I had just picked up my children from school and was rounding the corner to head back home, when I saw a bag of unopened garden soil sitting on the side of the road. People in Uptown Whittier frequently leave unwanted or free items in their alleys or on their front lawn. I've obtained quite a number of household goods this way. I've found garden pots, kids bicycles, three scooters, two coffee tables, toys, a tire for a tire swing, firewood, decor, baby swing, a box of unopened tampons, etc.
The side of the road has become a regular shopping stop for me. So when I saw that big bag of manure, I put on the brakes and inspected it. It was a massive 3-cubic-feet of garden soil from Home Depot. The $12 ones that I'd just bought to fill our raised vegetable beds. And here was one for free. Still, I wasn't so sure. The bag was on the curb resting against the side of a planter. No gardeners were nearby. No cars in the driveway. The tidy front yard above the curb didn't look under construction.
I wanted to be sure it was up for grabs though, so I told the kids to stay in the car, hiked the steep steps to the front door, and rang the doorbell. No one answered. I spotted two cameras trained on me, I knocked several times, but still no one answered. In the meantime, the kids had unbuckled their buckles and were leaning out the windows peering over the top of the car at me and shouting things.
I decided to throw caution to the wind and roped my two older kids into helping me lift the bulky bag into the back of my car. Done.
"What if those people wanted this bag?" my daughter asked me on the way home. "What if he finds you and says, 'You stole my bag!'"
"Then I'll just have to return it to him," I replied.
"What if the police take you to jail?" my son asked next.
"They don't take people to jail for bags of manure," I replied.
At home, Phil loaded the bag onto one of the kid's skateboards to wheel to the backyard. It truly was heavy. I had him place it out back under my potting table where I keep terra cotta saucers and pots and a nearly-empty bag of succulent mix.
I was feeling very proud of my free bag of manure when I took my kids to school the next day. I was planning what plants I could grow in it, and I asked the Lord to put some free pots on the side of the road next.
While waiting in the drop off line, I noticed a well-built hispanic man riding his bike around in traffic. He didn't look like a hooligan or a pedophile, but something didn't seem right about him. He kept weaving around cars, riding back and forth. He wasn't there dropping off kids and he didn't seem to be interested in the goings-on at school.
My older kids leapt out and raced up the school steps, and I turned the corner to return home. However, the bicycle man stopped me. He planted his bike in the middle of the road and motioned to speak to me. I wondered if I had a flat tire, but in any case, I didn't trust him, so I cracked my window just a few inches to hear what he had to say.
"You took my bag of manure!" he said.
I blinked at him for a second before recalling what he was talking about. "Oh!" I replied. "Oh, that's not for grabs."
"That's my bag," he repeated.
"Yes. I thought it was for free."
"I want it back. When are you going to get it back me?"
Traffic behind me began to honk. I was blocking the main exit for the drop off line.
"I can't lift it into my car alone," I said. "And my husband doesn't get back until after lunch."
"When will you bring it?" he asked again.
"I can get it to you after lunch."
He starred at me, but as horns continued to honk and I took my foot off the brake, he too had to ride off. On the drive home, I considered the matter and decided I didn't want to wait until lunch. I wanted the mistake undone as soon as possible. There was a chance, a slim chance that I might be able to lift the bag into our wagon, and then I could wheel the thing back to his house. Should I bring my pepper-spray, I wondered. Should I take a peace offering?
I decided no to the pepper-spray, yes to the peace offering. I sawed a cardboard egg carton in half and loaded it up with six fresh brown eggs from our chickens. Lifting the bag was no joke, but I stood on the wagon and lifted with my legs and managed to get the thing loaded. Benny came with me on the walk, first riding the manure and then helping me push the wagon up the primarily uphill streets.
On the walk, I considered various approaches to the bicycle-manure-man. I considered what an interesting man he must be to have found his garden soil missing, studies his surveillance recordings, discovered what I, my car, and my children looked like, reasoned that my children wen to school around the corner, set his alarm early, and arrived there in time to inspect all the cars until he found me. Extraordinary! He must've really been livid. However, I couldn't imagine him remaining livid after seeing me lugging the wagon up his street in my dress, Wellies, and with my little boy carrying half a carton of brown eggs as a peace offering. Nevertheless, I decided that if he wanted to rant, I would just have to listen with understanding until he was done.
Thankfully, he was not a ranting lunatic type. He dashed out and lifted the bag from the wagon with ease, assuring me that it was no big deal. He looked the sort of man who thought lifting a bag of this size was no big deal. He was not very tall, but had obviously put some time and effort into his psychic. He proceeded to tell me how that bag had leaked brown juice all over the back of his truck when he'd first picked it up, and how he was rather P.O.ed about the mess. He looked the sort of man who'd be P.O.ed about a mess. The yard and house were very well kept, and the landscaping in the front yard displayed intentionality and taste. An Enneagram 3 perhaps.
He recognized my efforts to first ask at the door, and validated the fact that he too had left free items on the curbside for others to take. He also relayed how his grandfather's bike had been stolen from the top of his steep driveway not long ago, and his own car was broken into while it was parked in front of his house.
Such explanations soothed the qualm and we then proceeded to discuss landscaping, rabbits, deer, biking, and the best way to ensure a hard-boiled egg peels properly. Apparently, before boiling it, you tap it on the top with a spoon. He said he eats several eggs a day. I believe he does.
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