Thus kindly I'll scatter...
Monday, October 2, 2006
Indian Summer was upon them.
Collette noticed for the first time on Sunday that the leaves had started to change – many trees were already yellow. It would have been a perfect time to visit Michigan’s world of sugar maples. The brightest reds and oranges Collette had ever seen in autumn trees. All by the shore and the sand on the beach near the little red lighthouse where lake moss and barnacles clung to the pier, washed a million times over by the tide.
That was where the Snicketts had met Mr. Ogle while vacationing in Michigan in 1999. He hosted the rv park where they camped their last few days and enjoyed sitting around their campfire, chatting over s’mores. It was the same tree-filled campground where Carrie-Bri, Joe, and Rose spent most of their hours constructing sand sculptures in the playground. A Titanic and a large shoe were among their creations.
Back on the ranch, Mom and Carrie-Bri returned after Collette arrived Monday morning, having just been down the road to the Plum’s to collect the chicken eggs while they were on vacation.
Mom and Collette imitated the chickens.
“We got like twelve eggs out of one of those things,” Carrie said.
Later in the afternoon, they returned again to gather only three brown eggs. Linnea held them up, still covered in the dirt of the chicken nest and put them in the fridge. Collette was not sure she was quite brave enough to try one herself, after the excessive heat of the day. But then again, what did the people in the good old days do with eggs that had sat out in ninety-degree weather all day?
Meanwhile, Carrie wrote music on her keyboard. Her new black guitar had also arrived. And she told about the spider she had killed the other day.
“I killed this huge spider with a rag and pounded it all down around him, and when I took it off he was all crumbled up. He was dead. Then I looked over later and saw him opening his legs back up.” Carrie moved her arms like the spider’s legs. “He was dead. Frances was there. He can tell you. It was dead. Why are things always coming back to life on me?”
Later in the afternoon, Mom left for Iowa in the mini van. Dad’s newly ordered gold Honda had not yet arrived that week. So Dad borrowed Grandma Combs’ Saturn, leaving the big old green slug and the Civic for Carrie’s and Joe’s use during the day.
And Dad brought back double quarter pounders for dinner to a house that had already become frightfully messy since Mom’s departure only two hours before. Half the mess was a trail of Rose’s school books, her large pack of colored markers reserved for underlining her texts, and all of her papers, strewn around the house.
After OLeif had picked up Collette, on the way back, the car began to billow white smoke from the hood. Upon lifting the still-dented hood, bright green antifreeze oozed from the pores of the engine, as though there had been a small explosion. OLeif walked to QT down the road for more antifreeze. And after Wally picked him up, brought him back, filled up the antifreeze, drove off, smoke billowed again, pulled into the parking lot of a Mexican restaurant, found a two-inch crack in the hose, drove Wally’s car back to the Silverspoon’s to drop him off and look at pictures of Honda engines online with Denae, dropped of Collette, went to Autozone for another hose, fixed it, put in more antifreeze, billowed smoke again, added oil, drove around… it finally seemed to work again. OLeif returned two hours later.
But in good news, Joe was finally an Eagle Scout, made official Monday night at his final board of review.