Sunday, April 19, 2015

Good Neighbors

by Pa Rock
Country Bumpkin

First, an update on the damned peacocks.  Seven are safely in their new quarters - six hens and one of the males.  The other male is on the lam and has not been seen since late yesterday evening when he was perched atop the barn.  He has flown the coop.  Peacocks are known for having a good homing instinct, so I am hopeful that he will show up in a day or two.

And now a word or two about mowing.

I enjoy mowing, I really do.  That thought struck me as I was riding along on my mower for over two solid hours yesterday afternoon giving my enormous yard its first mow of the season.  I was happy - and singing every song that popped into my old gray head.   Thankfully the mower is so loud that the neighbors just probably assumed that I was talking to myself.

I could keep my big yard mowed and looking decent all summer - if it weren't for the machinery involved.  Two hours into my big mow yesterday I turned off the mower and got off to pick up a large rock that was in my path.  When I got back on the mower, it wouldn't start.  I quickly discovered that all of the oil had blown out and was covering the deck.

Today I will be initiating the process of finding out how to get the mower repaired.  It has a warranty through Lowes, but as I discovered last year with my push mower, their warranties cover everything except whatever particular malady my mower has suffered.    And, to make matters worse, the Lowes store is fifty miles away and my 24-horse rider would not be easy to transport.  I will figure out a solution, but my inner-pessimist tells me that it will be expensive and I will be without a riding mower for weeks.

Mowing is fun.  The crap that goes with it isn't.

The mower quit at the far end of the property, several hundred yards from the garage it calls home.  The forecast was for rain, and I wouldn't leave the expensive mowing machine outside even in good weather - so I began to slowly push it across the rough yard toward the garage.  As I was wheezing along, my good Samaritan neighbor rushed over to help - and it took the two of us working together fifteen minutes to get the mower back to its shelter.

My neighbor grew up in the house that I currently live in, and he has a lot of personal investment in my home and yard.  (His father, a professional carpenter, built the house back in the 1960's for his young family to live in - and they were here for nearly fifty years.)  The neighbor insisted that he would like to bring his mower over and help on the yard for awhile, and I told him only if I could pay for his work.  Doug wouldn't accept any money - and he wouldn't take no for an answer.   He said that he would appreciate being allowed to mow his old yard.  Doug came over and began cutting grass with his rider, and I got out my push mower and did as much as I could.  By dark the lawn was finished.

Thanks, Doug.  You're a good neighbor.

Another neighbor spent his day helping me corral and move peacocks.

There are definitely some good things about living in the country!

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