Plow the Mud - Jan 1, '99

Normally, I would never divulge such a humiliating account as is revealed herein, but Sharon insists I share this self debasing parable with you. I see no humor in its recital - perhaps she attempts to heal my tortured spirits through the catharsis of the confessional. Since we have added a couple of 1st timers to our list of recipients of the family spam, excuse my return to the beginning to bring them up to date. 

Last fall, I undertook a project to re-landscape our front lawn - unfortunately this year, our fall has been wetter than usual, which has interrupted my schedule considerably. In fact, on one miserable Phoenix Sunday, while lounging around the house we noticed that it was snowing in the backyard - yes, snowing hard enough to stick to the grass. About the same time, I turned on the TV to find the Broncos had fallen 14 points down to the dreaded Chiefs, in the Denver sunshine. This incongruent turn of events stimulated me to a fit of whining to anyone within reach via email. Daryl responded cheerfully that the Broncos had managed to snatch victory from the jaws of defeat and Sharon's brother Mike, thoroughly piqued by my shameful complaints, responded irritably, "Roger - Plow the mud!".

I hold, as one of the fundamental principles in life, that one is obliged to follow the sage advice of a pre-eminent, respected and revered educator; I therefore, immediately, dutifully and without trepidation, set forth to the rental store to obtain the required tractor and plow. My yard is rather small, therefore I selected a Kelly green John Deere garden tractor with a single plow. Model 855, hydrostatic drive, 3 cylinder diesel - $145 per day rental (the basic rental rig.) Arriving home, I unloaded the rig and carefully maneuvered into position for the 1st pass. Confidently, I moved forward, off the driveway and out onto the mud, and as the plow cleared the edge of the driveway, I pressed forward the lever to lower the blade into the earth - everything came to a halt as the plow descended into the quagmire, while the tractor proceeded to dig itself in up to its axles. 

Obviously, Mikes guidance had been sound but the execution was found wanting - I had selected too small of a tractor. No problem, I simply returned to the store and rented a bigger, bright red Massey Ferguson model 283/2 tractor - 67 horses, 8 forward speeds, adjustable spring mounted seat - $325 per day rental including a log chain. After carefully hitching up to the strickened garden tractor, I engaged the Ferguson in low gear and moved cautiously forward to take up the slack in the chain - but just as the chain tightened, the Fergie sank down to its hubs beneath me and refused to budge further. 

Although my confidence in Mikes counsel was now badly shaken, I once again returned to the store to sheepishly order out the biggest tractor they had - a Case MX 180 Magnum, four wheel drive, dual rear wheels, 145 horses, 3 point hitch, fully enclosed cab, air conditioning/heater, heated seat, and 6 disc CD player/changer. A serious piece of gear at $530 per day rental (chortling, they threw a second log chain free).  I backed up to the sunken Fergie and chained it to the upper hitch point on the Case. Throwing the Case into low and easing into the throttle, I felt the log chain tighten but suddenly the spinning front wheels reared up into the air as the dualies dug deeply down into the mud. Fortunately, I was able to shut it off before it fell over backward but that damned Case stayed there, tilted up at an 80 degree angle, looking for all the world like a huge, yellow, mechanical bug launching itself from the bowels of the earth. 

A group of neighbors had silently gathered across the street - in support of my travails, I'm sure. After shutting down the Case, I walked over to join them - seeking suggestions and/or more salient advice than to "plow the mud". Before the group could come to a consensus, we noticed a lady drive by slowly, park and walk up and down the street, surveying my predicament from all angles. Finally she approached our group and inquired as to who owned the house across the street. Everyone in the group denied any association with the property, frantically they all pointed to me - trapped, I acknowledged that it was mine.

The lady enthusiastically grasp my hand, shaking it vigorously, she congratulated me on my uplifting "landscape sculpture". She proclaimed she had "never seen anyone so completely and inspirationally capture modern, urban man's struggle to free himself from the shackles of his agrarian roots".  She seemed genuinely offended when I said it was just a pile of iron and rubber, rusting and rotting away in my yard to the tune of $1000 a day.

Dusk was approaching as the group began the breakup, each neighbor smirking and/or giggling as he retraced his way home. As the last neighbor left me standing alone on the sidewalk, another car drove up and stopped. This guy wearing an odd hat rolled down his window and while looking at my psychedelic train of tractors, he asked in a peculiar accent if I needed help removing them from my yard. "Of course", I said, but what did he have that could possibly help? He allowed that all he needed to do the job was his four wheel drive Suburu Outback. Laughing out loud, I said that he was welcome to try. Where upon, he got out of the car, went over and unhitched the plow, removed the log chains from between the tractors, put each tractor in neutral, and next he backed the Suburu carefully up to the edge of my yard (without leaving the pavement). Finally he tied a rope between the Suburu and that damned Cases front axle.

You guessed it, he easily pulled each of the tractors and plow, one by one, from the mud. The moral of my tale - be careful about taking advice from teachers, it might cost you money and earn you the scorn of your neighbors.

Last year was exciting and filled with wonderful surprises. Sharon and I hope that next year brings each of you as interesting, fun-filled and exciting year as we had in 1998.

Love,
Sharon and the guy she lives with.