Dud was
heading home in his pickup
truck when he saw the strange goings-on at the Bahdziewicz
place. Abraham
Lincoln Bahdziewicz was out in the
family’s large garden with a full complement of kids who were
happily hopping
around. Some of the kids came from the neighborhood, but most
of them were
homegrown Bahdziewicz kids.
The Bahdziewicz family had a great garden, and went at
the whole thing
scientifically and in great fun, because this is one family
that runs short on
cash but long on kids.
Dud pulled over and watched for a minute as Abe
laughingly directed the
family dancers doing the vegetable boogie through the various
rows of the huge
garden.
“What’s going on, Abe?” yelled Dud.
“Squash bug stomping time,” Abe said, turning over
another board lying
next to the vegetables. As soon as the board was flipped over,
a plethora of
Bahdziewicz kids stomped the bugs flat. “It’s the kids’
favorite time in the
garden.”
The third-grader, John Kennedy Bahdziewicz, said, “Flip
another board,
Dad.”
“Hold it!” Dud yelled. “Not another move until I get
back, okay? I’ll be
back here in five minutes. Five minutes!”
Abraham Lincoln Bahdziewicz looked at his oldest son,
Woodrow Wilson
Bahdziewicz and they both shrugged. The rest of the family
stopped, too. Dud
peeled out in the pickup and was back in less than two
minutes.
“Okay,” Dud yelled. “Let’s do the squash bug stomp the
right way!”
And he strapped on his accordion and fired up a grand
polka as boards
were flipped over and the exposed squash bugs were dispatched
in record polka
time.
Sometimes just living here can be an awful lot of fun.
-----------
Brought to you by the posthumous
prance that sent all those squash bugs to insectheaven.
Don’t eat them. They’ve
been eating squash.