Fall clean-up is in full swing. We have an old oak in our yard that has delivered tons of acorns this year. As soon as they were edible, the squirrels took over the tree and began biting off small branches filled with acorns. Several times a day from early August until about ten days ago, I swept the deck and picked up the yard, filling barrels of leaves for the compost site. The squirrels got fat on the acorns, until only the caps were left on the grass.
By last weekend the last acorn had been eaten or buried for later consumption. I raked hundreds of pounds of acorn caps into three large barrels, and we hoisted them into the Traverse for a trip to the compost site. Since the load was heavy and somewhat damp after three days of persistent rain, our goal was to get in and out as quickly as possible. My job was to get the barrels back in the vehicle after Bob dumped them.
Not surprisingly, I fell short. Got the barrels back in but somehow missed the lid to a pricey Brute 44-gallon container. After we got home, I sprung into action to do some inside clean-up, and had a toilet brush in my hand when Bob came in from the garage, announcing mournfully that a lid was missing and he was returning to the composite site.
No luck. He spent the afternoon wondering whether the lid had been stolen or was simply buried under mounds of leaves and other lawn muck. I knew there would be no peace until we returned -- together -- for yet another look. Bob emerged from the garage with a heavy, rusted vintage spade, the kind you see gravediggers use in old movies.
Our neighbor asked if we were going to dig for gold. I almost said, "No, just a trip to the cemetery", but resisted the impulse. On to the compost site. As we approached, I commented that we could just ask the attendants, a man and woman in bright orange vests, if someone had turned in a garbage can lid. "Oh, I've already done that", said Bob. As we pulled up, the couple looked over with interest.
We were the only vehicle present, and the rain was beginning to fall again. Quite a bit more yard waste gad accumulated since our first visit several hours earlier. Bob opened the tailgate and lifted the shovel from the vehicle. He started in where I thought we had dumped our waste. The attendants were laughing merrily and I put my head down, fearing recognition.
Bob's efforts yielded nothing. My husband insisted that I scan the entire site for a propped up lid, waiting for reclamation by its rightful owner. Nothing. We concluded that our precious lid had been stolen. Several hours later, we were on our way to dinner when we passed the compost site once again. Bob was still looking for the lid, this time along the roadway.
In the week since the incident, Bob is still lamenting the loss of the lid. Somehow, though, life has gone on without any perceptible degradaion.
