Um. Wow. This is potent. Highly admirable when an author can pack so strong of a literary punch in so few words. Laconic describes it; powerful embodies it.
I get it. Unlike a dump, a house is not a good space for rats, and that's a difficult situation. Idk what I'd do. I've used humane traps for mice, but it was only a matter of one at a time, years apart, not an invasion, so it was easy enough to catch and release. And the mice were so happy to be released in a brushy field/forested area that needed mice.
I tried humane traps. Didn't work. Then I bought mean traps and baited them with peanut butter. I let them sit for a week then checked them out. Only one of the traps had been touched. The peanut butter on the spring was eaten gone...and was replaced by a rat poop. Clever, sarcastic rat. Then I hired a professional.
"a bare echo" got to me as well. In the movie version of this, I see the wispy veil of time gone by barely illuminating the son and father as they bring down food for their people waiting at home. No high 5s or loud yelping, just a silent gratitude for full bellies for another day.
Loveshort essays, poems etc. I had only shot a gun once and it was a BB gun in Mexico. I shot it to scare a person that had entered my palm hut at night. It scared them off. And I did shoot a chicken that was in my garden. Yikes. The only gun I liked was my Roy Rogers cap pistol I had when I was nine. I loved it but has long disappeared. Lots of idiots love guns. The second amendment e t does not give anyone to carry a gun. Read it. Grrrr.
I know, especially as a white person, not to talk warm and fuzzy about Indians being spiritually special anymore but it's a shame. I am grateful for this story. Because I am certain in the lore of time that the deepest spirituality can be found in the darkest and dirtiest places like the Dump! There is something so ancient in this flash in the pan story. Somebody showed me how to shoot a gun in a place in the woods and I never touched one again either. It was just too loud. This story is so soft and warm and I can feel you and your Dad out there. It's like a prayer.
As for how long? The length or size of any work of art has its own needs. I would say just start there. Who cares about the internet.
Thank you. That was beautiful and tender and brought tears to my eyes...even the lowliest of vermin life has meaning. I'm glad you had the bonding experience without the carnage. Perhaps that's one of the elements that makes a poet.
This has a much nicer feel than those movie scenes where the father and his son go out killing things just for the so-called manliness of the experience.
So wonderful, and wonderfully evocative.
Since posting, how many mass shootings have exploded?
Your father and you had some good moments in there.
Love this length - sort of flash memoir or flash essay. Why do fiction writers have to have all the fun?!
Um. Wow. This is potent. Highly admirable when an author can pack so strong of a literary punch in so few words. Laconic describes it; powerful embodies it.
Michael Mohr
Substack: "The Incompatibility of Being Alive"
https://reallife82.substack.com/
Beautiful. Thanks for sharing this experience. I admire how effective your writing is. You tell an epic story in so few words. Magical.
It doesn’t play a short musical tune before you begin speaking anymore?
Weapons are primal, but so are gathering baskets. Hunting for food is instinctual, hunting for trophies just seems irrational.
So glad neither or you shot them. Rats belong in a Dump. Also they're intelligent, and they giggle.
Well, I also have a series of poems about my long battle with the rats who invaded our crawlspace in Seattle a decade ago!
I get it. Unlike a dump, a house is not a good space for rats, and that's a difficult situation. Idk what I'd do. I've used humane traps for mice, but it was only a matter of one at a time, years apart, not an invasion, so it was easy enough to catch and release. And the mice were so happy to be released in a brushy field/forested area that needed mice.
I tried humane traps. Didn't work. Then I bought mean traps and baited them with peanut butter. I let them sit for a week then checked them out. Only one of the traps had been touched. The peanut butter on the spring was eaten gone...and was replaced by a rat poop. Clever, sarcastic rat. Then I hired a professional.
lol re the clever rat
"a bare echo" got to me as well. In the movie version of this, I see the wispy veil of time gone by barely illuminating the son and father as they bring down food for their people waiting at home. No high 5s or loud yelping, just a silent gratitude for full bellies for another day.
That’s a nice scene.
Looks like Dad fed you some gentleness that day.
My father was shy and gentle, even in the middle of a drinking binge.
Loveshort essays, poems etc. I had only shot a gun once and it was a BB gun in Mexico. I shot it to scare a person that had entered my palm hut at night. It scared them off. And I did shoot a chicken that was in my garden. Yikes. The only gun I liked was my Roy Rogers cap pistol I had when I was nine. I loved it but has long disappeared. Lots of idiots love guns. The second amendment e t does not give anyone to carry a gun. Read it. Grrrr.
I played war often as a kid. I still play war with board games and video games.
What our fathers teach us.
I know, especially as a white person, not to talk warm and fuzzy about Indians being spiritually special anymore but it's a shame. I am grateful for this story. Because I am certain in the lore of time that the deepest spirituality can be found in the darkest and dirtiest places like the Dump! There is something so ancient in this flash in the pan story. Somebody showed me how to shoot a gun in a place in the woods and I never touched one again either. It was just too loud. This story is so soft and warm and I can feel you and your Dad out there. It's like a prayer.
As for how long? The length or size of any work of art has its own needs. I would say just start there. Who cares about the internet.
I think the problems start when it's assumed that Native spiritual practices are more valuable or honest or true than others.
Just grateful. Thanks.
Thank you, Kate.
Thank you. That was beautiful and tender and brought tears to my eyes...even the lowliest of vermin life has meaning. I'm glad you had the bonding experience without the carnage. Perhaps that's one of the elements that makes a poet.
Thank you, Annie.
"A bare echo"
The toy Indians...
This has a much nicer feel than those movie scenes where the father and his son go out killing things just for the so-called manliness of the experience.
As I thought more about the essay, I think I learned that day more about the difference between hunting for food and hunting for sport.
I can see that thought in what you wrote. Reminds me of the stories of my youth...and what they mean.