The Year of the Moles
Last summer at 440 16th Street in Ogden, Kansas, the moles reigned supreme in spite of my husband’s best efforts. They had showed up with the end of spring. At first there were just a few mounds of dirt announcing their arrival, then as the temperature increased, so did their excavating. At first he tried half-hearted attempts, unsuccessfully, to curtail their expansion but our yards were beginning to have that just-plowed look.
WAR WAS DECLARED! Our back and front yards became dotted with every mole trap that he could buy on e-bay. He made a mole check the minute he got out of bed and one the final thing at night with numerous checks during the day. He was even known to sit with a flashlight and pitchfork in his lawn chair in the wee, dark hours of morning waiting for them to make a move. He’d get aggravated at me ‘cause I wouldn’t take a night patrol now and then.
In desperation, he ran over their runs with the car, truck, skid loader or whatever was close and they still kept coming; nothing was safe from either of them. He dug up their runs and had a maze of trenches all over the yards and often filled them with water. Nothing ever washed up except my flowers. Walking in the dark was like a mine field and only a fool would risk it. He was a man on a mission. I felt like I was locked in on the set of “Caddy Shack”. With him being a habitual junker and our mole problem, our yard had 2 strikes against it and hovered on 3 the whole summer.
So went the summer. There is no end to this story; it got cold, the ground froze, my husband’s attention was temporarily diverted. The moles, I’m sure are warming their furry little bodies on the beaches of Cancun with sun screen on their pointed little noses and have sparking, manicured claws glistening in the sun and smiles on their little mole faces anticipating summer’s arrival at 428 16th Street in Ogden, Kansas and another go at the easy prey living there.
My husband, looking up from his construction catalogue, is wearing a