an Indiana Jones scar face-painted on his cheek from his Halloween costume.  Gretel, age 6, waves from the other side of Batman, age 4, who sits in the middle in his car seat.

Our neighbor family is returning home after gathering fallen maple leaves for turkey art, and we — our dog Ruby, the Bearded One, and I — are on a walk.  We meet on the road.  We meet everyone on the road, and, more often than not these days, we talk about the road.

Hansel studies the HUNDREDS of potholes, each full of murky brown water.

“We found a hubcap next to that one,” I say and point.  “That’s the granddaddy pothole.”

“Hey, there’s a car down there!” the Bearded One says as he leans over the monster pothole.

Hansel and his father laugh.  Batman listens from his car seat, and thinks about the word hubcap.  Gretel adjusts her golden headband and smiles at me.

Then the father gets serious and says, “Any idea when the road’s going to be fixed?”

“Didn’t Edeltraut call you?” I say.  “She left a message on our phone machine a week ago.”  Edeltraut and her husband are the new road managers.

Hansel’s mother leans over her husband and says, “We got rid of our landline, Christi.”  I remember our conversation about both of us being maxed out with solicitors and political calls.  She’d told me about a new cell phone tower close enough that we can all get more bars, and I’m considering following her lead.

The Bearded One takes back the conversation.  “They got 18 checks out of 25 households, a new record.  The road company’s scheduled.  Should be just a few days now.”

“We’ve never seen it so bad,” the Bearded One says, still talking about the road.

“Turned out the hubcap came off of Honey Girl’s little Geo,” I say, referring to another neighbor.

“Hubcap,” says Batman.

“Honey Girl not only lost a hubcap,” the Bearded One says.  “She lost half her laying chickens to weasels.  I just talked with her yesterday, and they dug under her pens and killed fifty more hens.  That makes 70 out of a hundred gone.  The weasels went wild up there.”

Hansel’s father shakes his head, and I make a sad face.  I’m glad that the Bearded One doesn’t elaborate on the grisly pictures of scalped layers that Honey Girl showed him on her phone.  Weasels tear into the heads and suck the blood.

“Honey Girl sells eggs,” I say, “or she used to.”

Hansel has never seen a weasel, but he imagines he knows where they live: in the potholes!   You can see it plain as day on his face as he leans farther out the car window.  If only he had brought his Indiana Jones bullwhip, he’d stir that brown monster pothole water up good, force the monster weasels to the surface, chicken feathers still stuck to their lips, their razor-sharp teeth glistening with fresh chicken blood, and whack their heads off, one after another.  He fairly glows at the sheer glory of it all.  I remember our grown son at this age.

“Speaking of eggs,” Hansel’s mother says leaning over her husband again, “we’ve got some egg cartons for you.”

Gretel is out of her seat now and crowding Batman and Hansel, who suddenly snaps out of his daydream.  “I’ll bring them over!” she says, and then elbows Hansel aside so she can see Ruby.  “I’ll do it, Mom, I’ll do it!”

“Thanks,” I say.  “Bring them any time.”

Batman cries for Gretel to get off of him, and it’s time for us all to say good-bye.

Hansel smiles and sinks back into his seat, having defeated the Weasels of Doom.  He waves to us and chews a piece of well-deserved Halloween candy as his reward.

6 responses to “Indiana Jones and the Monster Pothole Weasels

  1. What a wonderful community you live in. Where neighbors know each other and have conversations “on the road”. I am off off my political rants again and have a ton of Farmlet to catch up with! I’ve missed it. give my love to all the Farmlet denizens and give yourself a big hug from me!

    • Thanks, Kathie, and I’ve missed you, too. Politics is truly Ohio’s job in this country, and you’ve been through the wringer.:) Welcome back, thanks for the comment, and big hugs to you and the boys.

  2. Christine Widman

    I got to be Indiana Jones once here at the B&B.
    Rescued a single female guest from a wolf spider that crawled into her guest house kitchen.
    Used my Indiana Jones vacuum cleaner and power-sucked the critter away.
    I of course was not exactly Indiana Jones brave in that the spider was so big that my nerves failed me from sweeping it into a dust pan and dumping it back outside.
    I wouldn’t want to tangle with those brain-draining weasels or those murky water-surely monster dwelling pot-holes.


    • Christine, my arachnophobic friend! I just read that half of all women are arachnophobes, and just 10% of men. They don’t freak me out, but our dear nurse daughter is horrified, petrified, terrified by spiders and we must de-spider her bed whenever she comes for a visit…we live in a forest and have lots of the creepy-crawlies.
      I love “brain-draining weasels.” Good words.:)

  3. We just gathered our neighbours remaining oak leaves that got shoved rudely off the tree to make way for their splendid new green mantle. She was going to burn them along with the grass clippings! NOOO! They rightfully belong on our compost pile ;). Glad is “glad” to give them to us as at 90, its somewhat hard to dispose of stuff like that. I hope we didn’t deprive her pyromaniac soul from her burning desires too much…oh…no turkey art for those leaves…all in the compost to heat up and burn away any weed seeds to make amazing compost for our gardens :). We, too, have hundreds of potholes on Auld Kirk road. Council just sends the aging geriatric “Ernie” out to run his grader up and down and fill them in. I guess it keeps Ernie off the streets ;). We don’t have to pay for the upkeep of the road here but if we did, it would get looked after better. Council only gets Ernie out when lots of us gang up on them and threaten to boycot the Auld Kirk church by baracading our naked bodies to it to stop the tourists…that usually works.Tassie needs all the tourists it can get 😉
    Weasels must be related to quolls…quolls are vampires. We don’t have many of them and we have no weasels at all. I guess we should feel lucky for that! I like the idea of weasel slaying candy…it might just be the candy of the future! Next years latest greatest fad…you could get tootsie rolls and doctor them to look like weasels with “X’s” for eyes! Don’t say I don’t give you ideas girl…run with them! 😉

  4. LOL Thanks for the description of Ernie! We just found out the road guys are coming on Friday…I’ll look for Ernie. And The Bearded One just chimed in…”Tell Fran to please send boycott photos.” 🙂 We have no Quolls so I looked them up and yikes, they look like they could kill a weasel. But they are similar, yes indeed. Weasel slaying candy, you are a genius. I’ll get right on it.:)

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