My Dad (who is 81 and who has knocked down 2 types of cancer) is one amazing young man! Today, I had the privilege of helping him work in the lean-to. It’s simply a little storage shed behind his barn where clay pots and collections of dried flower seeds, and rakes and hoes hang out. There is also a rather large collection of wood… planks and boards that seem to be leftovers from a variety of projects. Well, Dad said he had been dreading working back there due to the high probability of snakes and spiders, but if I were up to it, we could work on getting rid of all that wood this morning.
So, we gloved up, put on our best yard boots, and headed out to take on the unknown. Now what you must know is that my Dad is famous for always seeing brown recluse spiders. He is also famous for spotting black widows. We have joked over the years that if you see a spider it has be one of those two, because that’s what Dad would say! He was also fully expecting us to uncover a snake or maybe a family of snakes under all that wood. Now, at this point, if you are a snake fan or a lover of spiders, you might not read any further. Dad is not of the mindset to catch and release. Dad is of the mindset to not be bitten or have anyone he loves be bitten. Hoes and hammers were readily available to defend as we loaded the pickup with the old wood. We didn’t encounter the first snake, but let me tell you… the black widows were abundant (and not just because they are one of the two spiders Dad always names.) I don’t typically wig out over spiders, but today I did! Dad hammered those suckers like they were gonna rise up like some creature from the black lagoon! They did not stand a chance.
The other thing that did not stand a chance was this old, open bookcase that held the wood. The shelves were made of wood, but the sides were metal. Dad decided it was no good, and he wanted to take it to the dump with the wood. The problem was, the wood and the metal had to be separated in order for the dump to accept it. He would have to take the whole thing apart. (I am standing there thinking… uhh… this is gonna be a project!) First, he got his drill to unscrew the screws holding each shelf to the metal part. No can do. Old screws were there for life. I’m standing there saying, “Dad, this is too hard. Let’s work on this another day.” And off he goes to get something else. Next, he tries using a big hammer to knock it apart. No can do. “Dad, listen, we’ve both worked hard getting all that wood into the truck. Let’s call this one.” “Nope. I can do it. It’s not that hard!” Next thing I know, he came out of the barn with his sledge hammer, and he is telling me to stand back… this thing is going down. And down comes that sledgehammer. Repeatedly, he smashed the wood and the metal sides totally apart. He was victorious, and I just shook my head and laughed my heart out.
For years, I’ve witnessed my Dad take on projects like this. One year he helped me clear my woods. And after hauling a ton of brush out and loading it onto the truck, I’d stand there saying, “Uhh, Dad. The truck is full. We can’t possible put more on this load.” And he’d say, “Nonsense!” And he’d bounce himself up on that truck and stomp and jump on the load of brush until we could put at least that much more on top.
Anytime, I could ride shotgun in the truck with Dad, I would… because he loves that truck and hauling anything and everything to the dump in that thing. We could have a load of stinky trash that we’d have to drive miles to the dump, but I would be happy as a clam riding with Dad in his truck. Today was the same. We hauled all that miserable wood to the dump, and we were tired, but we were perfectly content. And on the way home, we stopped at the farmer’s market for cantaloupe and Hanover tomatoes. My, goodness! What a treat. We even split a yellow peach between us as we hopped back into the truck, not even worried about the sticky juice spilling down our arms on the ride back.
My Dad will not be defeated. He will look cancer in the eyes and say, “Not today you bastard.” He’ll hammer the stuffings out of black widows. He’ll raise a sledgehammer (that I can barely carry back to his barn) 50 times to smash something that needs smashing. And then before I have even caught my breath from just watching him, he’ll be onto the next project… before finally stopping for a rest. For all of my life, I will welcome the chance to sweat alongside of my Dad on some outdoor project, to stand with him beneath trees in quiet reverence, and to laugh out loud as his tenacity outsmarts the most stubborn of tasks. Here’s to you, Dad. Thanks for teaching me where there’s a will there’s a way… and beside you is the dearest way I’ve ever known.
So, we gloved up, put on our best yard boots, and headed out to take on the unknown. Now what you must know is that my Dad is famous for always seeing brown recluse spiders. He is also famous for spotting black widows. We have joked over the years that if you see a spider it has be one of those two, because that’s what Dad would say! He was also fully expecting us to uncover a snake or maybe a family of snakes under all that wood. Now, at this point, if you are a snake fan or a lover of spiders, you might not read any further. Dad is not of the mindset to catch and release. Dad is of the mindset to not be bitten or have anyone he loves be bitten. Hoes and hammers were readily available to defend as we loaded the pickup with the old wood. We didn’t encounter the first snake, but let me tell you… the black widows were abundant (and not just because they are one of the two spiders Dad always names.) I don’t typically wig out over spiders, but today I did! Dad hammered those suckers like they were gonna rise up like some creature from the black lagoon! They did not stand a chance.
The other thing that did not stand a chance was this old, open bookcase that held the wood. The shelves were made of wood, but the sides were metal. Dad decided it was no good, and he wanted to take it to the dump with the wood. The problem was, the wood and the metal had to be separated in order for the dump to accept it. He would have to take the whole thing apart. (I am standing there thinking… uhh… this is gonna be a project!) First, he got his drill to unscrew the screws holding each shelf to the metal part. No can do. Old screws were there for life. I’m standing there saying, “Dad, this is too hard. Let’s work on this another day.” And off he goes to get something else. Next, he tries using a big hammer to knock it apart. No can do. “Dad, listen, we’ve both worked hard getting all that wood into the truck. Let’s call this one.” “Nope. I can do it. It’s not that hard!” Next thing I know, he came out of the barn with his sledge hammer, and he is telling me to stand back… this thing is going down. And down comes that sledgehammer. Repeatedly, he smashed the wood and the metal sides totally apart. He was victorious, and I just shook my head and laughed my heart out.
For years, I’ve witnessed my Dad take on projects like this. One year he helped me clear my woods. And after hauling a ton of brush out and loading it onto the truck, I’d stand there saying, “Uhh, Dad. The truck is full. We can’t possible put more on this load.” And he’d say, “Nonsense!” And he’d bounce himself up on that truck and stomp and jump on the load of brush until we could put at least that much more on top.
Anytime, I could ride shotgun in the truck with Dad, I would… because he loves that truck and hauling anything and everything to the dump in that thing. We could have a load of stinky trash that we’d have to drive miles to the dump, but I would be happy as a clam riding with Dad in his truck. Today was the same. We hauled all that miserable wood to the dump, and we were tired, but we were perfectly content. And on the way home, we stopped at the farmer’s market for cantaloupe and Hanover tomatoes. My, goodness! What a treat. We even split a yellow peach between us as we hopped back into the truck, not even worried about the sticky juice spilling down our arms on the ride back.
My Dad will not be defeated. He will look cancer in the eyes and say, “Not today you bastard.” He’ll hammer the stuffings out of black widows. He’ll raise a sledgehammer (that I can barely carry back to his barn) 50 times to smash something that needs smashing. And then before I have even caught my breath from just watching him, he’ll be onto the next project… before finally stopping for a rest. For all of my life, I will welcome the chance to sweat alongside of my Dad on some outdoor project, to stand with him beneath trees in quiet reverence, and to laugh out loud as his tenacity outsmarts the most stubborn of tasks. Here’s to you, Dad. Thanks for teaching me where there’s a will there’s a way… and beside you is the dearest way I’ve ever known.
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