If he could find it, my dad usually had about anything you could ever need stashed somewhere in his garage. One Saturday when I was in highschool, we were planning to go cut firewood but it had snowed some the night before. A co-worker of dad's called before any of us were awake and insisted we borrow his 4x4 pickup because he was certain dad's 2-wheel drive pickup wouldn't make it out of the canyon loaded down with wood. Dad hated to borrow stuff (although he didn't mind lending) but finally accepted the offer and off he and Nicki and I went (and probably our poodle, Toby) to enjoy the first warming this wood would provide us. If you've ever gathered wood to burn, and not just bought it at the grocery store, then you've experienced that "wood warms you twice - first when you chop it, then when you burn it!"
So, once dad cuts an adequate amount of wood (probably some nice hard ash, his favorite) and Nicki and I stacked it neatly and tightly into the box of Rollie's pickup (I don't ever remember running the chainsaw myself...nor do I remember ever wanting to!), we head up out of the canyon with no problem. The problem didn't occur until we were smack dab under the transmission line that carried electricity into town. That's when, under the strain of thousands and thousands of pounds of (probably slightly green) firewood, the axle broke on the borrowed pickup. (Have you ever carried firewood? I'm pretty sure about 3 armloads adds up to at least 250 pounds, so a whole pickup load is many times heavier) I mention the transmission line because it practically disabled the CB radio signal, at least for incoming communication. Thankfully, someone who wasn't sitting under the same electrical currents heard us crystal clear and called mom on the phone to have her bring that worthless 2-wheel drive pickup out to rescue us.
Guess where the replacement axle was found for the borrowed pickup? Nope, not dad's garage. In the back corner of our backyard. At least that's how I remember the story...my sister will probably correct me. ;-)
This past Saturday night I wasn't so lucky. I spent all day working my way down that silly "sort and purge" checklist and now have a beautifully organized pantry (with only the items I need and not ANY out-of-date canned goods...) and an almost shiny oven (wasn't on the list but it was right beside the pantry and it distracted me) and a much more sparsely populated cabinet under my kitchen sink. Too sparsely populated. I got a little over-zealous with that bag I was filling up with yucky looking cleaning supplies and threw away my perfectly good can of furniture polish. oops!
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This brings back memories! My Dad, bless his memory, was a pack rat. Saved everything, but not just in his barn. It spilled out everywhere. We collected and sold scrap metal (seven kids) so there were those pile to add to the scenery.
ReplyDeleteThe neighbors complained under their breath and behind his back, especially old man Bell, who had to pass our back yard down the side street where he lived (we lived on a corner, one acre).
But, guess where and to whom they came knocking when they needed something? For free of course, since Dad I am sure would usually never think of charging for his treasures.
You are right; I'll correct your :) I wasn't with you guys. You and Dad went by yourself to cut wood. He called on the CB and Philip Probst was driving down main street and heard his call. He came to the house and Mom and I loaded the axle into the van and brought it out. Dad replaced the axle and drive into town with no problem.
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