After an illustrious career as a juvenile delinquent my oldest brother Cole eventually became a "man of the cloth". His "transition" years were spent as the youth minister at our local church. And being the wheeler-dealer he always was, he still was able to con his younger brothers into taking care of HIS business. One I remember all too well was the mowing chores at the church. Somehow he was always able to get Holden or me to either help him out with the grounds keeping chores at the church...or better yet, get us to take care of it without his presence.
One late Spring afternoon I wound up at the church taking care of his mowing. The church had an old shack that was way in the back and at that time was the local Boy Scouts meeting place. Everything between the Scout shack and the church was nice Bermuda grass and got mowed regularly. Somehow I was conned into mowing around the back of the shack that sloped down to a creek. By late April or early May the grass was pretty tall. It was quick work however because we never raked or bagged "the back part".
I remember being cutting along with a 3.5 horse Briggs roaring at top throttle, thinking I'd be finished pretty soon, when something so horrible happened that I still can't describe it....I had mowed over a stash of four or five week old Easter eggs that had been hidden but never found from the Sunday School Class's Easter egg hunt. Before I could recognize the smell that hit me like a brick, I was gagging. I turned and ran back up the slope with my hands over my mouth...gurking the whole way. I left the mower running..
I was up by the Church's water spigot washing off my face when Cole pulled up in his old junk pickup. He could hear the mower running down in the creek and started chastising me for leaving it running. As little brothers do, I told him if he wanted it finished, do it himself. He was shaking his head and calling me names as he headed to the back to finish.
I was sitting on the back of his pickup watching him as he started pushing the mower..and low and behold..he must've hit another patch of rotten Easter eggs! I watched him cover his mouth and try and back up the hill with the mower. In his haste he slipped in something and fell back down. In a second he was running back up the hill toward the water spigot....He had, however, managed to shut the mower off before he retreated.
When he started washing his shoes off I could tell he had rotten egg goo all over one pant's leg. I could also tell from his gaping, drool dripping mouth he had gotten a good hit of the smell. He was starting to gag. He also promised to "whip my ass" for laughing at him. Oh...the memories.
We managed to finish up AND get the mower washed off before we put it up. He left his pants and tennis shoes back at the church and put on an old baseball team uniform for the ride home. You could still smell that horrible mess...
He's retired now and lives up in Colorado Springs...doesn't even preach anymore. I talked to him today to wish him a "Happy Easter". I asked him if any of the grandkids had an Easter egg hunt...
"Not on your life" was his reply. I could tell by the tone of his voice that 55 years had not erased that smell from his mind.
Mine either.
Wow. That story would not be good for my wife's present condition.
But, hmm has "potent" potential is other settings. Maybe set an old egg with a block corner.... Or a control nail... Where it'll be found...
I put out a dozen eggs for my two terrors, but kept careful track of where I hid them. Some friends host a huge egg hunt in their huge back yard. They avoid the problem of lost eggs by putting out plastic eggs that contain either non-chocolate candy, 2 nickels, or a small toy. There were >700 eggs for 50-odd kids this year.
mkennedy, post: 364422, member: 7183 wrote: ...There were >700 eggs for 50-odd kids this year.
omg...that's a dozen eggs per child.
When I was a boy (school was uphill both ways..;-)) I'm not so sure the grownups didn't hide less eggs than there were kids!
