Get this… I’ve been at this blogging gig for over 5 years.
According to my statistical underlings, I’ve posted 323 unique posts in that time. Many of which I don’t even remember writing. 185,438 words.
I gotta say… I’m shocked and slightly embarrassed at the sight of all those words. That’s a couple of books worth, just floating out there on the swells on the interwebs. And then there’s me, here, with two actual books mustifying themselves in the proverbial drawer, waiting for some loving schmuck–like, say, me–to finish them up and do something with them.
Ack, the horror. Sometimes you run with what’s working, and don’t sweat the rest. Today would be a perfect example of those sometimes.
Welcome to the inaugural edition of
Way Back Wednesday!
This post turned into a guest piece in the Hay River Review, a very hip and happening publication of rural northwestern Wisconsin.
The battle with the moles never really ended. Every year, those *insert bad word here* monsters mount a new assault on the Ottinger Estates. They emerge from the leaf litter and bore their little tunnels deep into the interior of our hallowed grounds.
This very year, as a matter of fact, this very 2019th year after Christ, they had a resurgence of their infuriating inter-species ways. They’ve once again bred with the pocket gophers and learned their secrets. They’ve wedded their intricate web of spidery upwellings with the outlandish dirt-spewing habits of the East Hill mound-builders.
Under the snow in our backyard there is very little sod left untouched. And somewhere along the southern reaches of our establishment, there is still one lone mole trap buried, where a particularly smart-arsed critter thought he’d be funny and yank it far underground, leaving the utility flag laying idly by, marking nothing at all.
In the spring the metal detector will be deployed to recover the fallen soldier. In the spring we might seriously consider the Molinator.
If you need me, I’ll be enjoying the mole-free months while I can,