Some of my longtime readers will remember Ginger (65). Ginger was our sweet yellow lab and Cocoa’s (15) big sidekick. Ginger died back in 2020 at the age of 13. That’s 91 in human years. Yes, that was the year of Covid, but she did not die from Covid.
Please don’t tell Cocoa I said so, but Ginger was perhaps the sweetest dog that ever lived. She was definitely the sweetest one we ever had. We buried Ginger on the other side of the branch in our back yard, just in the edge of the woods. I placed Drew’s old wooden climbing wall from his gym set (that he had outgrown) over her grave so nothing could disturb her remains. Drew and I fashioned a small cross marker out of two-by-fours and engraved Ginger “Darlin” King on it.
Since that time, the undergrowth of the woods has crept right up to the backside of her grave. As I was cutting the grass in front of her grave, I noticed some of undergrowth trying to slip overboard on Ginger’s grave. I grew up on Sand Mountain, and on Sand Mountain to let the weeds and briars overtake a loved one’s grave is considered shameful, if not sinful. Spring or early summer up there is decoration season. That’s when family members clean up their loved one’s graves and put new flowers on them. It’s disrespectful to let you loved one’s grave get overgrown or to have old, faded flowers on it.
Yes, I do know that Ginger was a dog and not a human, but I decided it was time to clean up around her grave. I did not put flowers on it, but once I started clearing away the briars and weeds, I didn’t know where to quit. I cleared out a pretty large section in the edge of the woods, so they wouldn’t creep back up on her grave again. It was not easy work, but my string weed-eater and chainsaw made it much easier than it was years ago.
My mind went back to a time long ago when I did such work around the pond and creek where I grew up. My job was to keep them cleaned off so people, mostly boys, could fish and swim there. Keeping it cleaned up helped prevent the presence of those gigantic fishing worms (also known as snakes) that liked to hide in the weeds. My favorite four-legged friend, named Big Pud, was always by my side as I worked.
Back then I had never seen or heard of a weed-eater. Chainsaws existed, but not at my house. My weed-eater was a “man”-uel powered one, or maybe I should say a “boy”-uel powered one. Some people called them sling blades. I don’t believe I have enough “gas in my tank” to run one of those things these days! I usually didn’t wear work gloves back then, so I remember getting blisters in the palms of my hands and wearing sweat-soaked clothes. I used my “boy-powered” axe, or a handsaw, to cut down the saplings that had sprung up. My handsaw was also boy powered but it served a dual purpose. I could saw down the saplings, leaving about a foot-tall stump, and then use my handsaw to cut across the stump top to fiddle up earthworms.
It was also a productive day because I had cleared off the bank, found free fish bait, and then caught supper! Those were good days and great memories, but I am certainly thankful for power tools and easier ways of cleaning things up these days.
Bill King can be reached at bkpreach@yahoo.com.
