8 – The Aftermath

RUBBERY SHRUBBERY Post 8

This is the official Rubbery Shrubbery (RS) blog where you can learn of the efforts of the Oregon seacoast town of Yachats (YAH-hots) and its inhabitants—called Yachatians (yah-HAY-shuns), or sometimes Yahotties (yah-HOT-tees)—to get themselves a Major League Baseball team (any team will do). Each episode tells a little more about this era in the town’s history. To learn about Yachats, please go to this page or go to GoYachats.

Various writers have taken on the task of writing this blog. Today’s entry is written again by Harrison Grutch. By now, you all know Harrison. And you know that the Yachats baseball team will be called the Smelt. The announcement that we are Smelt resulted in a huge celebration in Yachats. In today’s post Harrison continues describing the morning after.

The Aftermath
by Harrison Grutch

The morning after the great Yachats Smeltfest, Diego McHuguenot was rushing to the Green Salmon Café to enjoy a hearty breakfast when, without warning, a strange force spun him around and marched him with adverbs toward the Yachats Post Office. Diego was irked at this sudden turn of events because he had been looking forward to cinnamon rolls and calendula stew, but when fiddled by an esoteric enigma, what’s a guy to do?

Not that a trip to the Yachats Post Office parking lot is an unpleasant experience. Far from it! This parking lot was chosen as one of the ten best post office parking lots in Oregon by Car and Kayak Magazine. It has been written up in such periodicals as Diagonal Digest and Asphalt Aesthetics Today. A plaque mounted in one corner of the lot commemorates its achievements. Thus, Diego was anticipating a good time. Figure 1 shows the Yachats Post Office parking lot.

Figure 1. Yachats Post Office parking lot, as seen from summit of Cape Perpetua. (Photo by Elizabeth Gates.)

But as Diego approached the Post Office he saw a multitude milling about the parking lot, very like zombies at a cocktail party. They numbered several dozen, including a Bulgarian and a striking lady from the Solomon Islands.

“Little-Orphan-Annie eyes,” thought Diego. “A tell-tale sign of sleep deprivation. Obviously they’re dazed from celebrating all night.”

True enough, yet these automatons had blossomed into a magnificent post-hoopla array of color—adorned in red and yellow and blue, dusted with silver and gold confetti, and brandishing party blowouts and crepe streamers.

Diego looked for anyone who was more than half conscious, anyone who appeared to have slept last night. He just wanted someone who could carry on a conversation.

Then Diego spotted Fred Knordobb, his old grade school chum. (Fred had lived up to early expectations by writing the shocking best seller Running in a Wheel: Living Vicariously through Your Hamster.) Fred, who was wide awake, greeted him with, “Hey, glad to see you could make it to the first impromptu Smelt Board meeting. You must be one of the directors.”

“How do you know I’m a director?” Diego said.

“The enchantment wouldn’t have brought you here if you weren’t,” Fred explained.

“I guess you’re right. I didn’t just happen to show up,” Diego said with a slight huff. “I was pushed and pulled here by that enigmatic force. So, it was some sort of magical spell, then?”

“I prefer to call it an enchantment. Spell could be wicked or evil, but we know this enchantment is trying to do good stuff. It’s definitely a Smelt ally.”

“Well, yes, but what good can come of bringing this group together today? Look at them! That one is being challenged by the curb of the parking lot. And that guy over there is fascinated by an oil spot. There isn’t a functioning neuron amongst them.”

Fred came to their defense. “Hey, they’re not the living dead, after all…well, except for that one.”

Diego became more comfortable as he gradually began to realize he recognized all the other directors. They were folks he saw around town every day—the garden critic, the poet laureate, the seagull trainer…all Yachatians he knew and respected.

Then it occurred to him. All of these people had less than a rudimentary understanding of baseball. And none had any sense of good business practices. (Fortunately, that doesn’t matter—many a major league baseball executive has executed knowing less than a sniffle about baseball and without even a whit of business sense.)

Then another thing occurred to him: he was co-chairperson of the Board, which implied he should be doing some kind of leadership stuff. So he said to Fred, “I’m co-chairperson—shouldn’t I be doing some leadership stuff?”

“Oh, we’re all co-chairpersons. Thirty-six of us. I suppose that could make things a little awkward…”

Diego cradled his chin in his fingers. “Well, I’ve heard wise sayings warning about a rudderless boat, but not one peep about the inconveniences of thirty-six rudders. So, I’m guessing we’ll be okay.”

“Yeah, you just can’t have too many rudders, probably. Or paddles, for that matter.”

“Nah, at least not for what we’ll be doing.” Diego dropped his voice. “What does the Board of a baseball team do, anyway?”

Fred picked up Diego’s voice. “Beats me. I’m just going to do what everyone else does. I’ve found that’s always best. I wonder if we’ll have hors d’oeuvres.”

“Sounds a snap,” mused Diego. “Looks like a Board’s what to be on, what with the economy and all, especially if we’re served hors d’oeuvres. Are you sure that’s spelled right?”

But Fred’s eyes had gone all taxidermy, showing that his mind was doing a walk-about. “So, where exactly are the Solomon Islands do you think?”

Next time: We have a real treat in store for you. We’ll wander into Heidi’s Italian Café to observe the banter between the three founders of the Yachats Smelt as they deal with problems such as crass baseball commercialism and a Board of Directors having no place to sit.

NOTE: Please go to “Leave a Reply” at the bottom of this page if you feel the need to tell us something. When all is said and done, we’ll publish all comments that have substantive literary merit on the day the Yachats Smelt first take the field.

NOTE AGAIN: Dave Baldwin and Eric Sallee want you to know they strongly support the Yachats Smelt and the Rubbery Shrubbery blog.