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In My Defense, It Was a Big Stick

As the relief from the oppressive heat continues, Steven and I were able to enjoy a walk through Herkimer with our beloved schnoodle, Tabby.

I feel I should offer an apology or justification for making yet another pedestrian post. But explanations are so tiresome. Let’s just get on with the post.

It was a little warmer by 6:30, when we set out, than it had been at 3:30, when I left work. The sun was warm, the breeze was gone. However, it was pleasant in the shade and not very humid.

Some kids across the street were playing with the hose. The girl holding it seemed to have a very take charge attitude as she lined the other kids up opposite. I don’t know what the game was but apparently it was taking too long, because the littlest boy started yelling, “COME ON!!!” (Yes, he yelled it with three exclamations points.) I knew how he felt. Maybe not about being squirted with the hose, but in general. Actually, when I was a kid I was never that nuts about being squirted with the hose. It always seemed to me such a poor substitute for swimming. Oh, I never passed up an opportunity. Hey, it was water and I was a kid.

We walked down Main street and passed an old, historic-looking building that was for sale.

“I wish somebody would buy that cool place and open a fancy restaurant,” I said.

“A classic movie theatre,” Steven suggested.

Tabby was more interested in sniffing a nearby telephone pole. We walked and dreamed on.

We passed my favorite Historic Four corners.

“I just saw a picture of the 1834 Jail and the Court House in the book I’m reading,” I said. Murder in the Adirondacks: An American Tragedy Revisited by Craig Brandon (North Country Books, Utica, NY, 1986). Good book.

Further on, Tabby wanted to cross Main Street, but we talked her out of it and went through Meyers Park instead. We walked by some boys who were playing rough with a ball and a stick. The object was not to hit the ball with the stick, apparently, but each other with either object. We walked on. We were almost a block away when we thought we heard one of the kids crying. My mother would say, “Fool around some more!” Some readers might think we were remiss for not going back and making sure everyone was all right, but to be honest, I was afraid one of the bigger boys would hit me with the stick.

It was an uneventful walk, but we enjoyed it (except, you know, for the crying kid and being scared of the stick). Perhaps we can indulge in less pedestrian Mohawk Valley adventures as the week wears on. Stay tuned.

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