"Have you found any good ones, yet, Charlie?" I heard my Martha’s voice a callin’ me down the bank.

I was a sittin’ in the shade of a gnarled old apple tree, debatin’ with myself; whether or not I should try lookin’ in that spot over yonder, under the big pin oak near the water, or maybe tryin’ my luck a little closer into the backwater slough. It made no never mind to me, as far as the work went, ‘cause either way, it was bound to give my lumbago fits, but to my of thinkin’ if and I dug under the pin oak, at least I’d have me some shade. Besides, the mud by the bank looked mighty treacherous, though my new pup, Rambler, had run through it without nary a mishap, but I’d reckoned he weighed considerably less than me. I knew that I’d sink up to my knees, in that black gook, and be stuck there until mornin’, my Martha bein’ no help at all in pullin’ me out.

I could just see her in my mind’s eye, as I took another crisp bite of a green apple. There’d she be a hollerin’ at me and callin’ me names, some deservin’, but the others that wern’t a bouncin’ off of me like drunken mosquitoes. And there I’d be, a knowin’ that all I had to do was to find me some purchase to pull myself out of my rubber boots, but discoverin’ none at all. There I’d be a wavin’ my arms around, and tryin’ to keep my balance and there she’d be a standin’ as close as she could get, without sinkin’ in herself, a wavin’ her’s like a windmill in frustrated aggravation. I took another chomp off the apple and shook my head. Nope, I thought. I’d better stick to the shade of the pin oak. I nodded my head in decision, chucked the apple core in the water, and heaved myself up with the aid of the shovel.

"Did you hear me, Charlie?" Came her demandin’ voice, bouncin’ off the trees and skimmin’ off the water.

I must have been deep into my cogitatin’, I thought. ‘Cause I’d sure as heck forgot to answer her.

"No, Martha." I hollered back. "Ain’t found nothing, but them durned red wigglers." I winked to myself.

"Well," she hooped. "You keep diggin’ until you get some of those nice fat crawlers."

As I picked up the bucket, I felt a slight tinge of guilt slidin’ up my spine, but I shook it off as I would have an annoyin’ sweat bee.

Now, don’t get me wrong, I loved my little Martha and still do. I loved her as deep as any man could for his woman. I knew that she had me in her heart, as well, but a man has to do what suits him or he ain’t never a goin’ to be happy. When I was in her sight and presence, I did exactly what she told me to do, mostly, but when I was out a fishin’, or a walkin’ my dog, or out in my shed, or in the town a talkin’ with the boys, I pretty much did what needed to be done in the way that felt right to me; my way. I figured I’d earned my keep, since my retirement, so I had the right to do what I thought best, just as long as I was out of range of her glarin’ eye.

Now, I had done all of this cogitatin’ on my way to the pin oak, when all of a sudden, Rambler jumped up onto my back and knocked me flat to the ground. The shovel went one way and the bucket the other. He then commenced to lickin’ my face, like he was a tryin’ to lick off my beard.

"Down, boy!" I commanded, then realized that both of us were already in that situation. His tongue started getting’ me tickled and I started to snigger. Then I rolled him over, scratched his belly some, until he calmed down, and then he jumped up and ran off into the brush. As I hauled my old body up from that undignified position, I saw that gooey black slime had covered my clothes and they were practically soaked through in smelly water, too. Oh no! I thought to myself (something I think most of us do, from time to time). Martha is goin’ to skin me alive! I tried scraping the worst of the mud off with my hands, but that only rubbed it in some more. I thought, maybe I could jump in the water and wash it all out. But, as I looked, I couldn’t think of a way to get to there without a getting’ stuck in the mud, right good. Maybe, I could take ‘em off, I wondered. Then wash ‘em… But, the steam ran out of that way of thinkin’, as it hit up against the same durned problem.

Now, I’m not the most educated man, it was Martha that went to college, but I liked to think I had a few smarts about me. So, I finished my walk to the pin oak, sat down and tried to reckon a way out of my predicament. I could always tell Martha what actually happened, was my first thought, but she’d be a complain’ the whole darn day and I’d be a feelin’ might dumb and stupid, too. There wasn’t nothin’ wrong with what had happened, heck dogs will be dogs, exceptin’ I wasn’t supposed to let Rambler run in the mud or the water. Martha had set strict rules about that all mornin’ long and on our drive over here, too. Okay, I thought. Can’t tell her the truth. So, I deliberated. What was I going to say?

"How’s it goin’, Charlie?" She called.

It wasn’t going too good, I deemed.

"I got the poles all ready to go and I’m just waitin’ for you to finish up." The echoing slam of the car door seemed to emphasize her words. "Want me to come and help you?"

Oh, oh! I’d better figure something out, right quick like, ‘cause that meant I’d better be a hurryin’ up some and I sure as heck didn’t want her a seein’ me like this, no siree, Bob!

"No, Martha my dear." I hallooed back at her. "I’m doin’ just fine!"

I looked up into the pin oak’s leaves at the sun sparkling through the leaves, as if I could find my answer there. I looked out across the mud to the dazzling glints reflecting off the backwater. I was beginning to get a glimmer of an idea. Maybe, I mulled it over some. Maybe it just might work. I walked over to that long muddy beach with my shovel and got just close enough, without sinkin’ in to deeply. I went to work like a demon and I got the bucket filled in no time flat. I left it on the hardened mud, as a couple of worms were attemptin’ to make a break, then I crept a little further into the mud, until I was sunk up to my boot tops, but still in the shade of the oak, of course. I ain’t stupid, you know. A rope up and over that branch and I’d be up and out of there in no time. Then I started to hollerin’.

"Martha!" I shouted. "Oh, Martha!"

"What!" She screeched. "What’s wrong!"

"I’m stuck in the mud." I almost giggled. "But, I found us some good worms."

Dedicated to the one who loves me.

© 2008 C. M. Baker III