I’ve lived full-time at Park Delta Bay RV & Tiny House Resort since 2018 and in all that time, I had not had any property stolen from my lot until now.

It took me a few days to decide that my gardening tools had gone missing.  I hired a young man to clean my porch and my friend Michelle randomly happens by from time to time.  Therefore when I first noticed that the tools had been moved from the chair on which I had set them, I had to reach out to James and Michelle before assuming a nefarious occurrence.  Neither had put them anywhere else.

Strangely, nothing else disappeared, including a 100-foot extension cord on a heavy-duty wheel.  I set the tools on the topmost chair in a stack of four, placed there so James could wash the old wood carrier that I use for a gardening caddy.   I had seven implements: Three trowels, two hand-rakes, one of those skinny things that you use to plant seeds, and an excellent pair of Fiskar snippers.  Other than the snippers, they had mostly come from Target and cost under ten bucks each.  But those Fiskars had set me back a penny or two, and I had taken good care of them.

After checking with James and Michelle, I posted on our residents’ Facebook Group.  I phrased my query as though I assumed someone just borrowed the seven tools.   It almost had to be someone who lives in the park.  We sit below the levee so anyone jogging by wouldn’t notice a particular lot’s accoutrements.  My porch can’t easily be seen even from the interior gravel road that circles around the western side of the community.  One must traverse the parking space, the flagstone walk, and six wooden steps before peering around a trellis privacy wall.  

In other words, the culprit had to work for their booty.  So why on earth did they leave the oh-so-useful extension cord?  

I’m not much of a gardener.  I transfer succulents to larger pots once a year whether they need it or not. I used to have a lime tree but it died after bearing fruit twice. I spiked the dirt around its dead trunk with cactus cuttings and those have done quite well.  I don’t really need three trowels, two hand-rakes, or a seed planter.  But the snippers?  Those I used all the time to trim my Japanese maple and take cuttings from the aloe or the jade plant.  I sorely miss those.

I almost never lock my car when I’m home.  Truth told, I leave the front door unlatched at night, just in case I need to call for help, though so far, I never have.  There’s a key hidden on the property, the location of which ten or twenty people know.   But none of that makes a difference here.  Bottom line:  If whoever took my tools had told me of their desperate need, I would have handed them over without hesitation.  

Eventually, I will surrender to their absence and buy a few replacements.  The park manager said she’d make discreet inquiries but I would rather not know who has my things.  Instead I’ve chosen to pretend that garden gremlins snagged them to use on a charitable project where they plant lavender in the yards of unsuspecting over-worked single mothers.  The bushes will bloom all of a sudden one day.  Children will rush outside to bury their faces in the fragrant flowers.  From beneath the lower branches, ephemeral creatures will titter and smile, hiding my trowels behind their backs.  Miles away, I will sit on my porch and dream of white coral bells waiting for the fairies to sing,  I will close my eyes and smile with infinite contentment, as the Delta breezes ruffle the tender leaves on the pin oak over head.

Mugwumpishly tendered,

Corinne Corley

The Missouri Mugwump®