~The Medicine Tree and Pizza~

Just Enjoy .... :]s

“Put the Ro-Do-Den-Drun over here!” the woman shouted from her big lug soled Oxfords. She stuck the shovel in at the edge of the two foot deep hole to mark it. Onceter’s brain used his eyes like a surveying crew, and he set his trajectory in the time it takes to say ‘copenhagen snuff’. He pulled his cap down on his head, and picked up the big thirty liter clay planter from the tailgate. He pushed off. Ten meters to the gate corner post, and then sixty across to the garden plot. It was way, way too far. The Sun said 8:30 and the black loam in the field gave up a blessed fragrance.

‘It’s far, but not too far … ‘ thought Onceter, conscious of his precarious balance, and high center of gravity. Well, he was only twelve so he wouldn’t have described it in this fashion.

  He let the momentum of the planter, with six inches of rock, and a foot of sand-dirt-cowshit, sort of pull him around the gate post. He didn’t know it was momentum, but it was fun, and challenging. At a third of the distance, his biceps and laterals were on fire. His legs screamed ‘why me?’, while his back worked at the nano level, allowing full articulation, lubrication, and rate of capillary return, of blood to  vertebrae and stuff to hold the Organism erect, and so it doesn’t have a major balance failure. Onceter picked his feet up high, but not too high, half marching across the plow, with the beautiful Medicine Tree swaying above his head in strange rhythm with his lurching robotic strides across the soft plow. He didn’t know the force that walked with him, making the work lighter, but he could feel it, and thus he moved through the vortex, towards the shovel.

Dorothy rose from the garlic plants, sprouting sporadically here and there, among the onions, beneath the huge apple tree. Anyone who has never built a personal eco-system, may not understand the order, the natural order that was occurring here. And that is why I’m telling you this story. That apple tree had been planted by Johnny himself she liked to tell people.

She didn’t hear the pickup backing up so she wondered what Onceter was doing, and her eyes snapped open in shock, as she seen him coming and bit her tongue, to keep from shouting out in alarm.

“Jesus Christ”. She mumbled to herself, plodding toward the kid, being careful not to disturb his rhythm enough to cause him to drop the Medicine Tree. However, there was no way she could really interfere without further jeopardizing the plants security. So, she was forced to watch as Onceter, his knees at the point of failure, made his way to the spot with a grimace. So bizarre was the scene that she forgot to move the shovel, and Onceter trickbagged it, kicking it out of the ground, even as he dropped the heavy clay pot in the prepared indenture.

“Fhump!” said the pot, bursting at the sides, and then, the Medicine tree stood, at a little angle, top swaying and the broken clay laying on dirt on rock and surrounding the plant, like a fort, just as Dorothy had intended.

“Thank you, my wonderful child.” Said Dorothy. She gave the handsome ‘patch’ a quick hug, instead of kicking the s**t out of him with the oxfords. ‘Patch’ was the word she used to describe Onceters blood. He was half Apache, and half other stuff, so, she said,

“you can’t be a ‘real’ Apache, you are only a ‘patch’.

She taught him lessons about ego and stuff that are not taught in Christian homes. They are Indigenous.

“But in the future, would you please be more careful.” She gazed into his hazel colored eyes.

“Mom? he asked, and then mimicked her own words, which he as of yet, did not fully appreciate;

“Mom? .. there’s a Power in the Universe, it makes stuff happen. Anything, really….. all you have to do is acknowledge it.”

She gave him a twisted smile because he was going to be sorry he was such a smart a*s someday.

“Go unload the cowshit, and then we can plant spuds, if you don’t mind.”

“What if I do?” he asked, pushing the loose dirt and clay up firmly against the Medicine Tree. The plant shone, and her many buds were turning sorillo, releasing a sharp sweet olor into the air. I’m beautiful, therapuetical, medicinal, encouraging, and feminine, said the perfect Cannabis Indica.

“Good question.” Dorothy replied, moving off to finish tearing down the ‘rabbit hutches’, thinking of how horrible it must have been for the rabbits who were imprisoned in this cruel thing. Methodically, she murdered the hutches with a 16oz Framing Hammer. She was going to make a shelter for the ducks out of it, she decided. Make a house for the ducks ……

….. and hats, for the bats, saying what her offspring would have said.  He was quite busy throwing big shovelfuls of dried horse manure into the ten oclock breeze.

It flew a long ways, like s**t hitting the fan, he thought. Later, he carried a five gallon bucket of the flaky round turds over to the medicine tree, and spread them around the base and then poured a couple of buckets of the field loam in, and brought the shallow bowl to perfection.

“Are ya happy, plant?” he asked. His mom was the Plant Lady. ‘Blooming Idiot’ as he liked to call her sometimes.

“Who, me?” she looked puzzled.

“No, the plant, dummy.” He replied. “Can we get some pizza?’’

“It will make you fat.” She salivated and her hunger roared at the very words, which came to her in forms of melted cheese and fat pieces of pepperoni, slightly scorched, upon it.

“Liar.”

“Okay, then… Pizza it is. ….. right after you hose out the pickup, feed the goat, and shine my boots.”

Onceter stuck out his tongue in mock exasperation, and moved off, dreaming of RootBeer.

The Apple tree and the Peach tree next to it, have no ants no bugs, no predators. It has never smelled the toxins of commercial anti anything. The sacred garlic and onion stand guard here and there beneath them. For you and I, they are supplemental. For the trees, they are Peace. Warriors, if you will. The garlic has nice dark shell, and hard meat, much better than the weak commercial crap. Ants, you may already know, do not care for garlic, or onions, and will by no means pass into your fruit trees, if they are present. No Roundup necessary.

Magpies cruised here and there, eating bugs, and mocking one another. In the spring, they eat the fermented Juniper berries, and attempt to fly, high, because they feel very aggressive, you see…. It is better than any circus, by a margin because they often think other non flying magpies are the reason they cannot fly, high, and confrontations ensue.

Way across the fields, at the edge of the tall pines, she watched the big cow elk watching her. Sharp eyed, she could always show you a deer or elk.  She waved, and the big animal, sitting cool in her wallow, ready for a nap, said,

“I saw you, if I wanted to speak to you.” And Dorothy laughed out loud.

Of course, there are predators and bugs, invading her fragile eco-system, many of them not from these parts. Some of them are ignored or are not so tasty to magpie and chirplings. This is why she has a couple of ducks and several chickens, and a pig. Ducks love bugs, they’re crunchy, like potato chips.

They will hunt them down, all the live long day, while you are at the office, or whatever god awful occupation you occupy.

 And chickens and a pig will keep the perimeter clean and presentable. That sounds odd, having a pig running free on the property, but they are actually as smart as most dogs, and really cool pets. As well as garbage disposal par excellent.

I know It’s true, I seen it with my own eyes.

Later, the rain falls gently from the sky, and Dorothy turns on the windshield wipers, and eases off down the drive. She stops at the gate, and Onceter jumps from the back, and opens, and then closes it. He jumps back in the bed with Nop, the DigDog. They continue peering out at the thunderheads, now dancing in the dark, with the lightning flashing back and forth. Sometime lightning would stretch the distance of the visible horizon, shattering and strobing the darkness.

The thunder was now close enough to feel in your glutas maxima. Dig Dog whined but Onceter just sat, as the pickup idled, up against the hay bale. Big drops began to pelt the top of the pickup, making a strange ringing sound.

“You aren’t going to ride up here?, It’s raining you know …”

“I know.” said Onceter, and she eased out the clutch and headed for Shaky’sPizzaParlor.

 

Reviews

[Stan Lee]

Curiously engaging story this one. I admit I giggled at this line: The thunder was now close enough to feel in your glutas maxima.
Thanks for sharing. Stay inspired!