Straw Eight – The Gouge

Later in September, my children were back at school and so I had some time that I could devote to my parents. They were contacting me far more frequently than previously, and it often had to do with the POJ family and their antics. 

Well, Officer, I can’t honestly say that it was anything specific, but my parents did feel a bit odd in their own neighborhood. The blue-winged warbler nests – you do know that they nest on the ground or in low bushes, do you not? Well, it’s true; they do. So, in any event, the nests were, the neighborhood birding society began to notice that the nests were being disturbed a bit. 

No, there weren’t any more late evening sounds of thunder, or at least my parents did not intimate them – ha, there’s another dirty word, eh – to me at that time. Yet there were odd feelings all the same, you see. The birds appeared to be migrating a bit earlier than normal, as well. 

While my children were ensconced at their school one afternoon, I was contacted at my place of employment by my rather frantic mother. I left early, after obtaining permission to depart, and the opportunity to make up my hours at a later date, you see. 

When I arrived, the neighborhood was in something of a tizzy. There was a large, loud machine. I believe it’s referred to as a – oh, my, it’s yet another dirty word! I believe that it is a back hoe. The equipment was being driven and operated by the man of the POJ household as others, including one of the strange men I’d seen earlier, apparently supervised. That is, if supervision consists of a number of vulgar men standing around, smoking cigarettes and tossing the remainders into others’ gardens and driveways! 

One thing I should point out is that my father noted that it was his firm belief that this was the first time he had ever actually seen either of the occupants of the POJ household engaged in any sort of gainful employment or meaningful occupation. 

And so, they worked, or at least it seemed as if they were working. They removed a section of the swath of lawn between my parents’ home and the POJ family home. This resulted in the creation of a rather deep gouge in the ground. Any hope for regrowing my mother’s prized petunias in the area was, sadly, extinguished. 

No, I do not believe that a survey was conducted, Officer. Was this activity conducted on my parents’ property? I’m not certain.  That is a possibility, though. We did not think of it at the time. Understand, please, Officer, that we are good, law-abiding people, and we attempt to get along with our neighbors. So we did not think of such things or any consequences or anything like legal recourse. 

As I was saying, before you interrupted me, Officer, they gouged out the area. Then a good deal of tar was spread directly over the flatter side of the POJ family’s property, directly linked to their preexisting driveway. I am forced to assume that this was being done in order to accommodate the four vehicles, as the family had, I am led to understand, been parking them, willy-nilly, in others’ driveways. No, Officer, it was not just my parents who had been blocked in. 

And again, as I was relating to you, Officer, the man of the house then began speaking oaths in some rather colorful language, the likes of which I have never heard before! The cause? Oh, yes, the cause, apparently, was that insufficient tar had been obtained in order to pave everything that was evidently supposed to be paved. The swath was, I am led to understand, to be paved, but the area was simply far too large. And so it remained a swath of mud and was not paved at that or any other time. My father and I added a few colorful flags to my parents’ side of the swath in order to discourage the neighbors from accidentally trampling there. This was done because the gouging was rather extensive and uneven, and one could easily twist an ankle, it seemed. 

I then returned to my place of employment.