Good  Golly  Moses

(Once Again With Dewey )

          This next story in the further adventures of Dewey begins one hot summer morning many, many years ago. Following a restful night of sleep, the man is up and on the move.

         His itenarary for the day is planned, and he was real funny about that. Dewey didn’t “cotton” to the idea of either circumstances, or people, disrupting his well-laid plans.

         On this fine day he is going to pick some huckleberries. Or, as some prefer to call them, blueberries. This in no way alters the fact--- in reality, they’re huckleberries. And “Dew Drop” Pyles knows just where to go. Way back up “yonder” in Clendinin Hollow. He knew of a place there where huckleberries “growed big as the end of yer thumb”. A good-sized blueberry to be sure!

         So Dewey got his berry buckets and lit out walking. It was only 7 miles to his destination, so he’d be there in a very short while. For this man 7 miles was a mere hop, skip, and jump ( if you read the story immediately following this one’ then it will be absolutely clear why I said that ). But anyway, in a very short time he was nearing his destination. Only a mile or so more and he’d commence cleaning those berry vines.

         Then he heard it and smelled something at the same time. Dewey came to a screeching halt---froze in his tracks. What those two senses relayed to his brain he didn’t like at all. If it proved what he was thinking, then it spelled double trouble in huge doses. He thought first of the distinctive odor that came  wafting to his nostrils. Cucumbers!

         Now any greenhorn knows when you are in the wild---far from where any vegetable gardens are located and this aromatic odor comes drifting your way---lookout! You are in close proximity to unwanted and dangerous company.

         A sure sign of snakes! Reptiles! A time to be very, very careful. Dewey wasn’t too awfully afraid of the slithering strings of death if they could be spotted. But such was not the case here. He was standing in waist-high weeds where a person, even a human with 20/20 vision, could see absolutely nothing. And all too well he knew how those slimy creatures could blend in with the surroundings. Snakes---masters in the art of camouflage! Dewey might be looking one smack-dab between the fangs right now and not even realize it.

         The second thing to be considered was the buzzing sound being heard in Clendinin Hollow that long-ago day. If it proved to be what he thought, then that ominous noise tolled bad news by the bushel. Dewey could find himself in a delicate and precarious position, that of being between the devil and the deep blue sea. Certainly he wasn’t a entomologist, those world’s foremost authorities who delve into the puzzling world of insects.

         A member of that select group would’ve recognized the sound instantly. Well hell---so did Dewey! The buzzing sound---at an extremely high decibel level---was being made by a swarm of bees! Nothing else on God’s green earth could account for the terrible racket. Dewey felt sure there was a wild bee tree nearby, and that it’s occupants had decided to get out this fine morning and take the day off.

         No nectar hunting today. Neither would they pollinate any farm crops. Queenie had decided a new home might be nice, and half the colony had made up their minds to string along with her. After making that decision the buzzy fellas had closed ranks and were having themselves a cozy little swarm . Folks really should get together more often.

         Hardly daring to breathe, Dewey stood motionless to ponder his unenviable situation. He had come face-to-face with two of the most deadly perils Mother Nature can array against homo-sapiens. His predicament was indeed a dire one, standing in high weeds with snakes nearby, not know whether they were the harmless type, or the variety of serpent capable of lethal injection.

         As if that weren’t enough, Dewey felt certain wild bees were swarming in the vicinity. It was dangerous to twitch a muscle! Of the two threatening enemies confronting him, it was difficult to determine which presented the greatest danger. Take your pick---snakes or bees. Right now Dewey was wishing someone or something would take both.

         Definitely not the time for a chap to lose his cool. His decision ( definitely the right one ) was to first be alert for reptiles. They were harder to spot; for all he knew the wary Dewey might be standing on one right now.

         Dew Drop had come to this place for berries, and come hell or high water he was not leaving without them. Very slowly and carefully, looking every step before a foot was lowered, he started cautiously edging toward that patch of succulent fruit. Moving at a slow pace and staying on the alert, Dewey soon reached it’s outer fringes. Having espied nary a snake, neither a bee, he was of the notion his once acute senses were going dull. Heaven forbid!

         The berry patch was located where the ground rose to form a knoll, then gave way to form a depression, or sinkhole. Bowl-shaped and crater-like it was, and those berry vines thrived at the bottom. Dewey was trudging up the knoll, and by now both the cucumber odor and buzzing roar had reached epidemic proportions. The clangor and din was “dang near enough to deafen a feller”, and old Dewey never again would want to slice a cucumber.

         When he reached the top of that rise and looked down, a sight that totally defied description greeted his eyes. No member of the human race had ever beheld anything like it.

         Snakes!! By the thousands---whoa, make that tens of thousands! Rattlesnakes and copperheads were denning together. There were enough venomous reptiles at the bottom of that sinkhole to eradicate half of all mankind!

         Bees could be forgotten now. There were no bees swarming. That buzzing sound all the while had been the rattling of those thousands of pit-vipers. Their deadly tune was audible fully a mile away. Creepy, crawly, slimy serpents were everywhere he looked. They had entwined themselves into rounded masses that were ( according to Dewey ) “big as a good-sized room!”         

          Imagine if you will! Those lethal reptiles were rollin’ round and round in the bottom of that sinkhole, trying to gather momentum to roll out and over the top. If that many reptiles made a simultaneous escape, then surely havoc would be wreaked on an unsuspecting and ill-prepared world!

         Standing majestically at the top of the knoll was The Man. Dewey had to think this thing out.

         Certainly he couldn’t go wading into the midst of those writhing pit-vipers. Yet--- a way to get at those huckleberries must be found. If he tried going in there without some planning “it would be all she wrote”. Those slithering, shiny strings of death would make short work of him. Dewey thought the situation over and decided he’d last about as long as that proverbial snowball in hell.

         What to do? Dewey mused his dilemma over for a few fleeting seconds and---BINGO! The answer hit him as a ton of bricks. He must return to Narrows at once. His specific destination, Wheelers Hardware. Purchase of a very important item could be made there. Sitting the berry buckets down, he lit out in a fast lope. A mere 7 mile run seemed like child’s play to Dewey. He never did fewer than 4 such exercises each and every day.

         Arriving at the business establishment owned by Mr. A. M. Wheeler, Dewey purchased 4 joints of regular stovepipe and 1 joint of furnace pipe. Several people were in there, and quite naturally they showed more than passing interest in this business transaction. One fellow wondered aloud why Dewey was putting up a stove in the middle of July. To which  the great innovator retorted: “ I ain’t puttin’ up no stove. I’m uh pickin’ huckleberries”.

         Hardly able to make the connection, the onlookers merely scratched their noggins. No need to worry or lose sleep about this situation. It was reasonable to assume that the details of Dewey’s latest escapade would soon be the talk of the town.

         With his purchased merchandise tucked securely under both arms, Dewey departed from the store that sold bolts, nuts---and stovepipe. Going in a trot the entire 7 miles back to Clendinin , he could already savor mouth-watering huckleberry pie for supper.

         Reaching the place where he’d left his berry buckets, Dewey proceeded to do what must be done. He wrapped a joint of stovepipe around each leg and popped em’ in place. The other two went around his arms and meshed together with a snapping sound. That one joint of furnace pipe went around his torso. Fit like a glove, man---like a mitten! A handkerchief was tied gently over his face, hopefully to combat that cucumber aroma.

          The man was in business, and now ready to do combat with the creepy creature placed on earth for a single purpose---to wage eternal conflict with man! Dewey’s cool and ingenuity was about to pay dividends, the fruit of his labor soon harvested. Uh,pardon---picked.

         Picking up his buckets, Dewey went walking down the incline. A little stiff-legged perhaps, but his mobility wasn’t really all that bad. Shucks man, old Frankenstein walked like that, all thru the countryside scarin’ the daylights outta’ people.

         Hissing and rattling combined to create a deafening roar, and Dewey was forced to plug his ears. Having no cotton on his person today, a tad of improvising sufficed. A handful of grass was pulled; it served the purpose splendidly.

         Reaching the outermost berry vines, the picker commenced pickin’. He’d been right about the size of the fruit flourishing here in Clendinin.They were indeed “big as  the end of a feller’s thumb”. But shucks, no great mystery concerning that---no puzzlement whatsoever. Considering who and what were the guardians of this berry patch, no human-being had dared come near it. These berries had grown and sun-ripened to reach their prime. And awaited the arrival of Dewey.

         However, as he went about the serious business of pickin’ em’, those venomous creatures hadn’t entirely given up the fight to protect their territory. These Sons of Satan were tryin’ to do Dewey in. But to no avail. Deadly fangs struck out and came in contact with stovepipe, but merely bounced off  it’s rounded contours. Nary a square-inch of soft human flesh was exposed, nothing the serpents could clamp onto. As those deadly fangs made contact with metal it sounded much like B-B pellets glancing off, creating the sound-effect of a hailstorm in the area.

         Dewey felt perfectly safe; these danged snakes could do him no harm. The only reptile he need fear might be a spitting cobra--- one of those could possibly aim a lucky squirt to his eyes. Those orbs of vision were the only part of his body not protected by either stovepipe or handkerchief. But no sweat about the hooded cobras. They were all in Africa and India--- not a single one had ever been seen in Clendinin.

         Dewey even became accustomed to having the snakes around. Though posing no threat or danger, still they were somewhat a minor pest. Every now and then one of those “room-sized” balls of slithering serpents would roll into him, causing Dukey Dew to lose his balance. Several times they even bowled him over. That’s why he considered them a nuisance. Really, the only part of his plan that hadn’t worked to perfection. Wrapped as he was in the stovepipe, it made for some difficulty in regaining his feet. This wee matter, however, in no way caused Dewey to lose his composure. The berry picker kept on pluckin’.

         In three hours the vines were picked clean as a whistle. Berry buckets filled to capacity in record time. It had been a long and busy day, and old Dewey was more than a little tired.

               Toting his berries to the top of the rise, he deposited the pails on the ground and unwrapped himself. Whew!--- felt good to get outta’ that stuff. What with the sun reflecting off the bluish metal, he’d been durn nigh roasted alive! Leaving the stovepipe on the ground where he’d shed it, Dewey picked up his buckets and went home.

         Man’s superior brain had once again prevailed; Dewey enjoyed blueberry cobbler for dessert that night.

         As the medieval knight donned his coat of armor to ride into battle, so too had Dewey donned his to charge into the snake-pit. To this day when thinking of this, always the same images dance before me.

         I see both The Tin Man and Cowardly Lion from the 1939 movie classic, “The Wizard of Oz”. The Tin Man was in desperate need of an oil can to keep his metal body functioning. But Dewey, considering his silky smooth method of operation, certainly didn’t need an oil supply.

         The Cowardly Lion had no heart and searched frantically for that vital organ. And without heart---well, even a creature is only half a being. Dewey didn’t need a “chest pump”! To perform the feat he’d just accomplished , Dewey’s heart must have been extremely enlarged!

         There were other berry pickers in Clendinin that long-ago day. Although none had seen Dewey, every last one had heard the noise and commotion erupting from that place. According to their reports, something mighty curious had happened up there. They said a devastating hailstorm had struck, but had confined itself to only one small area.

         And the weather-bureau has yet another erroneous report in it’s files. Not one ball of hail fell in Clendinin that day. But I think it best to let those old-timers go on thinking what they’ve thought across the decades. That it was indeed the sound of a hailstorm that had fallen on their ears.

         If told what really happened---well, they wouldn’t believe it anyway…