Semi-Daily Scribbles

It is the smell of coffee that reminds me of fishhooks and big, fat night crawlers. My family had a large compost bin when I was a kid, which we called 'the worm box.' Eggshells, wilted lettuce, grass clippings, tealeaves, and coffee grounds. These were the items tossed and turned in the kitchen scrap heap at the far corner of the backyard abutting the woods. Brownish-pink earthworms, long and thick, were the bounty my brother and I hauled up from the depths of decomposition. Dad required wigglers amongst his other tricks when the nearby lakes needed their perch populations culled. A tuna fish sandwich and thermos of coffee were necessary items, too, on dad's expeditions. Having been a worm wrangler since childhood, I am still fascinated by my segmented, dirt-burrowing friends. I'm saddened I don't come across nearly enough of them in my current meanderings. I drink coffee, though. A lot of it. Without the deep, rich aroma of brewing coffee, it is possible I would have forgotten about earthworms a long time ago.