Rusty Pails #47: Moving On

by Rocky Macy

We closed down our camp last week and most of us found our way home. I say most of us because Shadetree Mike, who really didn’t want to go home anyway, fell under the influence of our resident witch. Yep, that’s right, Gladys Clench drove by our camp as we were packing it in, with smells of hot apple pie and freshly fried chicken just oozin’ from her Nash Rambler, and Mike followed her home. Talk about using dirty tactics! I saw the happy couple on Main Street yesterday. They were walking out of the dry goods store, arm-in-arm, where Gladys had just bought Shadetree Mike some new duds. She said that she wanted to spruce him up some for church. I suggested, politely of course, that a jackass in a suit was still a jackass. As Gladys pulled my buddy off down the street, I couldn’t help but notice that he had already put on a few pounds. Ermine seems to be doing fine with her husband taking up with another woman. Heck said that he saw her driving a carload of his stuff over to Gladys’ house earlier this week. He said that he might not have noticed her, but she was honking and waving at everyone and had an enormous smile on her face. Poor Ermine has really got to work on her grieving skills! Our never-ending domino game has been moved to the back room at Esther’s Pearls and Swine. She said now that we’re there, she can get rid of her collection of plastic pigs without having to change the name of her establishment! It’s nice to know we’re good for something! Esther came over to my place last night after supper. We sat out on my front porch, eating watermelon and spitting seeds, and talking about how much our lives have changed over the past few months. When the summer was young, Shadetree Mike was still living at the Pump and Git and being waited on hand-and-foot by Ermine, the Clench chicken coop was still standing, and me and none of my buddies had been to jail. What a difference a few short months could make! Esther has a theory that we are all just slipping quietly into old age, and the changes we experienced this summer was just life shaking out some of the wrinkles before we slide on into senility. I sat rocking in my chair, watching her scratch Baker behind the ear, and pondered her theory. She was wrong, of course. We all may be getting older, but as for me anyway, I am far from being old! And I would have told her so, too, if I hadn’t fallen asleep right about then! I woke just before sunup this morning still in the rocker on my front porch. Esther had tucked a quilt around me before she left last night. As the sun came peeking through the pines, I folded the quilt and went inside to put on a pot of coffee. It was going to be a beautiful day, and I needed to be ready for whatever adventures the day might bring.