Of Weeds, Docks and Fatigue

By CHARLES M. GUTHRIE
of the editorial/ opinion page staff
published by the StarTribune
June 12, 1966


   SOME DAY THE MOON may be a tourist attraction.  Some day they may even find a solution to the farm problem..  But the day will never come when the normal mortal, working weekends and in his spare time, catches up with his house and yard work.  He is lucky to get the grass cut, a few weeds pulled, and the dead rosebushes replaced.  Unless the fellow has the energy of an ox, the putty will stay in the can, the screens won't get painted, and the garage door will continue to bind.
   Then, if he has a lake cabin, all talk of ever getting on top of the situation is nonsense.  To get any return for his investment, he must spend a couple of summer weekends a month at the lake.  And he simply must install the dock, rake the leaves and brush, and cut firewood.  It is none of the neighbors' business if he lets the place go to pot, but he doesn't want them speculating about his character or wondering if he is a leper.

   WHEN WE HEADED toward our retreat for the Memorial Day weekend, we didn't depart with light hearts.  We had guilt feelings.  "I should stay home and sand the floors and paint the south bedroom."
   "I know!  I know!" my wife responded.  "And I should clean out those drawers and get rid of a lot of junk.  But if we don't go to the cabin now we won't go for three weeks.  Why own a place if you never see it?"
   Reassured by this logic, I settled back and went to sleep.  Not the least of our rewards, though the insurance company won't believe it, is a 17-year-old who drives better than his parents do.
   There was more work at the lake than anticipated, as I might have expected.  It was no problem to remove the boat from the front bedroom, turn on the water heater, put food in the refrigerator, make up the beds and plug in the blankets.

   BUT THE DOCK was a challenge.  All but two end sections had wintered in the lake and they hadn't wintered particularly well.  The water had risen half a foot and the dock was not only awash but 15 feet out from shore.
   After acute suffering, my son and I got it disjointed and on dry land.  The water was cold, the wind brisk, and tempers short.  My wife sauntered shoreward, looked at the pile of poles and planks, and said, "I assume you'll be putting the dock back in this afternoon."
   "You assume wrong," I said.  "I am sick of docks.  It's going to sit right there until the next time we come up."
   "But why?  Other people have their docks in."
   "A couple of sections need repair.  And it should dry out before we put it back.  The fact that others have their docks in doesn't impress me.  We are here primarily to rest and relax--not to keep up with the Joneses."

   WHEN NOT OCCUPIED with the dock or pitching horseshoes, we pulled weeds.  The lake along our beach is quite heavily infested.  My son pulled as few as possible.  "It's a waste of time, Pop," he protested.  "Nature works 24 hours a day growing 'em and you can't get rid of 'em in a couple of afternoons."
   My wife, the loudest complainer about the weeds, agreed.  "You have to hire a man with one of those cutting machines."
   "As I recall," I said, "we hired a man with a machine five years ago to plow up the beach.  A year later the weeds were as thick as ever.  Maybe it's useless for me to pull weeds out of the lake but it doesn't cost anything."
   "Wouldn't the results be the same, though," asked out philosophical son, "if you just loafed or pitched horseshoes?"
   "Maybe," I said, "but I can't run the risk of indolence.  I might find it enjoyable and wouldn't dare acquire the habit.  I'd never get my work done."


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