Overrun By Mice

Grandpa’s granary was a two story building with a small window in the second story to allow in a small amount of light for illumination.  It also had a door on the opposite side of the window that was opened to allow the grain elevator access to the storage bins.  For a boy it was fun to open that door and look over most of the barnyard from that lofty perch.  Whenever I entered the granary I was confronted with a distinct, dusty smell.  It was fun to roam that upper story exploring all the things that were hung and stored there.  I guess they were being saved for some later time but had certainly outgrown their present use.  But for a boy’s imagination, they were ample fodder for adventure.  As I grew older I realized those old things in the upper level of the granary were the product of Grandpa’s experience during the Great Depression.  Grandpa, and many others his age, had never forgotten that horrible time and consequently saved anything that could even remotely be used at some point.  But as much as I enjoyed playing in the granary, the mice enjoyed it even more.  There were two large storage bins where the barley was stored through the winter.  For a mouse this was like a five star hotel.  And it wasn’t just “a” mouse, but hordes of mice.  Left undeterred, these mice could ravage a season’s barley crop.  Grandpa’s answer was cats.  I never liked cats.   I didn’t have many pleasant experiences with the cats.  But I knew they were necessary.  It wasn’t at all unusual to see one with a mouse in its mouth so you knew they were keeping up their end of the bargain.  They kept that mouse population from growing beyond any hope of control.  This isn’t a perfect world despite how much we want it to be.  There will always be a need for unpleasant tradeoffs that balance our practical needs with reality.  Grandpa understood that.  He also understood that some values in life supersede practical necessity and are never bargained.