At eight on that rainy morning, cars, SUVs and pick-ups began pulling into the fire department's lot. Fly Creekers unloaded their own wheelbarrows, rakes, scythes, pruning shears, mowers, weed-eaters. Then they spread out and started fixing something badly out of control: the grounds of their firehouse.

The present tenants, you see, distracted by other matters, had been ignoring ordinary maintenance. The place looked bad. So the embarrassed landlords had to step in.

What a great morning of renewed community spirit it was! Lots of jokes and quips, lots of hot coffee and doughnuts, lots of hard work. Burdock and sumac, two feet tall along the parking lot and behind the building, fell first to the scythe and weed-eaters, and then were raked up and piled into a truck. Grass was carefully trimmed around the obscured war memorial. Finally the whole site was groomed with mowers.

As work proceeded, passing neighbors slowed to shout, "Good job!" And a few of them stopped to say that, had they known about the project, they'd have joined in. When the wet, tired, and exhilarated workers packed up their tools, what had been an eyesore was gone and the firehouse looked a lot better.

Too bad we can't as readily clean up the snarled mess inside it. I wish I could take my scythe and cut through the overgrown, ingrown tangle that the Fire Board has created.

That scythe, by the way, was a gift to me from Arrie Hecox. As I gripped the worn handles and swung the three-foot curved blade with long, sweeping strokes, I could feel that old geezer's ghost at work in my arms and shoulders. I could hear his gruff coaching again:

"Pivot from the waist! Haul her back farther, higher- then swoop! And make that blade cut parallel to the ground." Those had been his orders the first day I had his scythe. As he stalked away, he had muttered, "With practice, you might get it." And, back over his shoulder, "Keep that blade sharp!"

Well, I'm pretty good with it now, Arrie. And the blade was sharp. You'd have enjoyed seeing those firehouse thistles fall. I can imagine what you'd say about the mess inside.

The latest fireboard move, a baseless legal complaint against Mark Weir and Betty Staffin, will likely be thrown out of the Albany court as soon as it is raised. So why have they bothered? The explanation probably lies, not in the board members, but in Lawyer Brad Pinsky. He may have realized that his whole Fly Creek scheme is starting to collapse. Almost time to pack the old carpetbag and head elsewhere.

But, to pump some last money out of the fire department funds, Pinsky sold his poor dupes on letting him prepare another long brief. Other than more cash for Pinsky, its only goal is to harass two good people and cost them money.

Friends of Betty and Mark were outraged that, besides the abuse they've borne, the two now have to defend themselves in the courts and, further, to pay for legal defense. And so the friends have set up a "Fly Creek Community Fund." Its first purpose is to offset the pair's legal expenses. An account is now open in the Fund's name at the Leatherstocking Region Federal Credit Union, 24 Grove Street, Coooperstown.

Please, donate to this fund instead of the fire department. Our past gifts to the department are now being routinely used to pay Pinsky to work against Fly Creek's interests. Sadly, this shameless waste couldn't take without the department members' agreement; but evidently the chief has cowed them once again.

Another alternative place to send donations is the Fly Creek Fire Department Auxiliary. That long-suffering group is still doing its best for all of us.

Anyway, I won't soon forget last Saturday and that wonderful gray, rainy morning. The real Fly Creek was out there, expressing and celebrating itself. I wish the self-deluded clique that has set itself against the community could understand just what was happening. In fact, the fire chief did drive by. He slowed, scowled, and drove on.

Oh, and a final irony, learned only as we were finishing up our work. Before the auditors' arrival (the team is continuing work this week), some policing of the grounds had been done; the little plot around the flagpole had been weeded, and three pots of geraniums placed there. But nobody local did that piddling job. Nope. We were told that the chief hired a lawn service for the half-hour's work.

If your hand just moved to protect your wallet or purse, too late. You already paid for it.

Jim Atwell lives in and views life from Fly Creek. He can be found on the web at JimAtwell.com.