We are back home in Greenwood and it seems like we never left. Curt and I sit at the kitchen table making plans for the day. We missed picking strawberries by the side of the road this year, but we both agree we had a good time at camp with Egbert, the flat fish and picking blueberries.
He says maybe we can go see Uncle Roy and he will have some strawberries left from his patch he grows next to his cabin. I tell him I don’t think so from what I overheard Dad telling Ma last night. Curt is eager to know what we missed so I tell him the story.
Uncle Roy is very talented and carves beautiful shapes from wood or toadstools or most anything. One day he decided to move from his house to a cabin in the woods and have himself a vegetable garden, but more than that, a huge strawberry garden because he loves them. Dad always said the birds were his brother’s biggest enemy, so Roy hangs aluminum pie plates and anything else which clang in the wind all around the strawberry patch. Curt laughs when I tell him that it sounds like a brass band when the wind blows.
Well, it seems while we were at Indian Pond camp, Uncle Roy had something bigger to contend with than birds. His strawberries were ripe and lush on the vine, when one day he heard a ka-thrash, ka-thrash. Uncle has never been known for speed and by the time he made his way across the single room to the door, his eyes met those of a bull moose. In fact, the moose rammed his head in the open door and started to swing his antlers, and knocking miscellaneous articles off shelves hither and yon. Well, Uncle Roy told Dad that made his blood rush, and he yelled “GIT” several times but that just resulted in agitating the moose even more and the tip of an antler hit a can of his Old Narragansett beer sitting on the shelf. Uncle grabbed the antlers and pushed..to no avail. He couldn’t shove hard enough and the moose couldn’t maneuver his antlers to get his head free from the door.
Uncle grabbed a rubber mallet and pounded the moose on the nose. The moose tried to gain a footing but recent rains made the ground slippery. The third mallet pound sent the moose backward, attempting to keep upright, but he floundered and went down. Like climbing out of a mud pie, Dad said Uncle told him. The beast rolled and thrashed. Uncle claims hundreds and probably thousands of his strawberries squashed and stuck to the struggling giant. At last, he got to his feet and disappeared into the woods shaking his head. Uncle said he was in shock and just stood there looking at his sea of squashed strawberries and shook his head in disbelief.
Well, Curt says, I guess there is no point in walking a half mile to see if he saved any for us. I tell him probably Uncle Roy doesn’t have any left for himself. Curt is going back to his comic books and I will start peeling potatoes. We are back in Greenwood for sure!