‘Stem chucking’ offers uncivilized break from daily grind

Just the other evening as the sun began to sink below the trees and the surface of the Earth once again returned to a habitable temperature, I was headed out the backyard gate for a quick walk around the block with our hound dog Frankie. Kristin, who had only moments before appeared totally and inescapably involved in some sort of art-related task, hollered out the window just as the gate swung shut that she wanted to come along too.

I waited as the dog whined and paced at the end of the leash, wondering what the holdup was.

“Just a second,” she shouted after a few moments. “I’m trying to find my shoes!”

Frank and I were incredulous. We’d already waited many tens of seconds, and if we were really clocking the whole thing, it would have be noted that it took more than a second to even speak the words “just a second.” Seeking to fill the empty time, my mind drifted back to the summers of my youth when boredom sparked endless, occasionally deviant creativity. There, torn between being a grown man waiting forever on his wife and a 12-year-old boy who simply wanted to walk his dog around the block, I spotted my played-out day lily bed beside the driveway and the young deviant took control.

If I were as good of a gardener as I wish I was, I would have cut back the stems of my day lilies after the bloom, but the myriad joys and adventures of summertime stand in direct conflict with my greatest springtime horticultural ambitions. By full-on summer, gardening (aside from harvesting what’s come ripe) is relegated to the back burner as I metaphorically and sometimes literally cartwheel off into the tall grass. Because of this, there now stood — in testament to the truth I will likely never fully mature beyond the middle school level — a full quiver of “lily spears” at arm’s reach. By the time Kristin stepped through the gate, I was locked and loaded and gave her just enough notice to strike a defensive stance.

“Incoming!” I shouted as I let one of the twig-dry javelins fly.

For those who have never experience the odd, red-necked hayseed joy of chucking long, strait plant stems at your friends and loved ones, wait no longer. The world is presently filled with tall, dry stalks that fly like carbon-shafted arrows when thrown with proper attention to balance, twist and release. Range is an issue no matter how good you are, and once your target gets beyond 10 yards, you might as well be throwing cotton balls. (Be mindful you don’t fire at the unwarned. The last thing you want to do is put someone’s eye out with the thing!)

Kristin — having spent most of her formative years in the decidedly more metropolitan, if not necessarily more civilized, inner ring suburbs of Akron — had somehow made it to nearly 60 years old without experiencing the joy of plant-spear chucking. She picked up the sport fairly well. Once I unloaded my battery, I was helpless in the onslaught of return fire. Thankfully, although she’d gotten the mechanics down quickly, her aim was terrible.

The two of us battled it out in the driveway, frequently buckling over in laughter, for a full 10 minutes until the dog fully lost his patience at the site of us losing our minds. Yipping and yapping, he finally dragged us along in search of his own fully summertime experience. We had already enjoyed a unique one of our own.

Kristin and John Lorson would love to hear from you. Write Drawing Laughter, P.O. Box 170, Fredericksburg, OH 44627, or email John atjlorson@alonovus.com.