But spring means something else to our neighborhood: the return of the noisy, intrusive, outdoor maintenance workers and their noisy tools. The entire neighborhood is alive and buzzing with the irritating sounds of power mowers, leaf blowers and wood chippers.
Early this morning, as we were eating breakfast, my husband noticed a man strolling in our back yard. We had never seen him before and didn’t know which work crew he represented. Could he be a tree specialist, here to trim trees that were damaged in October’s freak snowstorm? Or a gardener here to analyze the work he and his crew will need to accomplish this spring for the cleanup? Maybe he’s here to read the water meter. Maybe we should find out. Just a few nights ago our friends were burglarized while they were out celebrating the holiday. We should know who this stranger is who is walking around our back yard.
So Harvey opened the sliding glass doors leading to the back yard, approached the stranger, said, “Hi: where are you from?” (Meaning what company are you with?)
The man glanced at him and answered, “Honduras!”