The Waterbury Democrat., 1939-09-22


occupied for brief week-ends away
from the hurly-burly. At first,
was happily deluded that re-
Taxation and quietude and serenity
lay in the offing. know better
now.
There was the poison ivy. Only
a slight touch of it afflicted the
family, true, but the completes
that followed were violent enough
to justify transfer to a sanitorium.
For two week-ends, we quaked
about leaving the house for fear
Of tramping into bed Of poison
Gus stuff. Nothing to worry
about" the neighbors say, "just
rub the afflicted parts with gaso-
line" After two excursions into
the wildwoods, we feel as saturat-
ed as a filling station.
THE SIMPLE LIFE"
GROWS COMPLEX
The other day, the little lady
and drove out to escape from the
turmoil of New York, keen in
the anticipation OF two Indian
summer days, a few hours loaf
on the porch glider and a stroll
through the wooded paths. Well,
it rained and there wa a leak
through the roof and the fireplace
smoked and the electricity was
cut off at the exact moment I re-
solved to sit down at the portable
typewriter and perform the stint
for the day.
But that was merely the pre-
lude. Out in the middle of the
lawn the next morning, the man
who drops in to NOW it confded.
a swarm OF bees had made them
selves comfortably at home.
He recommended that we burn
them out and he went OF to ga
Their enough hay for the conf1a-
grafton. We exterminated them
in a blaze that discolored the sky
for as far off as Danbury. But
you ought to see the lawn. And
my face. Both will have to be re-
graded. The man who mows the
lawn is anti-climactic by nature.
Having disposed of the bees, he
told us about a nest of white
wasps at the barn who had forth
fed themselves in some sort OF
Maggot Line where they waited,
poised against invaders.
A smudge, said our man, would
be our heaviest artillery. And
for the sake Of those who have
not braved matters bucolic, a
smudge is the smoking remnant
of an ignited cloth at the end Of
a pole. The white wasps have
been cremated along with the
bees, but you should see the tip
of the barn - or what remains OF
it. And the barn was not our OBJ
jectiye.
MOLES KEEP BUSY
BORING FROM WITHIN
The enemy turks everywhere.
Currently it is the ground mole
who has plowed up quite hunk
of the acreage in back of the
house. A trap had been set at one
of the apertures the quaint little
creature dug for himself before
he started operations. He climbed
out of the other hole and the trap
now has teen shifted to new
position far up the road where
he is expected to resume his at
tack.
The vegetable patch, Of course,
has been despaired Of long ago
A white kerchief has been flying
there for a month, to announce to
the woodchucks that uncondition-
al surrender was made from this
side of the ramparts long ago.
Dusk is falling, anyway, and ir
a little while, the occupants Of
/ this little house in the country
will rub gasoline into the Mode
r and return to the city.
The hazards in New York are
comparatively few, the cuisine
and atmosphere at the Stork OF
Versailles, are unsurpassed. The
floor is solid: let. a ground mole
just try to excavate the dance
floor. And the settees are steer
and deep enough to permit q
country weekender to snooze 8
while.
Hello. New York