But here we are out in the country -- homesteading after a fashion -- where it rapidly became evident that equipment was a prerequisite. That, or perhaps it was my gadget fascination let off its leash. Power equipment.
Horsepower.
Gasoline.
Diesel.
Gas/oil mix.
Even more than a few things that plug in.
Mowers, blowers, tillers, haulers, trimmers, chippers, chainsaws, compressors.
And here is something I have noticed: all of them can malfunction, go flat, get dull, get clogged, or simply break. What's a "word guy" to do -- other than mutter a few blue ones?
When we first moved out here I called people when the unexpected happened -- friends, neighbors, repair shops, etc. Sometimes these interventions involved people coming here; sometimes it involved me taking something there. Friends were generous, but eventually began to screen my calls. And repair people, once they finished laughing, usually had this frustrating expectation of being paid for their services. So, what's a "word guy" with a diminishing pool of friends and a diminishing savings account to do?
Even at the risk of global annihilation, I have taken several deep breaths and begun trying to fix things. When the chain saw chain slipped off one Friday evening not long ago I set it in the back end of the pickup until Monday when I could take it in to the shop. And then thought about all I needed to get sawed and took a closer look. Unfathomably I got it back together. One of the wheelbarrow tires went flat and, firing up the air compressor, I actually restored its roll without blowing myself up. This past winter I managed to attach the snowblower to the tractor without the coddling assistance of friends, and this spring I managed to detach it again and replace it with the mowing deck, again all by myself.
But a few days ago I found myself against a wall. More literally, I found myself almost against a tree. Over the past few weeks we have been experiencing Noah-like rains making it difficult to mow. Either the sky is pouring or the ground is too muddy. Finally a barely acceptable weather window opened and I powered up the tractor and set to work. After spending some time out front, I headed around the north end of the prairie. Making the turn back toward the house on the eastern trail, I noticed a conspicuous slippage. Steering became increasingly difficult until finally, on a slightly sloping portion of the trail, I ceased to find any traction at all and slipped closer to the tree line. Frustrated, I looked behind me and discovered the problem. One of the tires had disappeared. All I could see was metal rim, cutting a trench in the saturated ground. Somehow the tire had not only managed to go flat, it had slipped off. Closer inspection revealed that it had slid off to the inside and was loosely circumscribing the inner lip. Fetching a jack, I discovered that there was no leverage point against which to use it. That, and the back wheels kept rolling every time I tried. Cinder blocks, then, to chock the rearward progress, and then 2 X 12's to raise and platform the jack, but without success, I eventually ran out of ideas. Hoping that another set of eyes could see a different solution I went next door and knocked, but my neighbor had the good sense to be away from home. Daylight was dwindling, albeit not as fast as my patience, dinner guests were on their way, and there I stood in the brokenness and mud and wondered where I might find some dynamite at that time of day. Eventually, I detached the mowing deck, which revealed a purchase point for the jack, and the wheel/tire was eventually in my hand. But the ground was still muddy with the prospect of nighttime rain, the tractor was still precariously jacked, and I had no idea how any of it was going to go back together -- that, assuming it all survived the night.
There is, as it turns out, a happy ending. The tractor remained high on the jack, the tire got fixed (although the shop found no puncture), returned to the hub and lug-nutted back in place; and despite the muddy ground, the slope, and my general incompetence, the mowing deck was successfully reattached. All that, and much to my relief, the balance of the yard got mowed. And now, the tractor is safely and securely back in the barn -- hopefully, at least momentarily, out of harm's way. At least until next time.
But in the meantime, I'm making progress. Though God, according to Genesis, could simply speak a work and things were so, I am reconciled to the fact that despite my verbal preference I have to use my hands.
This place just might make a farm hand out of me yet.
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