Picture it!Late summer, very hot, an old, small house in a rural Ontario village, an attractive, traditionally built retired, female teacher usually engaged in reading or theatre outings is dragging nasty old junk out of her woodshed. The pile is horrendous. The smell is musty. Possibly mice have lived in the stuff that is being turfed out the door. Dirt has piled up under heaps of old wood and shingles intended for the fireplace but never used. Cobwebs drape themselves across the roof , windows and shed doorway. Crap, and I mean crap from at least twenty-five years accumulated , unloved. Sweat pouring, hair clinging, legs swelling until finally it is all out and waiting for the junk truck guys. A few days pass. The weather forecast isn’t good. Rain, wind a local tornado transpire. The junk doesn’t budge an inch. Then, two strong young enough men arrive in a junk truck and pick it all up in minutes, drive away with it and it’s all taken care of, end of story.