I Have the Wiener-Roasting Fork, But No Wieners!

The year was 1950. I was about seven years old and my brother George, Jr., was 12. The pasture between our home and the county road was overrun by cacti. The cacti grew in bunches or clusters and were so thick one couldn’t take a step without stepping on them.

Although we usually had something to do, Dad told us if we had nothing else to do, we were to start eradicating the cacti off a certain hill. He gave George Jr. a grubbing hoe and me a five-gallon can with a wire handle along with a mini pitchfork – one of those three-pronged forks we used to roast wieners.

I would much rather have been roasting wieners than doing the job in store for me. You see, as George grubbed or chopped the cacti off at the ground, I had to spear each piece and slide it off my fork into the metal bucket. When the bucket was full, I had to carry it to a large pile in the center of the cactus patch and dump it out.

Now let me tell you the rest of the story. If any of you, readers, have had the occasion to deal with wild cacti you will know that it’s not the long visible stickers that are the worst. One can look out for them.

The worst problem dealing with cacti are the millions of almost invisible fuzzy spines that actually float in the air and attach to your clothing and skin. Once you get these tiny rascals on you, you commence to itching and the more you scratch, the worse it gets.

Well, after a week or so we managed to clear that hill of all the cactus bushes. Dad and the cows were happy and satisfied at the expense of George Jr. and me.

Needless to say, I could never wear those pants and shirts again because, no matter how many times Mom washed them, she couldn’t get those imbedded spines out. If I tried wearing them, I’d start itching all over again.

At least I got a new work shirt and britches out of that deal—or should I say ordeal.