41 Days

Earlier today, My Taller Half (MTH) sent a text. It read simply 41 days. I knew instantly what he meant. It wasn’t a countdown to a holiday or big event. It wasn’t a milestone in his life, like 41 days without smoking, drinking, or watching cat videos. He doesn’t smoke. He doesn’t drink. And a day without cat videos? Not a chance! But it was a milestone of sorts.

When we travel to the Big City, we pass through a town that is not as big as Pixley. There isn’t a major chain motel there. There is no Walmart. Next to a Bingo parlor, there is a Piggly Wiggly, which those in the know simply call The Pig. There’s a Hardee’s, a pizza joint, and the ubiquitous Dollar General. The biggest business in town is the lumber mill.

Thousands of acres of pine trees surround Pixley, many on tree farms. Daily, big tractor-trailers laden with pine head to the lumber mill, where the strong, pleasant scents of pine and sawdust perfume the air.

In front of the lumber mill is a sign with numbers in lights — 41 Days without an Accident.

Since we pass the sign regularly, MTH and I pay attention to the numbers. We have become invested in them. We have friendly wagers on what the numbers will read that day.

It was up to 308 Days Without an Accident once, maybe higher, before a crane tipped over, sending its operator and the accident-free days plummeting. It was a real disappointment to us, though we were happy that no serious injuries were reported. The numbers climb for a while, then suddenly, they fall again. There aren’t many newspapers in our area. Sometimes we’ll search the news on the internet, trying to find out what happened. When we can’t, MTH and I come up with our own stories..

“Steve! What did you do this time? Don’t run the crane without a second cup of coffee!”

“Oh, that Jake was at it again! He probably had liquor in his Thermos! Must have bought it there, because Pixley is in a dry county.”

(Apologies to any Steve or Jake who may work at the lumber mill. We know you did nothing wrong. Well, we’re pretty sure anyway.)

When I lived in my last Big City — more than five times the size of the Big City here — things were always changing. Stores and restaurants opened and closed constantly. You never knew what you would find when you went out. I doubt much has changed in the little town with the lumber mill since they built the Hardee’s.

A little over a year ago, they built a new Taco Bell in Pixley. There were lines of cars circling the building for about a month. Now there’s a new Popeye’s about to open. It is beginning to worry us. We’re growing too fast. MTH and I are already eyeing the land in the country we will buy when we win the lottery. Don’t get me wrong — Pixley is no Big City — but things are getting a bit crowded here.

We like the quiet. We prefer the serenade of birds, cicadas, and the evening froggy chorus to the wailing of sirens. We like life without traffic jams. We like cheering for the guys and gals at the lumber mill when their accident-free days climb. It makes us smile. It’s one of the things we love about living here. Things that wouldn’t seem all that important in the BIG CITY are important here, and they should be. The opening of a new business and the safety of the men and women at the lumber mill are worthy of celebration.

The Biddies across the Street

I feel like I should start at the beginning, who we are and how we got to Pixley, but you will learn all that soon enough. There are more pressing concerns at the moment — the biddies across the street.

As we were about to leave for church this morning, My Taller Half (MTH) and I had a discussion about how to make it to the car safely with the girls from across the street outside. I had suggested using the backdoor, but that was vetoed by MTH. When we opened the front door to leave, I breathed a sigh of relief. No sign of the girls!

“Look at that red one peering around the corner.”

I looked, and sure enough, the red hen was at the corner of her house, staring at us. But we had plenty of time to make it to the car. He had already unlocked it with the key fob. I suggested we move quickly, but then he had to go back inside. I looked across the street, and all six biddies were out there, staring at me. I hurried to the car. Oh, no! He didn’t open the passenger’s side door, and there is no lock on the passenger’s side. I’d have to go around the car and use the key.

“Honey!” I shouted.

“Didn’t I unlock it?”

“No! Hurry! They are coming!”

MTH used the key fob to unlock the door from the safety of the house. The chickens were moving fast now. I shrieked, laughing. I made it into the car just in time. A moment later, six hungry biddies were on our front step. One of the black ones eyed me angrily. I couldn’t stop laughing. By now, they were at the door.

They have no fear of the cats or our 65-pound dog. When MTH walked Minnie this morning, the hens followed them around the yard. To be clear, we are not actually afraid of them, but they have become a bit too insistent about having our birdseed or mealworms. Occasionally, they look like they are about to snap. They seem a little menacing.

Do chickens have large talons?

From the front door to the corner of the neighbor’s house is only about 115 feet, and when their little chicken legs get going, they can be at our front door in seconds. When they are bearing down on us, their beady little eyes glaring, and we hear the click, click, click of their little chicken feet on the blacktop or the sidewalk, it’s a bit intimidating. 

It is completely our fault for even once giving in to their demands for birdseed and mealworms. Now they hang out at our birdfeeder, waiting for a snack. We arrived home from church hours later, and when they realized we were back, they stood outside the front door, squawking.

I laid low.

A few minutes later, they were back over in their yard. They are actually very pretty chickens and fun to watch. There are three glossy black ones, two somewhat scrawny red ones, and a beautiful gray hen named Betty White. As she is gray and not yet white, she must not have met the Balrog yet.

He would probably run from her.