![]() ![]() Dil Griffiths?īy the time Sue arrived the residents of River Road had crowded around her husband, covered him with a blanket, lit him a few cigarettes. He wriggled 50 feet through the grass before a woman in a nearby home thought she heard an injured animal. As the shock wore off and the reality of the severed foot set in, waves of pain rolled up his leg, wringing his cries with an extra twist of desperation. On his hands and knees, Dil crawled toward the nearest house. The owner of the field was in a nearby shed but a football game on the radio canceled out Dil’s screams. Finally he looked: a growing puddle of blood where his left foot should’ve been. He watched the tractor and trailer slow to a halt and tried to stand up-and tumbled back down. The left leg, still pinned, went under the mower. But the machine had momentum and when he hit the ground the back wheel rolled over his legs. He hit the tractor’s kill switch and jumped. Must’ve run over a nest in the weeds, stirred the buggers into a frenzy. Atop the tractor, he felt a prick at the side of his neck. He bought epinephrine-an injection could save his life from a sting, the doctor said-and he usually kept a dose of the drug close at hand. He collapsed like sunflower stalk hacked at the base. Sue could see the whites of his eyes as the pupils rolled toward the back of his skull. The next time, on the back steps of the house, a hornet sting rendered him mute. Ten years earlier a sting sent a wave of numbness over his body before he slurred to his wife Sue that he was going to the bathroom to sit in a cool, dark place, where he slumped off the toilet and onto the floor. So there he was on a summer day, August 8, brush hogging a neighbor’s weed-choked pasture when they swarmed. Call Dil to brush hog your land and he’d wheel his bucking, sputtering 1958 Massey Ferguson tractor down the highway, towing a low-slung rotor-blade mower, roll onto your property, and rid your fields of overgrowth. Known throughout western Lewis County for his llamas-eight head of the shaggy, long-necked animals on his 10 acres-Dil also raised and sold hay and took up small carpentry projects, skills learned growing up in the old country, in the village of Talybont, Wales. When your field needed brush hogging you called Dil Griffiths, the Welshman with the shock of silver hair. Out on River Road they called it brush hogging-mulching down the monster growth of tangled weeds that explode from the soil in this damp, cloud-covered corner of southwestern Washington. ![]() Funny, all he was doing when he lost what can never return was mowing the lawn. Not federal aid, not state-commissioned studies on river hydraulics, not the love and good will of well-meaning neighbors. You can still chuck a quid in and the money will only come out when I finish a game - not monthly.AS FOR THE FIRST THING DIL GRIFFITHS LOST IN 2007, nothing will bring it back. This game is completely free - however running the databases does cost money.Īny donations would be greatly appreciated. Read other player's messages and choose whether to throw it back into the ocean or destroy it forever. Tell a story, share a secret, try to help a player or even harm them. Write a message in a bottle to other players about anything. " This game is like Omegle but better" - A MessageĮxplore the downpour by s ailing through a flooded world and building your little boat as you go. " Atmospheric pixel art, and pitch-perfect sound effects in this bleak yet serene game" - PC Gamer " Quiet, slow, and occasionally dangerous" - Rock, Paper Shotgun
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