From Uncle Joe's book "Tales from Ten Oaks," written a few years back. The characters in this Burnt Wienie tale are Uncle Ed (Edward Sprick), the fisherman, and Grandma Maria Augustine Sprick, the lady of the house.GRANDMA SPRICK'S ROSES
By ELMER "JOE" SPRICK
The rain stopped falling shortly after dark. It was a perfect time for the nightcrawlers to spend some time topside on the grass and do whatever it is that nightcrawlers do.
A fisherman cautiously moved across the lawn, flashlight in hand. He picked up the nightcrawlers, one by one, before they could retreat to their burrows. The harvest was bountiful.
If all went according to the fisherman's plan, the nightcrawlers would spend some time in a pail of rich black soil he kept in his garage. Within a few days, most of them would be used as tempting morsels to hook a walleye, catfish or bluegill.
Now, the lady of the house was in her mid-90s and not always aware of what went on outside after dark, as she retired early in the evening. In spite of her advanced age and failing eyesight, she managed to keep house and cook for her son, as well as to grow some beautiful roses. On bright, warm days, she would go outside and give her roses the tender, loving care that roses need.
Her newest rose bush had not yet been planted. Some potting soil was needed before the plant could take its place alongside of her other roses. By some good fortune, there in the garage that day appeared to be just what she needed, a bucketful of rich, black dirt. She concluded that it had been placed there by her thoughtful son, who had gone fishing early that morning and probably hadn't had a chance to tell her about it.
She planted her rose bush next to the house with the others, using the entire contents of the pail of black dirt. It was a good day for her, the roses, and especially for the liberated nightcrawlers, which she didn't even notice.
The fisherman returned to find his empty bucket sitting on the garage floor. When he found out what had happened, he made the mistake of telling some of his fishing buddies about it. They were short on sympathy and long on laughter.
The lady of the house didn't escape completely from recognition for her deed. Later that year, at the annual family reunion, she was presented with the traveling trophy given to the member of the extended Sprick family who committed the biggest goof during the past year.
The master of ceremonies at that Burnt Wienie gathering asked the recipient, "And how did your roses do, Grandma?" With a twinkle in her eyes, she replied, "They were the best roses that I've ever had!" But it was her son who had the last word: "I never promised you a rose garden!"
By ELMER "JOE" SPRICK
The rain stopped falling shortly after dark. It was a perfect time for the nightcrawlers to spend some time topside on the grass and do whatever it is that nightcrawlers do.
A fisherman cautiously moved across the lawn, flashlight in hand. He picked up the nightcrawlers, one by one, before they could retreat to their burrows. The harvest was bountiful.
If all went according to the fisherman's plan, the nightcrawlers would spend some time in a pail of rich black soil he kept in his garage. Within a few days, most of them would be used as tempting morsels to hook a walleye, catfish or bluegill.
Now, the lady of the house was in her mid-90s and not always aware of what went on outside after dark, as she retired early in the evening. In spite of her advanced age and failing eyesight, she managed to keep house and cook for her son, as well as to grow some beautiful roses. On bright, warm days, she would go outside and give her roses the tender, loving care that roses need.
Her newest rose bush had not yet been planted. Some potting soil was needed before the plant could take its place alongside of her other roses. By some good fortune, there in the garage that day appeared to be just what she needed, a bucketful of rich, black dirt. She concluded that it had been placed there by her thoughtful son, who had gone fishing early that morning and probably hadn't had a chance to tell her about it.
She planted her rose bush next to the house with the others, using the entire contents of the pail of black dirt. It was a good day for her, the roses, and especially for the liberated nightcrawlers, which she didn't even notice.
The fisherman returned to find his empty bucket sitting on the garage floor. When he found out what had happened, he made the mistake of telling some of his fishing buddies about it. They were short on sympathy and long on laughter.
The lady of the house didn't escape completely from recognition for her deed. Later that year, at the annual family reunion, she was presented with the traveling trophy given to the member of the extended Sprick family who committed the biggest goof during the past year.
The master of ceremonies at that Burnt Wienie gathering asked the recipient, "And how did your roses do, Grandma?" With a twinkle in her eyes, she replied, "They were the best roses that I've ever had!" But it was her son who had the last word: "I never promised you a rose garden!"
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