STUMPED

My sister is going to help one of her daughters remove some stumps from the yard.  My niece's house is halfway between my house and my sister's house, not an unpleasant ride, so I decide to run up and help.  Besides, I had a successful run on some other stumps the last time I attempted this at her house.  I am bound and determined to repeat my performance.

The first thing I notice when I arrive is that we are working on a short but steep hill down near the edge of the river that borders the property.  That's okay; my balance isn't the best, but I'll work with it.  The second thing I notice is that I forgot to bring gardening gloves with me.  That's okay; I have paddling gloves with leather paddling; I'll use those.

The stumps we all attacked last time were up near the house and were relatively self-contained: small tree stumps and leftover bushes that needed to be replaced.  These stumps, however, are a lot more involved.  These stumps and clumps of stumps are the size of small cars, and the roots are as wide around as my thigh.

This is not going to be an easy task.

We dig, we clip, we cut, we saw, and we jiggle the stumps.  Some of them come loose and come out of the ground.  Some of them, though, are connected with gargantuan umbilical cord-like underground structures.  When we move the root near the stump, the ground vibrates four feet away.

I am completely convinced that if we pull the roots of all these stumps, we will pull down her entire house thirty yards away.  I am Hawthorne's character Alymer, and my mind plays the same trick on me as his, only instead of cutting out a birthmark only to find it connected to his wife's heart (a dream), I believe I will pull on a root and collapse my niece's entire house and lot.

Determined to try one last stump, I attack the thing a little over-zealously.  I jab the shovel in under the loose part of the stump and figure I will get a little leverage if I can gain about four more inches of soil.  With the shovel poised, I balance myself on the hill on my right foot, place my left foot against the shovel's edge, and push all my weight against the shovel with a strong kick.

Remember those Wile E. Coyote cartoons?  Remember how he would run into something and fold up like an accordion as the object, such as an anvil, refused to yield?  This is what my ankle does -- It pulls a Wile E. Coyote.  I not only feel, but I can hear the sproooooiiiiiinggggg sound my ankle makes when it comes in contact with the shovel that has made contact with the mega-giant-root system.

Instantly I yowl and continue to yowl and suck in my breath as my sister runs over.  She asks me if I am all right, what did I do, and do I need help.  I still cannot speak, it hurts that much.  I am afraid to look down, so sure am I that I have given myself a compound fracture.  I don't even care that the ground below me is damp and slightly muddy from the digging; I sink to the ground and sit there, giggling stupidly but really wanting to burst into tears.

After about two minutes I am able to speak coherently.  No, there is no bone sticking out of my ankle, but my leg is still zinging and my ass is now crusted with mud.  As an added insult, the stump is still firmly in the ground.