THE OTHER SIDE OF THE FENCE

Stories, Memories, and Good-Natured Nonsense with Hickory Pinenut

“A Safe Place”

Hickory Pinenut has spent many years collecting stories, memories, local legends, and the occasional tall tale.

Whether entirely true, mostly true, or improved slightly through repeated telling, his stories celebrate the characters, humor, and everyday adventures that make Honey Hill Country such an interesting place to live.

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Every autumn I put things away carefully. As I always do. All the time.

Not merely put away. But rather in some place safe that I am certain to remember whenever called upon.

There is a difference.

Putting something away is what happens when you set it down on the nearest flat surface, walk away, and hope for the best. Putting something somewhere safe involves forethought, planning, and a level of confidence that would be admirable if the object in question weren’t so often misplaced.

Last fall, while putting the garden to bed for the winter, I found myself holding a perfectly good pair of pruning shears.

Now, these are not fancy pruning shears.

They are not rare pruning shears.

They are not overly expensive pruning shears.

No one is likely to write songs or stories about them.

But they fit my hand nicely, cut what needs cutting, and have been doing so long enough over a period of years to have earned my trust.

Winter was coming and the gardening season was ending.

Naturally, I decided to put them somewhere safe. Somewhere to be readily retrieved when needed next Spring.

And so I did.

I remember thinking about it.

I remember doing it.

I remember congratulating myself on the wisdom of my decision and having done it.

What I do not remember now is where that safe place happened to be.

After Winter passed Spring arrived.

Then Summer soon began peeking around the corner.

The roses needed attention. The shrubs required attention.

After an unseasonably warm Spring, various plants around the garden were already growing with an apparent excitement and enthusiasm that suggested they had not consulted either my or Mother Nature’s schedules beforehand.

Accordingly, I went looking for the pruning shears. That is where it started.

They were not where I usually keep them during the Summer. But this small thing did not concern me because it was just now dawning on Summer and the pruning shears had not actually been used yet. After all, I had obviously put them somewhere to overwinter in someplace safe. I always do so it must be so. They had to be elsewhere. It made perfect sense.

I checked the shed.

The workbench.

The cabinet.

The shelf above the cabinet.

The box beneath the shelf above the cabinet.

The box inside the box beneath the shelf above the cabinet.

Nothing.

At this point I began expanding the search and looked in places where pruning shears had no business being.

The garage.

The porch.

A drawer in the kitchen.

Two more drawers in the kitchen.

The “everything ends up there at some point” drawer in the hutch.

The key rack in the entryway.

The pockets in jackets on the hat rack in the summer room.

The hall closet.

The bedroom closet.

The linen closet.

My toolbox for making teddy bears.

My toolbox for making jewelry pendants.

My toolbox for household tools.

A storage tub containing Christmas decorations.

And lest you laugh — the refrigerator drawers — because once you’ve searched long enough, logic begins to loosen its grip, and common sense takes a holiday.

I found many things during my expedition.

A pair of gloves I was sure had vanished three years ago.

Several packets of garden seeds.

A flashlight in need of batteries.

Four unmatched beverage coasters.

An instruction booklet for a toaster oven that quit working six years ago.

A Boy Scout pocket knife from summer camp 1963. Funny how some things stay lost for three years and others wait sixty-three to turn up again.

An extension cord I had been looking for before giving up and purchasing a replacement three weeks ago.

A screwdriver I distinctly remembered loaning to someone last year.

I even found another pair of pruning shears. Unfortunately, they were not “the” pruning shears. Every gardener knows. There is always a difference. If you know, you know.

The search continued.

Eventually I found myself standing in the middle of the garage trying to think of where I might put something today if I wanted to remember where I had put it next year.

This is a surprisingly difficult exercise, usually leading to self-doubt and a review of one’s remaining mental faculties.

I suspect many of us have reached the age where our greatest enemy is not forgetfulness. It is confidence. We are entirely too confident that we will remember things later. But “later,” of course, is where the trouble always seems to begin, isn’t it?

Now, let me pause for a moment here. Because before anyone begins feeling sorry for either me or my garden, let me report that the story has a happy ending.

I found the beloved pruning shears.

Exactly where I had put them.

Resting comfortably in a place so safe and sensible that I cannot imagine why I ever thought I would remember it six months later.

The details are not important. Just to say that they were in the first obvious spot I checked but failed to see them sitting right there in front of me at the time. That can happen too sometimes, can’t it? Trying very hard to remember these lessons, I will endeavor not to repeat the same mistake next year.

The important thing is that the shears were recovered. The garden was saved. Order was restored.

At least temporarily.

Of course, no sooner had I finished celebrating finding the pruning shears than I realized I could not find the roll of garden twine.

But this time, I know exactly what happened.

Last fall, while putting things away, I found the perfect place for it.

Somewhere safe. Somewhere I would not fail to remember where they were. Somewhere . . . .

So, as a final note — if you happen to come across a roll of twine while cleaning your garage, porch, basement, shed, workshop, attic, or any other location where perfectly sensible people hide perfectly ordinary objects like garden twine, please let me know.

With plants growing as they are, I have a feeling the garden will be in need of twine and tying very soon.

 

Pen-and-ink illustrations have been created for this piece with the assistance of AI . . .  lovingly prepared and styled for the world of Little Red Bear.