The Comfort of Rods and Staffs

 

by Pa Rock

Knee-Walker

I finished planting the last of the three new rosebushes yesterday afternoon, and by the end of the ordeal I was literally a physical wreck.  Not only did the project involve digging two-and-a-haf large holes in rock-laden Ozark ground (my son, who happened by at an opportune time finished hole #2 for me), but I also found myself dragging around large bags of composted cow manure and river rocks - and physically handling three good-sized and very thorny rosebushes sans work gloves!

But by golly I got them all in the ground.  This morning I drove to Kansas City (nearly a five-hour drive) and will head home on Saturday and begin mowing Sunday.  When I get the grass trimmed and under control my little place in the Ozarks will be absolutely beautiful!

I came upon one of the little groundhogs yesterday, and it was definitely a baby that was born within the last several weeks.  The poor little thing was confused when he encountered his first human and didn't know what to do.  I courteously stepped away to attend to another task, and he used that opportunity to scamper off.

The pond, too, looks great.  Plenty of water and there seems to be an abundance of tadpoles - so the whole place should be jumping and croaking shortly!

Speaking of croaking, late Tuesday evening while I was out by the road putting the finishing touches to the planting of Frida, I felt the need to get down on my hands and knees and push some of the compost in by hand - and also add the mulch by hand.  The ground was not too rough and I finished that chore in just a few minutes.  Then, when I went to get up, I suddenly realized that I no longer had the strength or  physical agility to stand up - and I felt like if I did try to stand I would surely topple over.

Old age is hell!

I surveyed my situation and came up with three alternatives.  First, I could crawl fifty yards or so back to where I had left the shovel - and use it to pull myself up, or second, I was out by the road so I could try to flag down a passing motorist for an assist, or third, I could crawl far enough away to where I wouldn't fall into the rose bush, rest a few minutes, and then try to stand.   I opted for door number three and eventually got to my feet - but it was a scary situation.

I told that story to Ranger Bob and he responded that I was a "tough old coot."  (Ranger Bob is actually a couple of months older than me, and he, too, is a tough old coot!). I told Bob that I was thinking about getting a "staff" for support and balance in case I ever get in a smilier situation.  Bob is a trout fisherman, and he said that he has one, a fold-up affair, that he uses when he is wading our fine Ozark creeks and rivers.

I have several hickory trees on my property, so now I am on the lookout for a special branch that would make a good staff.  Hickory is a very solid hardwood that would undoubtedly make a fine staff - and what a comfort that would be!

And that, of course, got me thinking about rods - they are supposed to be a comfort, too.  Did I really need a staff, or would a good rod do - and what the hell is a rod anyway?  So I went to visit the famed Oracle of Mountain View,  California.

According to The Google:

"The main difference between a rod and a staff is that a rod is a short, straight, and comparatively heavy club-like tool.   On the other hand, a staff is a thinner and long device that helps the shepherds to correct their flock.  A rod was generally used for protecting or defending the flock."

I think a staff is what I need.  There may be times when I need to give the groundhogs at Rock's Roost a bit of direction, but I can't envision. situation where I would ever need to rise to their defense.  Still, having a staff and a rod might be a comfort!