Holy moly
I thought I was done writing stories about my experiences when I was challenged with “do you have any stories about a mole?” The answer was unfortunately yes.
Carolyn and I moved to West Linn, Oregon in 1994 from the deserts of Arizona. We bought a two story colonial with no landscaping. Carolyn immediately said call a landscaper since she did not think my idea of planting palm trees, saguaros and ocotillos would work. Months later we had a beautiful yard--my favorite part being an immaculate lawn that meandered between ponds and native plants. I was taught as a young man that is was paramount that you keep your faith in God, provide for your family, respect your elders and always have the greenest lawn in the neighborhood, (sorry Tal).
One day I was washing a window in an upstairs bedroom when I was shocked to see a dozen mole tunnels all over my precious lawn. I went ballistic when I noticed there was movement in a couple of the tunnels. I flew down the stairs to get some tools to eliminate the mole problem. I drove my shovel into tunnel after tunnel trying to get these uninvited guests. Grass and soil was exploding everywhere and I was determined to win this war. After 30 minutes I took a break to evaluate my success. To my surprise the tunnels started to have more movement.
I decided to contemplate what would my hero, Tim Allen, do. So I went to the garage and got more tools. I started with a pitch fork and moved up to a pick axe. This time sod, not grass blades, was flying everywhere. After another 30 minutes I was confident the moles were eliminated or at least moved to my neighbor’s home. I put the tools away and feeling very manly I started to go back upstairs and update Carolyn on my triumphs. As I walked down the hallway, I said “I took care of the problem.” She responded with “what is wrong with you?” Confused I looked out the window and saw that my yard looked like someone took a rototiller to my lawn. In addition there were at least three spots spouting water where I had hit the irrigation system. I turned around very sheepishly and said “I will call the landscaper.”
Fast forward eight years and Carolyn and I are weeding in our new home in Grants Pass when I hear Carolyn shout “I got him.” She hands me a bucket with a mole in it and says take care of the pest. I couldn’t kill it because it looked like a cute cartoon character. So I walked down to the river and released it hoping it would make a new home in one of the parks down river. Well this mole floated about 100 feet then turned around and morphed into Johnny Weissmuller. It swam upriver to the bank on my property, ran between my legs and headed for my lawn. I chased it until it hid in some bushes. I ran into my barn trying to decide what tools I needed to eliminate this mole. Remembering my last encounter with a mole it was obvious what tools I needed. I grabbed my fishing pole, my tackle box and a can of worms, walked back down to the river and called it a day.
Carolyn and I moved to West Linn, Oregon in 1994 from the deserts of Arizona. We bought a two story colonial with no landscaping. Carolyn immediately said call a landscaper since she did not think my idea of planting palm trees, saguaros and ocotillos would work. Months later we had a beautiful yard--my favorite part being an immaculate lawn that meandered between ponds and native plants. I was taught as a young man that is was paramount that you keep your faith in God, provide for your family, respect your elders and always have the greenest lawn in the neighborhood, (sorry Tal).
One day I was washing a window in an upstairs bedroom when I was shocked to see a dozen mole tunnels all over my precious lawn. I went ballistic when I noticed there was movement in a couple of the tunnels. I flew down the stairs to get some tools to eliminate the mole problem. I drove my shovel into tunnel after tunnel trying to get these uninvited guests. Grass and soil was exploding everywhere and I was determined to win this war. After 30 minutes I took a break to evaluate my success. To my surprise the tunnels started to have more movement.
I decided to contemplate what would my hero, Tim Allen, do. So I went to the garage and got more tools. I started with a pitch fork and moved up to a pick axe. This time sod, not grass blades, was flying everywhere. After another 30 minutes I was confident the moles were eliminated or at least moved to my neighbor’s home. I put the tools away and feeling very manly I started to go back upstairs and update Carolyn on my triumphs. As I walked down the hallway, I said “I took care of the problem.” She responded with “what is wrong with you?” Confused I looked out the window and saw that my yard looked like someone took a rototiller to my lawn. In addition there were at least three spots spouting water where I had hit the irrigation system. I turned around very sheepishly and said “I will call the landscaper.”
Fast forward eight years and Carolyn and I are weeding in our new home in Grants Pass when I hear Carolyn shout “I got him.” She hands me a bucket with a mole in it and says take care of the pest. I couldn’t kill it because it looked like a cute cartoon character. So I walked down to the river and released it hoping it would make a new home in one of the parks down river. Well this mole floated about 100 feet then turned around and morphed into Johnny Weissmuller. It swam upriver to the bank on my property, ran between my legs and headed for my lawn. I chased it until it hid in some bushes. I ran into my barn trying to decide what tools I needed to eliminate this mole. Remembering my last encounter with a mole it was obvious what tools I needed. I grabbed my fishing pole, my tackle box and a can of worms, walked back down to the river and called it a day.