vituperation

I slept in on Saturday, choosing to stay in bed until 5:45 before getting up and stumbling outside to let the chickens out. Over coffee at the computer I planned my day: finish cutting the grass in the morning (I’d cut the field on Friday with the tractor), spend an hour or so cleaning up the garden, and the rest of the afternoon doing the finishing touches on the shed’s frame so I could start roofing on Sunday.

The shed more or less got ignored all of last week. Every day it was something (resting, raining, planting bushes, cutting grass), and I ended up only working on it for about 90 minutes one afternoon, putting some 2×4 sections up between the purlins along the perimeter to help keep bugs out. When I finished, I realized I’d put them around the wrong part of the shed and all they’d do is keep the bugs from going from one spot outside the shed to another, and gave up for the day in frustration.

I was more than ready to spend some time on the shed Saturday, despite not really looking forward to all the ladder work involved with putting the roof on. I have a pretty bad case of plantar fasciitis on my right foot, and shed days — where I’m standing all day — are the worst. Shed days where I’m on the ladder all day make walking around in the evening a nightmare of pain. At least until I walk the pain out (which is the only redeeming thing about plantar fasciitis).

[On a side note, Dr. Google helped me find some stretches for my foot/calf later Saturday evening, which have really helped with the pain. Probably some good shoes would help, too. And, time permitting, the occasional rest time.]

The last time I cut the grass on the riding mower, I hit a big rock and bent one of the blades. The grass looked wonky after that, part long and part scalped, so I tried to straighten the blade with a sledgehammer. All I did was make it look not quite as bad.

I’d bought a new set of blades at Lowe’s during one of my numerous trips since and needed to put them on before I started cutting, so around eight I pulled the mower out of the shed and wrestled the front end up onto a couple of cinder blocks. I need a hydraulic jack, but all I’ve done towards getting one is look and talk. I know the day is coming when I’ll need to jack up the tractor and won’t be able to. Probably it would be easier to change the blades if I took the cutting deck off, but it looks awfully complicated, with cables everywhere, and about six pulleys with one long-ass belt connecting them all. So, I just leave the deck alone and raise the whole mower.

With the front lifted, there was enough room for me to (barely) maneuver my hands under there to loosen the nut holding the blade. The bolt had different plans, however, because it refused to budge. After 30 minutes of wrestling with it, I went in search of the three-foot iron pipe I bought last year. As Archimedes said, you can move the world with a lever long enough.

The pipe was nowhere to be found. I searched the shed, the workshop, and the garage three times each. No pipe. I tried using one of the kayak paddles, sliding it over the wrench like I would have with the pipe, but all I did was bend the paddle.

Finally, in frustration I stopped looking. I decided to go to Lowe’s for a new pipe, but first I got the extra two dozen eggs we had and put them in a cooler on the front porch, along with our honor system coffee can. I carried a rocker and my hand-painted “fresh eggs $2″ sign out to the road and positioned them so passing cars could see. I tried this same thing last weekend and only sold one dozen.

At Lowe’s, I got another pipe and a larger set of sockets. The Craftsman set I have works, but they’re all small. The biggest socket from that set just fits mower blade nut, and I’ve already had to make a special trip to Tractor Supply to find a bigger socket for the tractor. I needed that new set of sockets. Along with the sockets I picked up a bigger socket wrench, for more leverage.

I got home about 9:45, feeling like the day was half over. I still couldn’t break the nut’s hold, this time because the blade wanted to spin with the nut. Another half hour passed with me trying various things, including tying the blade with a kayak strap (it cut through) and trying to wedge a piece of wood under the deck (it started to warp the deck), before I gave up and removed the whole bolt holding the blade. That was easy enough, but removing the bolt releases one of the pulleys on the top of the deck and loosens the belt that drives everything. That always makes me nervous.

With the bolt out, I could stand on the blade and loosen the ornery nut with the wrench and pipe, which made the rest of the job a piece of cake. By the time I got the blades replaced on the mower it was eleven, and I went inside to eat a couple of egg sandwiches. Egg sandwiches are one of the best things about the weekend. As it turns out, there weren’t enough eggs for my sandwiches (5 whites, 1 whole) so Robyn had to get a dozen off the front porch.

Finally, as it neared 11:30, I got to start cutting the grass. I knocked the front yard out quickly and moved on to the side and garden areas. Cutting around the shed was tricky because there’s a power cord out there and I had to disengage the blades every time I went over it. Normally I’d move the cord, but the shed area is littered with wood scraps, joist hangers, and all sorts of crap, so I was just doing a rough cut to get the weeds.

The third time I disengaged the blades they wouldn’t re-engage. Up down, up down, up down, the lever did nothing. I drove back to the driveway so I could lay on the concrete and figure out what was up. On the way over, I noticed an SUV pulling into the driveway.

I shut down the mower and walked over to the man who got out. We shook hands and exchanged pleasantries.

“Got any of them eggs left?” he asked with a smile. Sunlight glinted off a gold front tooth.

“You bet. They’re around here on the front porch.”

I led him to the front of the house and got the dozen eggs out of the cooler. I opened them to show him the eggs, pausing to pluck out an errant pinfeather stuck to one of them. He held out two dollars.

“You just got the one?” he asked.

“I might be able to find a second one,” I said. “I’ll need to go check in the coop.”

He walked back to his SUV while I went hunting for eggs. I could hear him talking to the passenger–an older man, perhaps his father–while I looked. When everything was tallied, I had ten more eggs to offer.

“We were talkin’ about how one of those chickens would be with some dumplings,” he said when I got back out front.

“I’ll bet it would,” I said, grinning. “I have ten more. Buck fifty sound fair?”

He was amenable to the price and paid me.

“I’ll be checkin’ back again,” he said.

They left, and I carried the rocker and sign down to the front porch. Back at the mower, I discovered that the belt had come off one of the pulleys. Matter of fact, it came off the pulley I had removed earlier. I started taking the belt guard off so I could put the belt back on, but before I could I was interrupted by another car pulling into the driveway. I stood, wiped my hands on my pants, and walked over.

This time it was two women. The driver was freckled and looked to be in her early twenties. The passenger was very old, and by the time I got to the car she was out.

“Did you have a sign out for eggs?” the younger asked.

“Sure did, but someone just stopped and bought all I had.”

“See, Granny? I told you I saw a sign but you had to go to the yard sale.” She turned her attention back to me. “I’ve never had farm eggs before.”

“They’re a lot different from grocery store eggs,” I said. “Blue and green, brown and pink, and they taste a lot better because these chickens get to eat grass and bugs and table scraps instead of just feed.”

The woman — girl, really — looked like she wasn’t sure what to think about blue and pink eggs.

“They’re the best eggs,” the old woman said. “They look different is all. Who are you?”

I told her my name and that we’d bought the place last year.

“When I was a little girl I used to come visit the people who lived here,” she said.

“The Nelsons?”

She nodded. “Yep. Nelson. Everybody around here sure was happy when you bought this place and cleaned it up. You got it lookin’ real good.”

“Thank you,” I said. “It’s been a lot of work, but worth it. We love this place.”

“Well, we’re all glad to have you here.”

Slowly, she got back into the car.

“We’ll look for your sign the next time I’m visiting my granny,” the girl said.

“It’ll be out on the weekends when we have some extras.”

They left, and I finished putting the blade on the mower. The next two hours were spent alternately cutting grass and putting the belt back on. After the third time with the belt, I left the guard off to save time, and the belt didn’t come off again. I wonder now if I bent the guard when I was trying to get the blade off, and that maybe caused the belt to slip. When the blades aren’t engaged, the belt is pretty loose, and a bent guard could leave a gap for the belt to slip through.

By the time I started in the garden I knew there was no way I’d be working on the shed that day. Back in July, I experimented with a second planting of squash, cukes, and corn. When it all sprouted, I laid a soaker hose down each row and put a thick layer of shredded tree bark mulch around each plant. Between the rows, I laid black plastic. The whole thing was a lot of work, but I didn’t have to pick more than ten weeds out of three rows over almost three months.

Here’s what it looked like toward the end:

The plants didn’t do so well, though, because of the bugs. We got a few meals with fresh squash, a small pile of cukes, and a couple dozen ears of corn. The plan worked perfectly as far as weeds go, though. However, I don’t think I’m going to plant the whole garden that way next year, because of what I discovered when taking it all up on Saturday.

Fire ants. Hordes of fire ants.

I only got stung about fifteen times, which I can live with. What I can’t live with is having fire ants in the garden, because they’re some plant-eating motherfuckers. Since you can’t put the good poison (acephate, two thumbs WAY up) around food, the only effective thing I’ve found for getting rid of ants in the garden is disturbing them until they move on.

Note: please don’t tell me I can use diatomaceous earth or citrus to get rid of fire ants.

Once everything was up, I ran the big mower over the plants, then hooked up the tiller and tilled it all under. By that time, it was about 5:30 and I went in for dinner.

I did get to work on the shed yesterday. Here’s what it looks like now.

The roof part is slow going because it’s just me.

Handyman tip of the day: you can use a circular saw to cut sheet metal if you take the blade off and reverse it.

Last week when I picked the corn, I clutched it all to my chest and carried it into the house, where I put in on the counter. Shortly thereafter, a black widow came crawling out of it, and my CRAZY WIFE smashed it with her bare hand.

I think we all know who has the balls in this house.

And now, one of the best by the best one.