When Everything on Wheels Stops: Everyday Magic, Day 1,137
If it's on wheels at our place, it's in trouble. At least that's the consensus of a SUV, a compact car, an early 1960s tractor, an old Ford pick-up truck, and a self-propelled mower.
What does it mean, I ask myself and Ken.
"I think it means we need to put a lot more effort into moving ahead," Ken said.
"I think it means we might need to slow down and stay put a little," I said.
It also means there are hungry critters with strange appetites and bouts of big inertia.
My Honda CRV? A squirrel chomped delightedly on the gas line.
Ken's Honda Fit? Pack rats. Many of them who find this flavor of car particularly delicious.
The lawn mower? A part that broke and isn't made anymore.
The Massey Ferguson tractor? Ailments of age and who knows what else. (I've come to understand that farming is spending two-thirds or more of your time repairing equipment.)
A 1992 Ford pick-up truck? Pack rats again!
Things halted in dramatic fashion a few weeks ago when we started noticing a telling smell of gas around my card, quickly translated by the mechanic into, "Do not drive that vehicle!" while the a.c. stopped on Ken's 300,000+ mile Honda Fit (although he had been chatting it up for years to start again when it died repeatedly). Meanwhile, the lawn has been growing up to our ankles and now up to our knees in places due to the much-needed rain.
To be honest, I don't know what it means, only that we needed to map out how to get wheels turning. Into the shop went Ken's car for other repairs although there's still the AWOL a.c. and other problems no mechanic has been able to fix. Into the shop went my car. Out of my bank account went a lot of money, but it couldn't be helped. Days reeled off with me hardly leaving the house because my car was in the shop or rushing around the countryside with Ken, who does occupational therapy home health services.
After emailing back and forth with the mower manufacturer, Ken got a surprise email about how they found the parts needed and would send it to him, free of charge. Which they did, and a few days ago, Ken and Daniel actually fixed the mower.
Meanwhile, we look for a Honda Fit replacement car and make plans on all the all the wheeled ones. Ken watches a lot of videos on how to fix or jolly along the farm truck and tractor.
It's a fast-moving world, life, highway of time, but it's also this: sometimes everything stops.
So I sit tight (or loose) and watch, listen to, connect with what we can only discern in doses of semi-stillness. Like last night, thunder rolling its wheels over this land, the spokes of the ceiling fan turning in a blur, the refrigerator humming its circular song. What is there to fix? Everything. Nothing. What's turning fast? Everything. Nothing.
Life comes at us point blank, Ken often reminds me, but it also hits its own pause button at times. Savor it, I remind myself.
This piece really resonated with me—we've got a similar graveyard of broken wheels in our yard, and I swear the pack rats around here have a sixth sense for finding the one hose or wire that'll ground a vehicle for weeks. Your line about "farming is spending two-thirds of your time repairing equipment" hit especially hard; my dad says the same thing about his old tractor, and I'm starting to think it's just the universe's way of teaching patience. Speaking of things that keep you moving forward in small daily doses, I've been doing the krillion unlimited game each morning—it's a quick trivia thing that gives me that tiny sense of accomplishment before I face whatever's broken next. Maybe the…