About 12 years ago, I shook hands with a lovely woman on the sidewalk of Main Street, Bentonville, USA, sealing the deal for the purchase of a pint-sized, nondescript building in need of TLC.
With that handshake, I walked into a fairly quiet neighborhood of attorneys, accountants, bankers, a photographer, a clothing resale shop and one restaurant.
Retailers and coffee shops came and went over the years, but a core group of folks has been downtown for a decade or two now, and we have a nice Mayberry-esque relationship.
We help each other in our businesses. We share baked goods and garden-fresh produce. We celebrate weddings and ask about kids and grandkids. We keep tabs on one another, some with more finesse, zeal or binoculars than others.
And we accept mail and packages for each other on a regular basis ... like a particular package recently destined for me when I'd stepped away from the office.
"Well, you've certainly piqued our interest with this one," the girls from Clark & Spence said on the voicemail. "The box reads 'Uncle Jim's Worm Farm.' What on earth did you buy?"
Earth indeed! I smiled as I listened to the recording and hustled back to the office to retrieve my special delivery.
Now, what happened next hinges on a certain habit of mine I should probably share with you.
I don't typically read instructions.
OK, that's not exactly accurate.
I rarely, if ever, read instructions prior to doing the thing that needed the instruction, but I will occasionally read them after the why-do-I-still-have-103-parts-left fact.
The mysterious brown box provided temporary transit and housing for the next phase of my gardening -- the introduction of multitudes of plump, red earthworms into my previously asphalted parking lot, which is slowly turning into a lush courtyard.
The little fellas would be hungry and I was excited to get them feasting on the lifeless earth in my flower beds. I ripped open the package. A single white sheet of paper lay atop a wriggling green bag. I tossed the paper onto the floor, grabbed the pretty green bag, and headed out the door.
I stood in the courtyard between my office and loft and opened the sack. The rich smell of earth and worm castings filled my nose. The earthworms moved to and fro in my hands.
Surely they were tired from their travels, I thought, so I'll help them navigate my garden. I set to tossing them here and there and piling them in clumps (so they'd be with their friends; it's a new place, you know) in all areas of the courtyard.
When the bag was empty, I went inside to lay it down (after all, green is my favorite color and with that darling logo of "Uncle Jim's Worm Farm" on the front, it was just too cute to toss). I grabbed the garden hose to water everything in really well.
Oh, with a nice shower, a good meal and some Southern hospitality from their new hostess. How pleased they'll be with their new home!
Smiling with the satisfaction of a job well done in the humanitarian aid of earthworms, I walked out the back door, garden hose in hand, to find before me a scene from Hitchcock's film, The Birds.
In less than a minute, a hundred or more sparrows had descended into my courtyard and were snatching up earthworms like I'd served them on a buffet at the Golden Corral.
The feathered flock chirped with glee as they tossed worms into the air, ate unabashedly and kicked back in the grass with tiny umbrella drinks to wash down their feast.
"Nooooo! Shooooo!" I hollered as I waved my arms and dragged the garden hose to the spigot. I ran the sprinkler at full blast, drenching the birds and myself in the process. The birds took to high ground and I soggily went back inside with the hope that three earthworms may have survived the ordeal.
I sat down, disgusted. A single white sheet of paper lay in the floor. I picked it up.
"Put the whole pile of worms under wet newspaper in the middle of your garden to protect them from birds while getting established. The worms will disperse throughout your garden on their own."
It's like Uncle Jim knew me. And apparently the neighbors who know me best are the ones sitting on highline wires directly above my courtyard. You should see how excited they get when they see the UPS truck.
Commentary on 09/18/2014