Sunday, April 18, 2010

The Tiller Experiment

How hard can it possibly be to transport a tiller?  Honestly, you would think the thing had been airdropped by aliens in my father's backyard for the amount of hemming and hawing I got on the phone when I asked to borrow it for the day and move the thing one block.  Jan Brady actually laughed at me for asking if I could walk over and pick it up.  "You're welcome to come over and try [snicker, guffaw] but good luck."

Mother of mercy!  Get your brains in gear.  So you say it doesn't roll (that doesn't make any sense to me at all by the way) but even if it doesn't (and I am positive it does) at the absolute most all I would need is one of those flat bed handtruck thingys and voila! problem solved.  It doesn't take a Mensa membership to figure this crap out, just an open mind and a small amount of manpower.  Work with me here.

So, I walk over and Dad is pumping up the tires on the tiller. (Tires!  How can it have tires and not roll?!).  We futz with the thing for a few minutes, gassing it up and such.  "Are you sure it doesn't roll, Dad?"  He's in the shed now and calls back, "Can't be done."  I try anyway, I mean, it's got tires.  Push.  Roll, roll, roll.  HA!  "Uh, Dad, it rolls."  He emerges from the shed, "Oh.  So it does.  Well, duh."  Duh, indeed.

I walk the tiller home and start working on the garden.  I wouldn't normally follow through with the garden as it's only been an ephemeral "should" idea in my head for a while (so ephemeral I haven't even mentioned it here...see?) but I bought a whole flat of strawberry plants the other day.  I had to get them in the ground before I killed every dream of growing things I've ever had in my life.  Man, that tiller was a bitch.  It started fine but the thing is about as big as me and I made these huge ruts in the dirt that I had to keep pulling the tiller out of.  I probably looked ridiculous wrestling that fucker but. I. did it!  All. by. my. self!  TRIUMPH!

I raked up weeds and hoed rows and sat quietly in the dirt putting my eighteen strawberry plants in the ground.  So maybe Dirt Therapy is progressing.  Maybe it's not so much about demolition anymore as it is about creation.  That's a neat transition to make. 

Now Dad says if I know any barbers I should get cut hair from them to sprinkle around the plants so the rabbits don't get them.  Um, I do know a barber in fact but the idea of picking fresh, juicy strawberries out of piles of dead hair is reeeeallllly gross.  And Dad's credibility regarding "how to do stuff" is a little shot at the moment.  I mean, he might be right but there has got to be another way.  Hair? [facepalm]  Thanks, Dad.  I'll put up a fence or something. 

Anyway, I never thought of myself as one of those, "As soon as someone tells me I can't do something, I am bound and determined to do it" people.  This wasn't one of those instances, was it?  It's not like them saying, "There's no way in hell you'll ever transport that tiller or be able to start your garden on your own" gave me the idea to do it.  It was just something I was thinking of doing and they tried to tell me it couldn't be done and laughed in my face at the very idea and THAT made me even more determined.  Maybe it was one of those instances.  Huh.  I guess I am that type of person.  It's kind of cool when you succeed despite ignorantly perceived obstacles.  Let's see if we can get more of that, shall we? 

And I think I'm going to start documenting some fitness stuff here because you are a good audience.  Even though I like to pretend you are invisible, you make me feel accountable for getting things done.  Thank you for that.

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