Springtime brings thoughts of bulbous robins, drenching rains, and flowers powering through soil and winter’s debris. It also brings to mind gruesome family folklore. Tonight, the woodchoppers will come.

Woodchoppers visit people who go to bed with dirty feet. According to my dad, who heard the tale from his dad, who probably heard it from his dad, a woodchopper’s job is to chop off the dirty feet of little children who don’t wash them before bed.

After one of the roughest winters in recent history, we are enjoying springtime loveliness. Warm, breezy, too tempting for a kiddo to resist—the socks and shoes flew off my two little guys this afternoon. Their feet are filthy. When I saw the four grimey paddies I thought to myself “woodchoppers!”

So, I trade one chore for another. The work of bundling, mitten-stalking, and neck-muffling is nearly done. The kids will begin rolling inside at night covered in yard, sweat, popsicle, and ditch. I’ll inspect their feet, shake my head, and send them to bed unafraid of woodchoppers.

They haven’t found me yet.