Strange Things are Happening

 The day our community got home from being evacuated, I had a grateful a cry in the driveway, and noticed a few things. It looked like Mother Nature was having a celebration. The lawn in my front and back yard was higher than my knees, and since it had rained a few days before, it was so green and lush, it looked drunk. Like my grass had gone on a bender. 'No people around...there's no telling how high I can get!'

 My outdoor plants also survived, and though some of them looked peaked, the overgrowth of weeds in my flower beds and perennial garden reminded me of the dance scene in West Side Story. They were cocky as hell, and perhaps like the grass, drunk on their own power. 

I had a revelation, then. Back in the late seventies while camping our way through Asia, we came upon the excavation of centuries old ruins. As we looked down, we saw the stone walls of a village far below. I'd never understood how quickly and aggressively Mother Nature moves when left to her own devices. Neat and tidy man-made structures become wild kingdoms in no time at all.

Once I got into the house, I quickly checked my fridge. Some food was spoiled, but not the fresh vegetables. A full head of cauliflower had just a few brown marks. What are they spraying on these things? I wondered. And then I went to take a shower downstairs and saw my second strange thing.  On the bathmat in front of the shower was a pile of what seemed to be the husks of bug carasses. I had this moment of pure horror, like in a scary movie where the camera zooms in on the eyes of a terrified victim. I picked up the mat to shake them off, and realized that they were in fact, tiny pieces of gray foam. I was flabbergasted. The mat had been clean when I left the house a month earlier. 

Next, I opened the louvered doors to check on my furnace. A huge pile of chewed up foam sat on the floor right inside. I would have clutched my pearls if I'd been wearing any. You know that feeling when you think someone has been inside your house? No? Me either. But in that moment, the idea hit me hard. What craziness had taken place while I was gone? Investigating further, I went outside to tour around the yard and check my air conditioner under the deck. Then the truth landed. 

There's small cavity where my airconditioning hose enters the house. Just before I left, I saw a squirrel dashing away from under the deck and realized it had made it's home next to the pink fiberglass. Apparently, they love the stuff. And then I noticed that big chunks of gray foam were missing from the copper pipes. The little bugger had used it to make a cozy nest. Not only that, but she'd carried the stuff through the crawl space so it dropped in front of my shower from the vent above, and next to the furnace. It couldn't get into the house, but it certainly roamed around while I was away. 

I quickly got some tape and closed up the hole. I didn't want to use anything stronger, because I didn't want tiny rodents dying inside my house. But the tape stayed in place. The creatures were long gone. 

The next strange thing involved a huge clay jug that I kept on my deck for holding the gate open. The winds had been powerful, and they threw the jug down the stairs where it smashed onto the cement pad below. I loved that jug. It was almost as tall as my hip, with pretty blue stenciling on it. Circa 1920's, it came from my father-in-law's farm in Climax, Saskatchewan. As disapointing as it was to lose it, the worst part was the sticky pool about a foot around and 3 inches high, of rusty, tarry, syrupy goop it left behind. Was it 100 year old whiskey? Motor oil? I had no clue. After skirting around it for a few days (there was so much to do!) I threw rags on top of it and doused them with boiling water. Then I cleaned up what was left with an old tin spatula. To say it was an icky job is an understatement. 

Over the next few weeks as my garden weeds waged a full out war, I've been accompanied everywhere by a tiny chipmunk. I look down to find it crouched by my feet and when I scream, it scurries away. But five minutes later, it's back. I mean, really, they're just cute mice. And I hate mice. I tell it to go away and it just moves to another rock, sitting there smugly and rubbing it's small paws together like it's plotting something. (Possibly a visit to my house...perhaps word has gotten around) 

After a time that feels like a whole month of my life just vanished, anything is possible. So please, no more strange things.( But remember the time I almost called the fire department because I couldn't get out of my sports bra? Yeah. And in case you missed it, here's the link.

Judith Pettersen: Search results for someone call the fire department!

 So, I guess I'll wait and see what happens next. And in honour of all this craziness, here's a song from my childhood that my dad always played in hopes of entertaining his many children.

Strange Things Are Happening (Bonus Track)