House Call

Dorian backs the service truck into the driveway and says hello to Blue first.

We had been cutting back a copse of mountain ash in the field among fluttering leaves and chasing sparrows. The dogs, as always, let us know company was arriving. The mower man was here.

We had called and scheduled him weeks ago. This morning we had removed the opened walnuts from the seat, lowered the hood (we keep it up to discourage mouse nests around the engine), driven it out of the stable, and parked it near the road. Darion says none of this was necessary. He knows the combinations to the garages in three states.

He opens the truck, sets up the ramp, and drives the mower into his workshop. He lubes and sharpens and adjusts. He cleans and restores. He holds up a chewed air filter and says, "Rodents."

We learn to keep a few more pounds of air in the front tires for a level cut. We learn to use fuel additive to combat ethanol in the gasoline. And, best of all, we learn the main shop stocks mouse repellant effective even on combines.

We talk pickup trucks and baseball. We have protected our investment, and our yard will not need the baler afterall. We are happy.

Nothing beats a house call.

copyright 2010 J. O'Brien, all rights reserved