I pulled out a handful of something that smelled like swamp and dropped it onto the lawn. It landed with a soggy thud.
Five handfuls down, two miles to go. And that’s just this side of the house.
I was about to say a word that my mom would have tsk-tsk’d when …
“Whatcha doin’, Dan?”
I flinched at the sound. The ladder wobbled and I gripped the edge of the roof. The teetering stopped, and I looked down to find two of the neighborhood kids straddling their bicycles and watching me with fascination.
“Cleaning the gutters,” I said, punctuating my answer with another splat.
“Why?”
“They get full of leaves and stuff and when it rains, the water can’t run off. It can damage the roof.”
Another handful of gunk hit the ground, and ooze ran down my arm and under my shirt.
“I’m gonna get my brother!” one of the boys said excitedly. His bike bounced across the lawn, and down the block I could hear him shouting “Billy! BILLY!!”
I stood on tip-toes at the top of the 5-foot stepladder and reached for more goop. Dad always said “Use the right tool for the job”; it was good advice that I routinely ignored.
The sound of exuberant voices was followed by four bicycles rolling into the yard.
“He’s cleaning the gutters,” one of the boys told the newcomers. Everyone nodded, like it was all the explanation they needed.
“Megan! Come see this!” someone yelled toward the street, drawing even more spectators.
Another slimy handful produced decaying maple leaves and a tennis ball. One of the boys got down on all fours to smell the ooze. “Eeeeuw!” he said, which enticed the others to take a sniff.
“What if there’s a snake up there?” someone asked, just as I reached for more sludge.
“A snake couldn’t get on the roof …” I said hesitantly.
“Some snakes can climb trees,” a boy said. He was wearing thick glasses that made him look like someone who might know about such things. “Then it could drop onto the roof and lay its eggs …”
I climbed down the ladder, moved it a step closer to the driveway and wondered if I should climb back up.
I did.
There were 11 kids watching by the time I reached the downspout. I smelled like a swamp, but at least there were no snakes. The other side of the house could wait for another day. Or another owner.
“Let’s go over to my place,” one of the kids said. “My dad is going to clean all the junk out of the garage!”
Eleven bikes rattled across the lawn, and they were gone.
A dark corner of the garage. Sounds like the perfect place for a snake.
Dan Conradt, a lifelong Mower County resident, lives in Austin with his wife, Carla Johnson.
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Gunk from the gutter draws a crowd - PostBulletin.com
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