It seems to me that if you’re contemplating beginning a life of crime that April 1st would be a good day to give it a go and see if it’s really for you. Rob a bank, get caught, the judge asks if you have anything to say in your defense, you simply reply, “April Fools your honor.” The judge smiles, shakes his head, says, “You really got us on that one” slams the gavel down, “Case dismissed.”

I guess I should have taken that into consideration when I decided to start my short lived life of crime. But since gardens don’t sprout much in April, the “April Fools Defense” wouldn’t have gotten me very far.

Apparently dirt covered stolen carrots had more appeal than the clean, peeled ones Mom had in the fridge. Or somehow had better flavor than the ones we were “allowed” to pick from Grandpa Fritz’s garden. Whatever the reason, my younger brother Jarvis and myself did it, and we got caught.

The garden we chose as our first “hit” belonged to Blanchard Lein. Separating his garden from his house were some thick bushes that would provide good cover for our crime. Jarvis was loading up on carrots and I was enjoying some peas, when I saw someone coming down the path from the house.

It was Blanchard, and he didn’t look all that pleased to see us getting our recommended daily allowance of vegetables from his garden. I told Jarvis to run as I took off, but when I turned to see how close behind me he was I saw him standing there like a deer in the headlights in front of Blanchard. I could have kept running, but Jarvis knew where I lived, and would more than likely share that information with Blanchard, so I stopped and returned to the scene of the crime.

Jarvis was standing there with a handful of carrots behind his back, unaware that his tiny eight year old frame wasn’t concealing the bouquet of carrot tops behind him. Blanchard asked him what he had behind his back, to which Jarvis replied, “Nothing” as he dropped the bunch of carrots to the ground behind him. Maybe if he had been wearing bellbottoms he would have gotten away with that maneuver.

We were busted, caught green handed I guess you could say. Blanchard herded us off to his car, and since our house was only a rutabaga toss from his, in about five seconds we rolled into our driveway. We jumped out, made a dash for the house, ran upstairs, and hid under the blankets on Mom and Dad’s bed. They would never find us there.

We heard Blanchard filling Mom in on what her boys had been up to and telling her that if it were up to him we should spend a few hours in the county jail to teach us a lesson. Thankfully it wasn’t up to him, and after she somehow found us, Mom settled on making us apologize, and sent us to our room. I learned a valuable lesson that day. Always work alone.

A few years later the FBI mistook Blanchard for North Dakota tax evader Gordon Call and busted down his hotel room door to apprehend him while he was on vacation. Jarvis and myself felt bad for him, really we did.

Pass the carrots.