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Braided Beans & Bamboo Sticks

Today was a work day, weekend notwithstanding. After doing my time, it became apparent that I could not entirely claim the next few hours for the usual Saturday fare: a grandson awaited some anticipated time with me. Rainy weather edged out any work together on the car, so we took a drive through the country past numerous sites of historical interest.

“This is the road I learned to drive on. That’s where my girl friend lived in high school. That used to be a lake, and when it dried up they planted mint. We floated inner tubes down the river under this bridge. This is the hill I road a bike down at nearly seventy miles per hour. This is the road where I thought my motor was falling out of the car but it was my first convertable and a plane was flying over head. I saw a black bear on this road. That hill is where I climbed to see the big city far below during snow days. We ate here”

Sun gave way to raging torrents of rain, pelting the vinyl soft top of the little sports car as we burrowed our way through weather back to the house. The attraction there was Mr. K, a brown tabby with limitless need for petting. We both attempted to meet that need and were rewarded with affection.

Then the lad showed his prowess by braiding three Chinese long beans from my garden. I kept them as a souvenier and gave him a print of a car.Mason's braided long beans

When I returned from driving him home, I at long last spied the destroyers who have been assaulting my roadside bamboo forest in the very act. They were suprised when I emerged around the corner on foot.

“I wondered who has been destroying my Bamboo! Why are you doing this?” I asked.

They hung their heads.

“What are you trying to do here?” I asked, confronting the vandals.

No words.

“I have a couple of bamboo trees I’ve cut down. Do you want them? Will you stop hurting my plants?” I asked.

One said, “We just wanted sticks.”

“To stick fight” said the other.

I’d guess they were somewhere between 10 and 12 years old.

I went and got a kitchen knife and provided each of them with a bamboo stick the size they wanted and trimmed off all the branches.

They seemed pleased with their new weapons.

“We have a deal?” I asked.

Both of them said ‘yes’ and they left happy after cleaning the branches off my driveway.

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Fenimore Central

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