Autumn ushered in a perennial obsession for us grade-schoolers.
A mammoth oak stood sentinel on Mrs. M’s pristine lawn, shedding highly collectible giant acorns. This temptation was on our walk to and from school – the only oak of its kind in our limited radius. We had to have those acorns.
Some kiddies collected them as curiosities. Others converted them into decorative objects to trade in the cloakroom.
We strictly followed two rules while collecting: avoid being avaricious and don’t get caught. Usually, elderly Mrs. M would rap on the front window to disband the gang of little nosepickers crawling on her lawn.
One year, however, she came outside. My cowardly compadres fled. I stood there, cursing my feet of clay.
My fears were soon allayed, for she only wanted to strike a bargain. A big Maxwell House can containing acorns would be on the porch each school day at 3 p.m. as long as we shared them and stayed off the lawn.
What a deal! Word spread, and soon all parties enjoyed the fruits of Mrs. M’s estimable negotiating skills.
Sweet story, Max. TFS.