SWAMP THING

Last night I was so freaked out that strange people where building barricades behind our house that I stayed up until 2:30pm. Then Dave woke up for work at 6:00am I know that because he woke me up screaming about the creek being blocked again. At least that’s what I think he said I was running on about 4 hours of sleep. At 9:00am when my daughter was done jumping up and down on my lifeless body I remembered faintly something about Dave and the creek. I rallied my troops and without coffee or even brushing my teeth the plan was to storm the creek! My son was armed with a hoe, me with a crowbar, and my daughter was going to be the lookout. On our way out to battle we saw our neighbors. I told them about our evil vandals, nasty kids, or ghastly hobos who clog up our creek and trespass on our land. My neighbor and his wife both agreed that I was battling beavers. YES! And oh NO!

YES, because I have been right the whole time at least 2 years my husband, and other who know who they are, have been mocking me about believing that beavers live in our back yard.

Oh NO! Because I can’t stop beavers with a No Trespassing signs, security cameras, threats of bodily harm, or any of the other violent ideas that I had thought up the night before. My neighbors suggested that I call animal control. But first I unleashed the hell hounds to the creek. Armed with my crowbar I tore apart every twig, log, small tree and revolting hunk of slippery stinky muck like a possessed crazed machine of mass destruction. My son was like a psychotic cyclone swinging his hoe like a gladiator on the battlefield.

Together we fought the little buggers for about 5 minutes until Spartacus got bored picked picked up his hoe and left, which made me work harder and faster. I was also motivated by the swamps of mosquitoes eating me alive as I ran out of the house without bug spray. The faster I went the more I became actuated with black muck and swamp water. I was throwing muck and logs like a super hero. I was running on pure adrenaline rage and fear of West Nile virus. By the time I was done I had blisters on my throbbing fingers, a fiery pain in my lower back and covered from head to toe in dark stinky mud. I had become swamp thing! I stank and my dirty arms and legs itched as much as they smelled. My shorts and shirt were drenched, my hair was dotted with clumps of filth and I was pretty sure that I had grown web feet.

I walked up to the house and threw open the door. My son looked at me and said. “Wow mom you are lookin’ pretty rough!” My daughter yelled “Ewe! Something smells!” and ran out of the kitchen. I ran up into the bathroom and showered for over an hour. Then I called animal control! WE HAVE BEAVERS!

MEAN MOMMY ATTACKS

Tonight the kids and I got home from a late play date to find Dave on the porch wearing jeans. My husband is a creature of strong routines and he only wears jeans on the weekends. Before I could ask him about his attire he told me the ugly truth. The damn dam was back. BACK! It took 2 grown men to dismantle it less than 24 hours before. I couldn’t believe it. Again! I ran out to the back yard and found a stinky flooded swampy lake with a huge wooden blockade bringing our creek down to a trickle. I saw red. I stomped back to the house, marched right by my family sitting down to a warm dinner, up the stairs to put on my uniform. I come down 2 minutes later wearing nylon shorts and my messiest painting shirt. I go down to the basement and get the bug spray and a shovel. I strut back outside slip into my crocks, grabbing a rake and a hoe on my way. I am fuming. I had laser vision. I was a female swamp terminator.

Forget about Arnold Schwarzenegger the female swamp terminator doesn’t need a fancy 45 long slide gun with laser sighting and a fancy leather outfit all I need is a shovel and fury. Play time was over and now those little dam building buggers where going to face my seething wrath. Those of you who know me probably can’t imagine a sweet funny kind hearted gal like me morphing into a tornado of furiously swarming hell fire and rage. Just ask my kids they have named my alter ego “Mean Mommy”. If you ever want to meet “Mean Mommy” all you need to do is hurt my children or clog up my creek with 4 tons of much and twigs.

I am now down at the flood site pulling muck and small trees out of the creek with my trusted shovel. Black heinous smelling muck, swamp water, and rabid mosquitoes are flying everywhere. I am possessed I jump into the creek with my broken toe and all. No pain or discomfort can keep me from destroying this damn dam. I am prying twigs and thorn covered vines from the intricate puzzle of stench with my bare hands. I try not to think about the squishy smelly muck oozing in between my fingers. I am humming the song “I’m Every Woman”, time to show these dam making jerks that they can mess with two grown men and survive, but they have messed with “Mean Mommy” and they must die! I raged against the evil barricade soon water starts flowing to my lower calves and I keep pulling and throwing debris. Then the dam breaks and white water is rushing above my knees saturating my shorts. Logs, muck, and miscellaneous crud is flowing by and getting wrapped around my legs. The sky is getting dark and I can’t see through the water. Every time I bend down to clear off my legs I pray that I don’t find a dead animal or a human hand.

About an hour later I have cleared the entire creek without finding any dismembered bodies or road kill. I swagger back to the house covered in wet stinky mud and feeling like a million bucks!

SWAMP WARS!

I don’t know if you recall my battles over the years with the fictitious beavers? After years of mocking, teasing and educating, I now believe that we have no beavers. Just a bunch of kids or some horses behind who get their jollies from turning my back yard in to a swamp!

This summer has been great. I have found a little dam or two clogging up our creek but nothing that I couldn’t fix within a half an hour.

Until they started the SWAMP WARS!

After work last night our neighbor came over to tell us that our little creek had flooded to the point that his land was being flooded. Our backyards had become a mega smelly swamp! Dave and Jeff went out to the flood plain in their hats, heavy jeans, tall boots, work gloves and gardening tools of mass destruction and were ready for battle. Two hours later my husband limping home soaking wet and covered with muck. My husband who hates to get dirty, who showers at minimum of once a day smelled like an open sewer. He soiled and smelly buy happy that he and Jeff defeated the enemy!

After a long shower Dave told me told me that our little ankle deep creek swelled with water up to his thighs. The little pond that feeds the creek was a large deep lake. What was causing this calamity? A huge wall, not a little dam or a slight blockage, but a wall; a wall piled high with logs, leaves, twigs, rocks, held together by bottom muck and reinforced small trees. Yes, small trees, wedged in between the wall and the creek bed. At least 5 of them crisscrossing at different highs and woven into the wall making the barrier a like one of those iron bar puzzles.

That’s why it took two grown men 2 hours to unplug the creek. The good news is that they did remove the blockade from hell and left the swamp draining with the hopes of becoming a creek again by morning. The battle of the swamp wars was won but we didn’t have any of the regular spoils of battle. What we had was air pollution, stinky, foul, rancid swamp air slowing through our open windows seeping into every crack and crevasse of our house. Our house actually smells like swamp poo!