This past weekend, my parents were in Tennessee for the Johnson Family Reunion, my husband needed to use some of Dad's equipment.
My father must've been on the same wave-length as Birdy, because Dad calls me early one morning after apparently having watched The Weather Channel.
"They're calling for rain all week. If Birdy wants to mow with the tractor, tell him to go get it. If he wants to back-drag that hillside, tell him to take the back hoe over, but watch it because the bucket makes it front-heavy."
"Thanks, I'll let him know," I told my dad, knowing full-well my husband would not fetch any of this equipment.
"If he has any problems starting the back hoe, Dustin can help him. Dustin knows how to start the back hoe." This last statement is made with pride.
Personally, I find it rather unsettling knowing that my ten-year old can start a back hoe.
I repeat this conversation to my husband who replies with, "I am NOT going after any of his equipment unless he's on-site to start it. Sure as I'm standing here, I'll break something."
I find this comical. My dad has individual starting instructions for every piece of equpiment on this farm--whether it's a lawn mower or a tractor, every piece is different. There is no such thing as climbing on any fuel-driven implement of destruction on this farm and turning the key.
Guess that's the redneck in him...
Such as the 1948 or 1949 Allis Chalmers endloader that's parked in back. It hadn't been started in years. My father's friend, Buck, suggested my father couldn't get that piece of equipment started. Only six or seven at the time, Dustin posessed enough wisdom to know Papa can start just about anything...
My father chuckled and made Buck a bet, if he started the endloader, Buck got to buy breakfast...of course, armed with a can of ether, the Allis turned over and Buck bought Dad & Dustin breakfast that morning.
I couldn't believe Buck made that bet. I asked him later what he was thinking...and Buck agreed, he should've known better. A can of ether and a ball-peen hammer will take my dad a long way around here, starting just about anything...
Of course, there's the time Dad won a busted-up lawn mower on a bet. My Grampa Lucius bet my Dad that he couldn't start a lawn mower. Grampa Lucius said the mower wouldn't run because it didn't have a blade. Dad told Grampa Lucius the mower didn't need a blade to run. Grampa told Dad if he could start the mower, Dad could have it.
Enter a ball-peen hammer...and a new-to-you mower...
When the stater went out in Birdy's quad, Dad managed to get it running again, if only temporarily, by tapping around with his--you guessed it--ball-peen hammer
I told my dad, on his way home from Tennessee, that Birdy wouldn't use the equipment without dad on-site. Dad chuckled, "That back hoe will fire right up for him."
Monday being the recognized holiday for the 4th of July, my dad called and said he'd bring the back hoe over and get the hillside taken care of before the rain came. Thankfully, he accomplished that since it's rained twice today alone...not sprinkles mind you, torrential downpours...Mother Nature has pulled out all the stops for us on rain this summer.
Dad rolls into the driveway on his back hoe, parks it and comes to the garage for a beverage. "It's a good thing Birdy didn't try to start that back hoe."
Lord. I rolled my eyes, "Why's that?"
"Clutch didn't want to work. Didn't start working until I got up by the house. Must've been the way I parked it, rain probably ran right into the clutch," he explained. "Runs great, now..."
Thankfully.
Birdy passed Dad intransit, on his way over to get the tractor. No sooner than Birdy returned with the tractor, the battery died and Dad had to give Birdy a jump...
Nothing says redneck quite like individual starting instructions for every implements of destruction you own.
Nothing.
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