February 28, 2009

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  Mysteries continue to pile up at our old house, “Squirrels’ Leap,” like broken limbs after the ice storm.
  I
  hesitate to blame it on a ghost, because I’m still not sure I believe
  in ghosts. But there’s something fishy — well, squirrelly — going on at
  Squirrels’ Leap.
  Okay, here’s the latest.
  During the ice storm, a
  huge limb from our venerable elm tree fell and demolished the pergola
  next to our breakfast room, which is in a one-story addition that joins
  the old two-story house to the garage.
  The branches also punched
  several holes in the roof, and one skinny branch poked all the way
  through the breakfast-room ceiling, where it is still part of our decor.
  After
  the ice storm, like a good homeowner, Doyle dragged a ladder over to
  the one-story section and climbed up to spread a plastic tarp over the
  shallow peaked roof of the breakfast room. He secured the tarp on the
  north side of the house by hooking the grommets over nails, then draped
  it over the peak of the roof and down the south side, where it
  completely covered the holes and came neatly down over the entrance and
  part of the smashed pergola, where he attached that side of the tarp.
  One
  day last week, after our insurance adjuster had come, my husband tore
  down the ruins of the pergola, which left the south edge of the tarp
  unattached.
  A few nights later, a big windstorm came along. The wind
  blew the tarp from the south side of the roof all the way over the
  shallow peak, and left a big, wet wad of plastic hanging by one nail
  over the edge of the north porch. To spread the tarp back out was going
  to involve climbing back up onto the roof, which Doyle had every
  intention of doing before it rained again.
  My son Jamie, who had
  been living with us temporarily, is always willing to lend a hand when
  he’s not at work at one of his two jobs or out pursuing one of his many
  other interests.
  Friday, before we went upstairs for the night,
  Doyle asked Jamie if he would mind taking Hagrid, our Great Dane,
  outside one more time before going out later that evening. Jamie
  cheerfully agreed.
  The last time we looked Friday night, the tarp
  was still hanging sloppily over the north edge of the porch roof, only
  attached by one corner.
  The next morning, Doyle looked out of our upstairs sitting-room windows, which overlook the breakfast-room roof.
  “Jamie
  must’ve climbed back up on the roof last night and spread that tarp
  back out for me,” Doyle said with a big grin. “I really appreciate him
  doing that for us. He must’ve done it late last night.”
  I looked out the window to see the green tarp spread back over the whole section of roof, neatly smoothed out, no wrinkles.
  Downstairs
  a little while later, Doyle thanked Jamie enthusiastically for going up
  on the roof in the dark the night before and spreading the tarp back
  out for us.
  Jamie looked blank.
  “I didn’t fix the tarp,” he said,
  puzzled. “When I took Hagrid out about 9:30 last night, it was still
  all hanging down over the edge of the porch, just like it has been.”
  We
  were all just bumfuzzled. Jamie and I even walked out to see if the
  ladder was where he had left it the last time he had used it, several
  days before. It was — on the far side of Doyle’s shop building, lying
  on its side.
  Okay, we know Doyle didn’t get up on the roof and
  spread the tarp out. I didn’t. Jamie didn’t. Ruby certainly didn’t. We
  don't have a pet chimpanzee to do handy chores like that for us. The
  only other alternative that occurred to us was that one of our friendly
  neighbors had decided to do us a good turn and spread the tarp out for
  us. But would anybody come over to a neighbor’s house late at night and
  climb up a ladder and get onto their roof — in the pitch-black dark —
  without letting them know they were going to be up there?
  Oh, one
  other possibility was that the wind blew the tarp back over the house.
  But the wind couldn’t have spread it out perfectly neatly, with no
  folds or wrinkles.
  And I’m pretty sure the wind couldn’t have hooked
  one of the tarp's small corner grommets back over the nail to hold it
  in place.
  Who spread the tarp back out on our roof? If you’re the
  kind soul who did it, please call me at 743-0613 and let me know, so I
  can thank you, and so the mystery will be solved.
  If it wasn’t one
  of our neighbors, who was it? The same “person” who bakes apple cakes
  in an invisible oven to fill the house up with their aroma, and
  snitches hard-boiled eggs out of our kitchen, and pushes our Christmas
  tree over in the middle of the night, and plays faint music even when
  the radio is off and walks across the floor in empty rooms?
  We're still scratching our heads in puzzlement.
  How in the world did our blown-off tarp get spread smoothly back out on the roof in the middle of the night?
  The Mystery of Squirrels’ Leap continues ...
  
  By Celia DeWoody
  Copyright 2009 Harrison Daily Times
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  

  • 9:57 pm
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