Throwing Rocks

The water level in the lake is very lowwww due to the current drought.  I’d guess it’s down at least 6”. As a result, big rocks piled along the seawall (required by the Department of Environmental Quality to provide habitat for aquatic critters) have been exposed above-water to catch floating seaweed and other stuff.   Think compost pile with rotting gunk, only worse because of the constant water-soaking component.  Yes, you got it. Yuck.

So today I took it upon myself to clean the rocks as much as possible with a garden rake (thick mats of black slime - peee-ewww!) before throwing them into deeper water where they can’t act like Velcro.  Too bad for the crawdads!  Heave HO…oomph…ker-plunk!  Again!  And again!  I must have moved maybe 30 of these slimy, gross rocks of various sizes, many in the five-or-six-pound range.  By hand.  By golly.  By the hardest. 

Tonight my back is bawling me out.  “What WAS all that about, anyway?  Don’t you know your AGE?” 

Well, yes.  But I don’t want to argue about it.  (Shouldn't my back know me by now??)

I will confess here, though – it’s still easy for me to wave the control-freak banner high.  If something needs to be done, just do it, I always say.  Don’t be the stereotypical wailing damsel in distress who is too pink-around-the-edges to get her hands dirty when confronted by a messy job. Just handle it. 

My back overhears.  “But you ARE a damsel in distress, an old one, albeit a tough one, and you DON’T have to make a scene or be all prissy,” it barks with authority.  It is riled now, and insists on making a statement. “Just ask for help.  That’s what senior citizens DO.”

Oh.  Play the old lady card.  Ok.  I get it.  Next time I decide to throw rocks I’ll remember that.