Chapter 8
How Much Wood Could a...
Just how does one coax a woodchuck down from a 20-foot birch tree? The answer to this most unusual question, of course, would come from my three best friends encouraged by a plethora of martinis. This is just one of a great number of dilemmas resolved by my fellow martini drinkers as they’ve helped me muddle through my life as a single mom in a small Michigan town.
I heard my dogs, Bella and Molly, making a ruckus in the yard this morning, and I watched in amazement as they chased a woodchuck right up a tree. He scrambled nearly to the top and then clung to the trunk.
After a time the dogs lost interest and I put them inside to give the poor guy a chance to come down, but he did not. I went in when I finished my chores and kept looking out to see if he was still there and found he remained frozen solid right where he’d stuck initially.
I was concerned about the cute, chubby guy as it seemed so wrong for a woodchuck to be in a tree, and so I called Joye.
“Hey, Joye,” I said. “I need your not so professional opinion. There’s a woodchuck in the tree in my backyard and he’s been there for several hours. Is that normal?” Joye is a top aeronautical industry executive and always has the answers.
“Normal?” she asked. “Are you serious? Just out of curiosity when was the last time you saw a woodchuck anywhere besides on the ground? Use your common sense, woman, woodchucks do not belong in trees. No, this is not normal.”
“What should I do?” I asked.
“Just leave him alone. He’ll come down eventually.”
“Eventually?” I asked. “How long do you suppose that will take?”
“He’ll come down as soon as he gets good and hungry,” she assured me. “Just don’t let the dogs in the backyard again, and he’ll figure out how to rescue himself.”
“You sure?” I asked.
“Based on my experience in dealing with this exact situation in the past so many times, no I’m not sure. But I’ll be fascinated to hear what happens. Keep me posted!”
I did as she suggested and kept the dogs out of the backyard...for the next 24 hours. And still this chubby woodchuck clung to the birch tree 20 feet above our heads. My neck was sore from watching him and wondering when he’d get hungry.
I called Joye back.
“Joye,” I said. “The woodchuck is still in the tree. What should I do?”
“You’ve got to be kidding!” she said. “You are the only person on earth who finds situations like this in your own backyard! Life is certainly never dull for you, is it?”
“No, it’s not. But the fact remains that this little guy has so far not found a way out of the tree. Again I ask, what should I do?”
“Well, duh, we’ll have a woodchuck martini party!”
“What’s a Woodchuck Martini?”
“Not a Woodchuck Martini - a martini party in honor of the woodchuck. We’ll drink a toast and build a bonfire and conjure up the Gods of the holy rodents. They’ll know what to do.”
“Well I’m certainly glad you clarified that. I’m so grateful I’ve sought your professional opinion!”
“Let go of your sarcasm for a minute and get the drinks ready. Call the girls. We’ll figure it out together. I feel a brainstorming session coming on. You know how vodka clears our minds!”
“Clears our minds?” I said. “The last time we had a backyard martini party over here we got my new chainsaw out after the first three rounds to ‘see what it could do.’ Can you remember how that party ended? Do you not remember the 14 stitches I had in my calf?”
“Yes, I remember it quite clearly, so quit your whining. It was nothing more than a superficial wound.” she said. “I think you’re focusing too much on the negative aspects of that evening. Don’t you remember that sizzling hot paramedic that stopped the flow of blood? Perhaps you overlook the gifts you’re given far too easily.”
Maybe she had a point, I thought. That paramedic was pretty hot. And the six months I dated him had gone great until he had suggested a cheerleading costume to spice up our love life a bit. I thought that certainly sounded like an intriguing idea until I found out he was the one who would be wearing it. Rah, rah, rah.
“All right,” I agreed rather reluctantly, “I’ll call the girls.”
Within a couple of hours we had put the martini shaker to the test and the sun was going down. The silhouette of the woodchuck clinging to the birch weighed heavily on our minds.
“Let the brainstorming session begin,” Joye said. “Our task is to figure out how to save the life of Tarzan the tree-bound woodchuck because he is too stupid to save his own little neck.”
“I have an idea,” offered Kim. “Two of you can hold a beach towel out to catch him and I can throw rocks and knock him out of the tree.”
“I can see the headlines now,” LeAnnie said dryly. “How Many Woodchuck Rock Chuckers Could PETA Chuck into a wood chipper?”
“I’m not saying it’s the best idea,” Kim said, “but I am saying that it’s the best idea we’ve had yet.”
“It’s the ONLY idea we’ve had!” I argued.
“Well, then,” Kim said, “Until you have a better idea, I say we try this.”
“Agreed,” piped in Joye.
“LeAnnie?” I said hoping for some semblance of common sense to intervene.
“I’ll pour the drinks,” LeAnnie offered. “Lucy, you get the towel. Although we’ll have to hit him awfully hard to jar his death grip on that tree trunk, and depending on his trajectory as he falls, he could land on one of us.”
Lucky thing we had an engineer in the group, I guess.
I brought out a beach towel sporting a half naked Fabio with flowing hair meandering slowly down a beach at sunset drinking a Dos Equis with lime. Kim picked up a perfect skipping stone and took aim.
“It’s too dark,” she said, “I need a light.”
I retrieved an Ever Ready flashlight from the garage and pointed it up into the white branches of the birch tree. Tarzan barely acknowledged the light with a short blink of his eyes.
Kim took aim and with some serious effort threw the skipping stone at Tarzan. The stone hit a branch a couple of feet below the woodchuck and bounced off and cracked LeAnnie right on the forehead.
“Holy shit, Kim!” she whined. “You could have killed me!” She was dabbing at a trickle of blood with Fabio’s Speedo.
“Sorry, LeAnnie,” Kim said quite sincerely, “I guess that’s not going to work.”
“Let’s try to scare him out of the tree,” Joye suggested. She went to her car and returned in a couple of minutes with an air horn.
“Clearly a brilliant idea,” I said. “The neighbors won’t mind this at all!”
“You let Kim throw one rock; just let me blow the horn once. If Tarzan doesn’t respond then we’ll think of something else. Now get the towel ready.”
Joye shone the flashlight on Tarzan.
Kim and LeAnnie and I held onto the towel and I must admit I thought the idea had some merit. If someone blew an air horn at me it would certainly startle me into compliance! The first problem with this plan, however, turned out to be the fact that we were holding onto the towel and could not, therefore, put our hands over our ears. After the horn blasted I could not hear anything for what seemed like an eternity. However I held the towel out hoping Tarzan would come raining down. All I had to show for this effort, though, was ringing ears.
Out of the corner of my eye, then, I noticed the pool skimmer lying next to the hot tub and I had what I thought at the time was the greatest idea. We all went into the garage and brought out the two-story ladder.
“OK,” I said when we had propped the ladder up against the birch. “I’ll take the skimmer up the ladder and scoop Tarzan up and carry him down.”
“He’s a wild animal,” Kim said. “I don’t think he’s going to let you carry him down a 20-foot ladder in a pool skimmer.”
?
??He’s not a wild animal,” I said, “he’s a rodent.”
“He’s an animal and he lives in the wild,” Kim said. “He is therefore a wild animal, and I don’t think he’s going to cooperate.”
“We have to do something,” I argued. “We can’t just leave him up there. LeAnnie, you go make more martinis because we’re going to celebrate when Tarzan’s safely back on the ground. Joye and Kim, you hold the ladder so I don’t take the fast way down.”
I began to climb the ladder and two steps up had my doubts that this was the best plan as the ladder leaned and nearly fell before Kim and Joye could right it again.”
“Maybe we should think of something else,” I said, a little shaken.
“Or maybe we should just let nature take its course and leave Tarzan alone,” said Kim gently trying to let me off the hook. “I mean, it’s JUST a woodchuck. They’re kind of destructive anyway.”
On a logical level I agreed with Kim completely. He was just a woodchuck. It’s not like he was a pet. He was, in the truest sense of the word, a rodent, albeit a rodent with a name.
I jumped back to the ground and LeAnnie appeared with a tray of fresh drinks. I leaned against the tree, took a sip of the caramel apple martini, and contemplated the situation. I emptied the glass and found myself with renewed courage.
I am not one to back down from a challenge and really can’t justify letting one of God’s creatures suffer because I’m a coward.
After a few moments I placed the empty glass back on the tray and Joye, Kim, and LeAnnie followed my lead. They emptied their glasses and returned to the task at hand.
When Joye and Kim had a better grip on the ladder I began my ascent. I had taped the flashlight to the handle of the pool skimmer and shined the light on Tarzan ready to scoop him up and place him gently on solid ground again. What a great plan.
However I had clearly not thought the entire process through to the end. Did I mention that Tarzan was a bit chubby? Once I got up close I realized he probably weighed 20 pounds.
Now I’m standing 20 feet up on a ladder. My confidence is bolstered by my fourth martini. I’ve got an Absolut (pun intended) death grip on the pool skimmer with a flashlight duct taped to the handle. Two of my best friends are holding the ladder and their strength is bolstered by a combined total of eight martinis. The reality of the situation is setting in.
“Hey, Lucy,” Kim shouted up the ladder into the darkness and fairly small circle of light on Tarzan. “Do you realize that four of us have consumed a total of 16 martinis?”
“I’m so glad you’re putting your accounting degree to use, Kim.” I said.
“I’m just saying,” she offered, “that maybe we should have started this project 12 martinis ago.”
Must everything in an accountant’s life be broken down by numbers, I wondered. What about the life of one of God’s creatures? Could we put a numerical value on that? I stood at the top of the ladder and contemplated this observation and suggestion.
“Maybe we should get the towel out and hold it in case Lucy comes down!” LeAnnie joked.
I shined the light on Tarzan who turned his head no doubt to see who was invading his solitude. His beady, black eyes blinked slowly and he really seemed quite disinterested. I wondered if he’d decided he would just sit up here until he starved to death. Perhaps he was making a statement to his woodchuck friends and was on a hunger strike protesting unseen warring factions in a bid for peace in the animal kingdom over which he ruled. Perhaps we should have named him Gandhi and he felt rebuffed when we referred to him as Tarzan.
“Is he scared?” Joye asked.
“No, he’s definitely not scared,” I answered.
“Is he foaming at the mouth?” asked Kim. “You don’t suppose he’s rabid, do you?”
“He’s not foaming at the mouth, for Heaven’s sake,” I answered. “He looks bored. Now hold the ladder still, I’m going to try to scoop him up.”
As they tightened their grip on the ladder I braced myself with my left hand and moved the pool skimmer/flashlight combination underneath Tarzan. He didn’t move a bit until he felt the skimmer come up underneath him, and that was the point where his fight or flight instinct finally kicked in. As I scooped him up and lifted his considerable heft he leaped away from me, and he sailed into the night. I heard him hit first one branch and then another and then several more all the way down to the ground. I shined the light and cringed as he hit each limb.
Kim and Joye stood looking at the stunned and unmoving woodchuck encircled in the Ever Ready bath of light and LeAnnie approached him with the shaker only half full not knowing whether we’d be filling it up to celebrate or mourn the loss of the chubby rodent. As she leaned down Tarzan sprang to life and darted out from under the circle of light. LeAnnie was so startled that she tripped and let go of the martini shaker and stumbled backward as she watched Tarzan lope across the yard with a bit of a limp and then through the picket fence to the freedom of the front yard. But Tarzan did not stop there for we had already established he was a woodchuck with little brain and minimal survival skills. He continued on right into the traffic in the busy street and the last thing we heard was a honking horn, the screech of tires, and a muffled thump.
Clearly what we learned through this is that it’s not the outcome of a situation that’s ultimately important. It’s the friends with whom we share our victories and defeats, our souls and our goals, and especially our Woodchuck Martinis.
When life gives you sour milk, turn it into chocolate crepes.
Sour Milk Chocolate Crepes
1 cup all-purpose flour
2 tablespoon sugar
1-1/2 cups sour milk
4 large eggs
3 tablespoons melted butter
1. Place flour, sugar, sour milk, eggs, and melted butter in a blender and puree for at least 30 seconds. Let batter sit at room temperature for 20 minutes.
2. Heat a nonstick skillet over medium heat. Lightly coat with butter and put in 1/3 cup of the batter. Swirl the batter around to cover the skillet bottom. Cook until the underside is brown, 2-3 minutes. Flip and cook the opposite side for one minute.
Filling:
4 ounces cream cheese
1/4 cup sugar
1/2 cup semi-sweet chocolate chips
2 tablespoons butter
1 cup frozen whipped topping, thawed
1. In microwave melt together chocolate chips and butter.
3. In mixing bowl cream together cream cheese and sugar. Add melted chocolate.
4. Fold in whipped topping.
Place 2-3 tablespoons of filling in each crepe and fold.
Note: To make sour milk add one tablespoon plus one teaspoon of vinegar to the 1-1/2 cups of milk and it will sour in a few minutes.
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