Discarded Along the Way

During this evening's constitutional, I noticed that Someone, or more likely, several Someones have mowed the fencerows. There are no fences between the fields of corn, soy beans, shorn wheat and the county roads, but this space where fences should be (or perhaps where at one time?) is yet called a fencerow. No fences, but a plenitude of long grasses and wildly growing flowers have reign until the Cultivators of said fields can stand the shame of unkempt edges no longer. Tractors make quick work of cutting down the pretties, leaving swathes of dead weeds to grow brown and yucky in the summer sun.

And then I come puffing along. Without the cover of Queen Anne's Lace and Cornflowers, I notice far more beer cans and plastic beverage containers. I also notice some things I think someone is missing:

• An operating manual for an outboard motor
• A blue baby's pacifier
• A card-style hotel key (Best Western)
• A green latex glove
• Half a roll of paper towels
• An inhaler (like the type for asthma sufferers)
• One leather work glove
• A length of skinny rope

These items, found within a one-mile stretch of road (do not judge me by the length of my jog!) obviously point to a certain conclusion: After the fencerows were cut, Someone (or still the various Someones) was holding a boat wash for families from out of town. Working in the humid air was difficult for this person, but as they stopped for a few huffs on their inhaler, their dog snapped the skinny rope attached to its collar. A runaway dog necessitated a quick closure of the boat wash service, and this is why I never noticed these goings-on from my close-at-hand abode.

Of course, I do not have a boat.

And I spent so much time looking in the weed clippings that I missed the setting sun.