I’ve been trying to find a walk behind plow for a couple of years  but most of them appear to have been snapped up by people who want them for yard sculpture  or to bolt them to the wall of their media room next to the commemorative Skoal miniature can collection. It turns out our elderly neighbor across the street had one. I offered her eighty dollars for it and she added another twenty. One of the advantages of being very old is you can shame people into giving you money.

But you can’t stop them from talking about you swinging like an enraged bonobo from your S&M themed jungle gym while wearing that nasty, nasty leopard print crotchless unitard, can you?

Anyway, it had a couple of mismatched rotting handles I had to remake, and once I had it disassembled, I discovered that it was a hybrid of two plows that were incompatible. It had an “Oliver” moldboard and a “Trucker” share and frog. It says something about the economic resources of an area in a certain period of history when folks were forced to cobble instruments of  necessary misery from scrap.

I got it to fit together with an angle grinder, and this afternoon, I’m going to take it out for a trial with Fred. I was putting linseed oil on the handles yesterday, which is apparently a kind of mustard to the mule. Fred started munching on them. I never knew they could eat goddamn trees like we eat pretzels. They’re a hybrid of the elephant and the rabbit.

I shooed him off before he did too much damage, and gave him some delicious beet pulp instead.

And here’s a picture of  one of several rooms I’ve been working on at the tenant shack.

I’m already starting to fill it with junk.