Pray For Mice

I had moved into a three story farm house, way out in the country. A lot of horse farms were near by, as well as fields of corn. Just to my south, my neighbor, an Amish gentleman, worked his fields of tobacco, all by hand, I watched as he brought his harvest in, carefully hanging the leaves in his barn to cure. The mornings were crisp, autumn was setting in, big machines worked the corn, horse trailers moved back and fourth over Mt. Pleasant road, it was show horse season. In earlier years, they were still hunting foxes out here, I can’t remember when that fell out of fashion, my self, I always enjoyed hearing those hounds howl, as they ran those foxes through the fields and woods. Andrew Wyeth painted the bicycle boy years ago, “Young America”(1950) This was no boy, the man in this painting, when I met him, was in his eighties. He lived with a family off Rt 100, a nice piece of land, on the edge of West Chester, behind the college set high on a hill, over looking the Brandywine. The story I got on this guy, was he came to this farm during the depression, very young, very sick. The family, made him a part of their family, brought him back to health, gave him work. At eighty years, this man had lots to speak about. His crowning moment, to hear him tell it, was Wyeth pulling off the road, struck by his boyish appearance, at the most he stood all of 4′ 10″. He told me he was stricken with rickets as a boy, the family said he had been malnutritioned. This was all during the depression, it took its toll on him, his illness stunted his growth, may have caused some other problems as well, he wasn’t the sharpest tac. The man had a lot of common sense, he offered up a unique view of the world. Hearing the stories of hard times, those same times my mother speaks of, the mumbles from her of never again! My mother still picks up pennies of the street, she’s told me of the bread lines, of being put on a train with her sister, going off to Chicago, to live with relatives, strangers to them. I had some sense of how hard those times were. I pick up pennies off the street as well, I know this guy Joey, really smart, very talented, another old friend I don’t see much, I miss his spirit. He told me that when you see money on the street, you pick it up, you show respect for money, if you don’t, it will never come to you. So, back to the mice! I was renting this old farm house, from the family of the bicycle boy. I had my darkroom set up, isolated from the world, I printed. Fall was in the air, a lot of action in the fields all around, a lot of getting ready for winter. I hadn’t lived out in the country like this in a while, and had forgotten couple important things. The squirrels are gathering the nuts, the farmers are harvesting their crops, all the cute little, fattened up, field mice, are out looking for their winter homes, If you don’t get out and plug the holes, there moving in with you! There was a nice sun room facing south, the house was expensive to heat, I was either out here looking south, in the kitchen, the darkroom, or in the bedroom buried beneath the blankets. One evening, I’m sitting out in the sun room, and out of the corner of my eye, I see a little action, not really sure, but it was something. In the night these old farm houses make noise, they creek, they scratch, I never thought much of it. Over about a week I would notice some action now and then out in the sun room. I’m sitting there one night, and I get this feeling I am being watched, I lookout across the floor, and see this chubby little mouse resting, watching me. I start thinking about Mickey, the pet mouse we had when I was a kid. First of all, these aren’t city rodents, there healthy little animals, that have been grazing in the fields, all summer long. I was out, living in this farmhouse alone, why not share the place with a mouse. My friends all got a kick out of this. They told me I better take care of the problem, I’m thinking one mouse, what problem, they tell me there is never one, that by now, he’s invited all his friends. I was really convinced I could make this work, a little more attention to the kitchen, containers for everything, clean up my crumbs. One night, late, I made a sandwich, and forgot to put away the bread. Through the Night, several times I awoke, the old farm house that night was making lots of noise. In the morning, in the kitchen, on top of the stove, or should I say, half on top of the stove, was that loaf of bread, I had forgotten to put away the night before. This mouse was getting greedy, he had tried to drag it down under thr range. I think my friends were right, there is never one mouse, he had to have help. I had to rub my eyes, it was hard to believe what I was seeing. There were a lot of laughs over the farmhouse siege, you had to laugh, city boy, country mouse. I started setting traps, the mice started springing traps, not much change, I’m still feeding them, they are trimming down a little, there working a little harder for their food. Finley I figured it out, if given a chance, mice will grab the food, and move somewhere else to eat. I started spreading just a little butter, under the pad that trips the trap. The mice would get in there, not to comfortable at first, and begin nibbling at the butter. They seem to really like butter, they get carried away, they forget about the trap, then WAPP!!! Its a beautiful sound, I took better than two dozen out of that farm house. I just wish I had one of them now, Katie would be very happy. She gets a little tired of fetching that piece of raw hide I throw for her, she would really like something live, she can hunt, not all cats can, I think they learn from their mothers. Katies mom was the Alley Cat from South Philly, her fathers name was Tom. The dirt basement floor in South Philly drew the mice in. Alley, Tom, and Katie, were endlessly entertained, flushing them out, I think from time to time, about maybe a mouse for Christmas for Katie. So how is it that I got around to talking about my cat? Well last night I saw her up on the bed, a couple of days before, I filled a sock with cat nip and tied it up tight. She had that tied up sock, on the bed, under her head, at least she has her pillow