Men!

           Men!

          “What about them?” you ask.

          They just don’t listen!

          Okay! Okay! Not all men and not all the time. But I can cite at least three times this week when my man listened to me only after everything else failed.

          “What is going on in that house?!” you say.

          We’re working on redoing the dog run so Mike can get his Gravely in there and mow it. We tore fence out last week and stacked it at the end of the dog run. This week we fired up his new toy. An automatic post pounder-inner.

          To his credit, Mike always tries to do things right the first time, but we’re the Do It Again Lubys for a reason.

The instructions on a sticker right on it says not to overfill the oil, so Mike watched a You Tube video on how to do it, then it says to let it run for five minutes.

We did.

          It smoked.

          “New engines always smoke a little,” Mike said.

          But it didn’t quit. It smoked like smoking was its only job! You could fog for skeeters with this thing, I thought.

          We used it anyway. It took us a post or two to figure out the best method to get this beast to the top of the ladder. The best way for us was Mike would get up three steps and I’d heft it up to where he could grab the handle and pull it the rest of the way up. Then I’d help guide the post into the end of the driver and straighten the post as best as I could. Mike revved the beast up and it went to work driving the post into the ground.

          “I’m so impressed by how well it works,” Mike tells everyone.

          Even if we hit a rock it would bust it if the rock wasn’t too big. That’s a problem we’ve only run into twice. The first time the post was deep enough. The second time we had to move the post a few inches.

          Hey! How do you like my picture?

“You can’t even see Mike’s handsome face!” you say.

          I know, right! It was the first post we drove in and I snapped it really quick, without even looking (obviously), and went back to work.

          The first day we used the driver it dripped oil like crazy.

          “I think it’s defective,” I told Mike. “I’ll fire off an email to the company.” But I didn’t do it that day, or the next, or ever.

          Once we had the post in we had to go the whole way out front and get a fence section and carry it the whole way back to where we were working. There wasn’t a good way to carry them either, except to put your fingers through the wires and lift.

          “It hurts my fingers,” I whined, and I had gloves on.

          “Let me know if you need to set it down,” Mike said.

          In my mind’s eye, I remembered the challenges on Survivor, “You gotta fight through the pain if you wanna win!” Jeff Probst would shout encouragingly from the sidelines. “I’ll fight through it. Let’s just go fast,” I said and picked up the pace.

          The post pounder-inner was getting heavier as we worked our way down the side yard and the fence sections weren’t getting any lighter, either.

          “You could use the two-wheeler,” I said as we carried another section.

          “They won’t stay on, they’ll slide off,” Mike said.

          “Alright. Let’s go,” I resigned myself and headed for another section. I’m trying really hard to not push to get my own way.

That reminds me of a story our handsome neighbor Lamar told us once.

“You always think your way is right!” One of his co-workers told him.

“Of course!” he responded. “If I didn’t think it was the right way then I wouldn’t do it that way.”

That always makes me smile.

But I’m trying really hard to not be the boss. Mike has good judgment, years of practical experience, and I need to honor that, not to mention that God says the husband is to be the head of the house — and I’m good with that, too!

          “We won’t have to carry this one as far,” Mike said as we hoofed it back to where we were working.

          “I know, but I’m getting tired,” I said and put my end down. We wired it in place.

          Drove in another post.

          Went for another section of fence.

          “Why don’t you want to use the wheeler? I’ll go get it,” I offered.

          “Because there’s nothing to hold them on.”

          I’m sure I scrunched my face up in all kinds of unattractive ways as I tried to puzzle out what he meant. Nothing to hold it on? Was he thinking of standing them up? Hauling them vertically? “What do ya mean?” I didn’t wait for an answer, I just went on. “Just stick it under in the middle like I’ve seen you do a hundred times and wheel it over.”

          Mike knows I’m a “show me” kinda gal. If I think something’ll work, you’ll have to show me why it won’t. I went for the wheeler while Mike rested. I parked the wheeler in the middle and Mike held it while I stood the fence up.

          It worked like I knew it would.

          Men just don’t listen.

          The second day Mike had to fill the oil to replace all that leaked out the day before.

“I need to know how much we put in so I can tell the company,” I said. We added about ten ml until it registered on the stick.

          “Maybe you’re supposed to fill it when it’s standing up,” I suggested.

          “The video had it lying down.”

          “What did the book say?!” I was exasperated. It wasn’t the first time I said he should consult the book that came with it. “Maybe the guy in the video ruined his motor and he wanted everyone else to ruin theirs, too. You can’t trust them.”

          We went to work and really pushed ourselves hard to finish that section of the dog run.

          There’s a dirt path down the center of this picture, and I drew a black line along it, that shows where the old fence used to be.

          We’d previously converted one of the long sections of fence into a gate so Mike could get the mower in. At the time, we didn’t buy the right size hardware and it’s a long trip back to Lowe’s. Beings as we were in working mode and didn’t want to take time to return it, Mike said, “I can make it work.”

He cut a couple of clamps to make spacers, slipped them in and that allowed him to tighten the hinges. It worked like a charm and I was good with that. However, when we moved the gate to the other end, it wasn’t working so great.

 “There’s gates on the sections we just got and we don’t need them all. We could get the hinge off one of those, then make that section stationary,” I suggested.

“It worked before, Peg. I think we can make it work again,” he said.

I don’t know why he didn’t want to get the right size hinge from one of the other gates but I didn’t argue.

We fooled with that hinge for a good twenty minutes. It was too big for the size post we were trying to put it on. I’d get the spacers in place and try to turn it so Mike could get the socket on, a spacer would slip out, and we’d have to start again. We finally got the top hinge on and the bottom hinge was just as stubborn as the top one. After fooling with the hinges for a while and not being able to get them tight enough so as not to slip, Mike conceded that we’d go take the hinge off one of the spare gates.

We got on the golf cart and went around back where the fence sections were waiting. We had everything we needed to take the hinge apart but couldn’t get it off the post.

“I need a hammer,” Mike said.

The rock pile was nearby. “I can get a rock,” I said. “Either that or wait until I go get a hammer.” I didn’t wait for an answer. It would be faster to get a rock so I went for one. On our rock pile I found this handsome guy. With a flat face on one end and a point on the other end, he already looked like a hammer to me. Add a wood handle and a piece of rawhide and I think it would make a very good, if primitive, hammer.

Mike was able to knock the hinges off using it.

We went back around to the front and it took us only minutes to mount them and finish the gate.

“It’s easier when you have the right equipment.” I couldn’t help but get one little dig in.

          And this was the second time when I can say, “Men don’t listen!”

          We finished the section of dog run and set about putting tools away.

          “There’s oil all over this thing.” I grumbled as, together, we carried the driver inside.

          “If I can get the cover off I can see where the oil’s coming from,” Mike said.

          It took us a minute to figure out how to pop the cover off and when we did we discovered oil coming out of the exhaust port.

          “It’s not supposed to be coming out there, is it?” I asked.

          “Nope,” Mike answered.

          We wiped up the oil. On the way through the house to my desk I detoured to Mike’s desk and picked up the user manual.

          Page six.

          “Stand the machine on the ground, screw off the oil level gauge, and check the oil level,” it says. “The engine oil should not exceed the upper limit; otherwise it will cause the engine oil to splash out from the exhaust port.”

          Hmmm.

          Standing up, unscrewing the cap, oil came spilling out. It was definitely over filled.

          Mike set about adjusting the oil level and cleaning up the beast. I took the spongy-looking air filter and with a bucket of warm water and tons of Dawn, cleaned the oil out of it. Now when we start it up — it doesn’t smoke!

          And this was the third time when I can say, “Men don’t listen!”

 

          Oh! My! Goodness-gracious-mercy-me!

          It’s been quite a while since we’ve had an opportunity to do any sidewalk supervising and this week we’ve had two of them!

          “Tell us about them!” you say.

          Alright! I will!

          The Robinsons had some trees cut down in their yard. Mike went over and asked the tree guy for an estimate to take down a couple of trees for us.

          “Why?” I asked Mike.

          “Because they hang over the barn and I’m afraid they’ll fall.”

          Okay then.

          The guy came and looked and gave Mike an estimate which he accepted.

          The tree company got plenty of work on Robinson Road. After finishing the tree work at Jon and Steph’s, he quoted two trees for us, a few for our across‑the‑road neighbor, Sally, and some for our new neighbor, Lou next door to her. Farther down the road, he quoted taking out two big trees for the Kipps.

          They started at the Kipps.

          “Wanna go watch?” Mike asked.

          “Nope. I’ll watch when they get up here.”

          Mike left but came back before long.

          “Peg, they have an Autocar. I didn’t know they still made those. Come on. You can take pictures,” Mike said.

          Bless his heart. He knows I’m always looking for things to tell you about when we have our weekly visit. I went and took a few pictures.

          It didn’t take the cutters near as long as it took the cleaner-uppers. Lou and Mike didn’t want the clean-up service but Sally and the Kipps did.

          Cutting and cleaning up at Sally’s.

          Then ours presented a problem for the cutters. There wasn’t any good place to park the boom truck to cut both trees Mike wanted down. They had to extend out over the roof of the barn and the guy did an amazing job. He didn’t hit anything, no property was damaged, and no one got hurt. All important things, don’cha think?

          The Autocar doesn’t have a dump on the box so the tree pieces-parts have to come out the same way they went in.

          Down at Lou’s they took a couple of monsters down.

          Watching men work and machines running is always something Mike likes to do.

          Speaking of machines working, or in this case, not working, we’ve been having an issue with a tire on Mike’s tractor. The same tire went flat five times!

          The first time, they replaced the tube. Fine and dandy. Mike put it back on and mowed with it once. The next time, a day or two later, he went for the tractor and the tire was flat. We took it to a different tire place (same company, different location).

          “There’s rust inside that rubbed on the tube and put a hole in it,” he said. “They should’ve cleaned it before putting the tube in.”

          We bought another tube.

          Mike left the tire outside the garage and the next day when he went to put it on, it was flat. Back we go to the tire place.

          “The tube was defective,” he told Mike. “It split right down the middle.”

          They replaced the tube at no charge to us.

          The next time the tire went flat, Mike takes the blame for. He’d gotten down into a ditch and feels like he rolled the tire off the rim when he was trying to get out.

          Back to the tire place and another new tube. He’d torn the valve stem.

          And now, for the fifth time with the same wheel, it went flat when we were pulling fence posts.

          “I’ll just leave it here until we get the tire fixed,” Mike said.

          I didn’t care if it sat inside the dog run.

          Bondi did.

          The tractor sat there all that day and it didn’t bother her. The next afternoon, for whatever reason, Bondi went out and gave it hell. Maybe she thought it’d overstayed its welcome?

          Monday we were off to the tire place — again!

          We were passing the Dandy in Wysox...

          “Mike, they’re loading a fire truck on a trailer. You wanna go around the block and see?” I knew Mike liked fire trucks and always wishes he’d’ve bought one for yard art when we had the business in Missouri.

          Around the Dandy we went and came into the truck lot from the other side.

          “What are they doing?” he wondered.

          We watched and got our answer. A pan dropped down to the ground.

          Then a guy got between the ramps and guided the truck.

          “It’s gonna hit,” I said. I could see the front bumper would hit the ramps before the front wheels.

          The driver backed the truck up.

          They had a big pow-wow to decide what to do next.

          One of the guys went for the support truck and trailer and parked between us and the action.

          “We’ll go down and park where he was,” Mike said.

          From the trailer they pull out a couple of rolls of fire hoses and placed them in front of the ramps.

It wasn’t enough. The truck backed up and they added more hoses until, at last, the bumper cleared the ramps.

We watched as the truck made its way slowly up the ramp.

“The back’s gonna hit,” Mike said.

I think those guys knew it would, too. Once the front tires were off the hoses, they had him stop.

And moved the hoses to the front of the back tires.

It worked and they got the fire truck loaded.

“Do you think they were taking it somewhere when it broke down?” I asked.

“Peg, they were driving it up onto the trailer,” Mike pointed out.

“Oh, yeah. So it’s not broken. Why did they drive a fire truck from Dover, Delaware to put it on a trailer here in Wysox?” I wanted to know, and I don’t have any answer.

          We watched for about twenty minutes then went on our way to the tire place. We dropped the tire off and went on up to Sayre for a little shopping. I took road pictures for you.

          The library in one of the little towns we pass through was having a book sale. Last week when we went past, I saw a couple of tables out front, under the porch, stacked with books. I don’t need any books so we didn’t stop.

          This week I was shocked to see boxes of books put out beside the building with no protection from the rain. My guess is they’ve been rained on at least twice.

          The old greenhouse is doing its job even with no one tending it.

          The old ice cream truck works like a greenhouse, too.

          The small white sign in the middle of this closed-up, neglected building reads: I asked Jesus, “How much do you love me?” “This much,” He answered. Then He stretched out His arms and died.”

          The guys at the tire shop found a big ol’ honkin’ thorn in the tire. They were able to patch the tube.

          I waited in the car and have no idea how they came to be discussing tires on the sand trucks but Mike was all pumped up when he came back to the car and told me all about them.

          “Instead of dual tires they run a super-single,” Mike said.

          The whole way home we had to look at every truck for super-single tires.

          “I’m not sure I like them,” Mike mused. “At least with dual tires if one goes flat you can still run on the other one until you find a garage to fix it.”

          According to AI, they use them because they’re less weight than dual tires so the trucks get better fuel economy. And they get fewer rocks caught between the duals.

          So there you have it!

          I’m at the end of my self-imposed page limit. Even though I have tons more photos to show you, we will call this one done.

          Done!