Pete and John believed that they should make as many pallets as possible. They weren’t sure why except that they were told to do so. Making pallets was not an art in itself, but making them efficiently was. The nailers, as they were called, wore nail aprons. A small rake-like instrument was available to rake the nails out of the box and into the nail apron.

Two men worked together, one on each side of the table made especially for the purpose. Both men grabbed the necessary wood needed to make a pallet, and laid them in place. A jig had been made to hold the wood in place so it would not move.

With one hand the men would reach into their respective nail bags and get enough nails for one pallet. With the other hand, they pulled the nails away from each other. The nails that came away were the ones with the heads forward. That was done as often as necessary so all the nails had the heads in the same direction. This process only took a few seconds. One nail was quickly rolled forward to the thumb and forefinger. The nail was positioned. The hammer tapped the nail hard enough to stick. The finger was quickly withdrawn, and with one loud crack the hammer came down and drove the nail completely into the wood.

The whole process was done without thinking. It was as automatic as eating. Pull out nails, strip them into the hand with the heads all pointed in the same direction, place the nail, set it with one crack of the hammer, and with another crack the nail was in. Roll the next nail forward, pound in the nail. Continue until the pallet was made. One man would grab the finished pallet and stack it while the other man grabbed more wood. The process was repeated until it was time to go home.

As you can imagine the whole mind-numbing process could become quite boring. One day Pete and John were nailing and visiting. All this nailing and visiting did not leave much room for concentrating on what they were doing. Boredom settled in. Repetition breeds boredom, and boredom produces negligence.

Just for something else to do to combat the boring task, Pete held a nail in place for John to plant with one swing of the hammer. John knew that Pete would pull his hand away if he swung the hammer. It did not even enter his mind that he would not do so. Pete knew that John would not hit the nail even though he had his hammer raised. It did not even enter his mind that he would. The stand-off lasted about three seconds. John raised the hammer and sent it toward the nail with lightning speed knowing Pete would pull his fingers away. Pete continued holding the nail knowing that John would stop short of the nail.

John swung and Pete held the nail. Before anyone could say ouch, John hit the nail. Pete’s thumb and forefinger was reduced to a flattened piece of flesh. Blood splattered in every direction. The boredom was over.

We were young and newly married. Everything was flippant and fun. Life was swathed in bright colors and tied with a red bow.

We lived in a tiny house, cozy and quaint. Four rooms were downstairs and one room upstairs. It wasn’t far from the back of the house to the front. The house was entered through the side by way of a tiny enclosed nook or from the back where a nice porch shaded by a lush maple tree provided leisurely sitting in summer. A porch swing swung on chains at one end of the porch.

The bedroom had two windows. One granted a nice view of the back porch and the stately tree. The porch swing hung right outside the window. The bed was against the wall opposite the window. Propped up by pillows one could look out at the porch and the grand maple tree. During the night the porch was very, very dark. The maple tree brushed the house as if attempting an entrance.

One night my wife and I were slumbering away the cares of life only a few feet from that big window when I awoke to a noise I could not identify. I strained to hear what had awakened me with no success. For a long time I listened, but all I heard were little things that creep in the night and the tree caressing the house. Finally I fell asleep.

Several nights later I awoke from a deep sleep with a start. Something was not right. I could feel it. It felt like one feels when someone is watching you. My tense body willed to hear something. Something had definitely interrupted my slumber, but I heard nothing except my own breathing and the tree lightly brushing the house. Then, just as I was falling back to sleep I heard it again. Someone was at the window!

My hair stood on end as I listened to the sound of scratching. Someone was trying to open the window. A moment later everything grew silent again, except for the wind whispering secrets to the maple tree. A few minutes later I heard the sound again.

Quietly, I whispered to my wife that someone was at the window. She was startled, but I laid a hand on her arm urging her to be quiet. Suddenly someone pushed against the window!

I eased out of bed fumbling for a flashlight. In the bravest voice I could muster, I quietly said to my wife, “I am not putting up with this. I am going to see who it is.”

My wife followed. If someone was going to get me, he had to get her as well. I think it had something to do with, “For better, for worse in sickness and in health . . .”

Tiptoeing to the living room, I slowly unlocked the door and quietly pushed it open. Cautiously stepping outside, I shone the flashlight from one end of the porch to the other. The light revealed only the swing hanging on its chains. Nothing else was on that porch. Whoever it was had fled.

We slowly turned and went back inside, leaving the porch swing in the dark and the tree sighing in the breeze.

About a week later my parents visited. We had a great time catching up on family things, but then they went home leaving us alone in our little house with a big back porch, and a big window, and a porch swing hanging on its chains.

After my parents left I went to the bedroom. My wife was in the kitchen. As I passed the window I heard a faint shuffling noise. I froze. The dark porch monster was back, and he was trying to get in! I instinctively went out to the kitchen and told my wife that I had heard the noise again. Grabbing a flashlight, we went to the back door (it was that for better, for worse thing again).

I wrenched the door open and stepped out onto the dark mysterious porch. The hair on my arms and the back of my neck stood straight out as needles on a pin cushion. I swept the porch from one side to the other with my flashlight.

Then I saw him! The intruder was sitting on the swing! He glared at me with cold, intent eyes. I froze. Time stood still as we stared at each other for a few hair-raising seconds.

Neither of us spoke. My mind raced as I stared into those emotionless eyes.

Suddenly the intruder took off over the railing! He flew off the porch like a, well, like the screech owl he was!

My wife and I laughed nervously and returned to the house. At last our minds were at rest knowing what had been disquieting our peace.

As if saluting our right to know what had been playing with our minds, the porch swing swung ever so lightly in the inky darkness. The wind whispered to the tree, and the tree gently caressed the house. The screech owl scratched his beak.

All day I labored, building a fence that no pig, big or little, could jump over, crawl under, or push through. Having that task finished, I proceeded to build a fence to pasture the horse. Alas, the task was longer than the day. I neglected to plant the last post. The hole was dug, but night had come and the hole must wait to be filled until morning.

Though the hour was late, I decided to still wean the piglets. I removed the sow and closed her up in her new home, confident that my hard work held the Farm Journal seal of approval. Scarcely was I finished when a soft rain began to fall. Throughout the evening the rain fell, watering the spring soil.

The children were taken to their beds and tucked in with a cheery good night and a kiss. My wife and I tucked ourselves into bed. We had said our prayers, thanking God for a successful and safe day. I stretched out on my soft mattress content that the day had gone well. I needed a good rest. I sighed and drifted to sleep, slumbering the sleep of a man at peace with himself.

Only minutes into my deep sleep something probed at my subconscious mind. It teased and begged until I finally came to a lazy kind of consciousness. I listened for a few half-hearted seconds but heard nothing. I fell into a subconscious state again. I awoke again. Something was stirring outside the bedroom window. I could not identify the sound. I listened intently. There it was again! It sounded like heavy breathing. Though I didn’t know what it was, I knew I didn’t like it.

I grabbed a flashlight and slipped across the room to the window and listened. When the heavy breathing started up again, I turned the flashlight on and shone it right into the face of the big sow. It was the same one that that was supposed to be in her escape-proof pen! My heart sank and the blood pressure rose.

I dressed in a hurry. I did not need a pig to ruin my yard. I became a little angry. Being angry does not bode well when herding pigs. I started wrong. As I quickly learned, starting wrong does not produce good results. Pigs are notorious for knowing what you want and then doing the exact opposite. I quickly opened the gate to the sow’s pen. Next I went behind the house and herded her toward the pen. She pretended to like the idea.

She looked at the gate and went around it. I quickly went around the other way. She went past the gate. I reversed direction. She went past it again. My blood pressure rose. She smiled. I kicked, and missed. She bolted. I ran like a nut trying to catch the bolt. She took off for the house at a pace meant to intimidate me. It did. As she went around the back of the house, I cunningly went around the front. We met eyeball to eyeball on the far side of where I wanted her. It dawned on me that she was having the time of her life.

She turned and took off for the barn—just for fun. I took off after her dead serious. About the time I had lofty hopes of catching her, my legs sank into the earth. About the time my feet hit the bottom of the hole, I remembered that I was going to plant a post into this hole! Water seeped into my shoe and dampened my desire to raise pigs. For a moment I stood myself in a corner of the round hole scolding myself for not setting the post. Wearily I pulled myself out of the hole, admitting defeat.

Walking slowly to the barn, water sloshing in my shoe, I opened the gate. With a twinkle in her eyes the sow walked through the door to her squealing pigs. I closed the door after her and trudged to the house with bowed head. After washing up I sneaked under the covers, having no desire to explain things to my wife. For a long time I lay sleepless. Every time I tried counting sheep, they turned into smiling sows!