“There is a rototiller there you can use. It was your great grandpa’s.” I’ve probably heard about it between 10-15 times since we’ve given notice of our quest to the Midwest. The thought of using an antique rototiller for our garden sounds slightly pretentious and definitely like it will be more work than necessary but I’m always excited to roll up my sleeves and do something the way it was done by those before me. Besides, why waste a perfectly in-tact rototiller?
I’m sure by this point my husband could give a few reasons why. He was warned that it was a “bear.” We’ve been told it’s heavy and how much my grandpa hated it (but didn’t he hate everything?) It’s been a battle of strength and patience between Mr. Turner and this machine. This is probably for the best, as Mr. Turner tends to lose his patience all too easily. For whatever intention the universe holds, Mr. Turner has already replaced the fuel, cleaned the carbs, replaced the pull cord, which caused the recoil spring to eject so he’s wound the old spring again and again, purchased a new one, wound IT another 5 times and finally has gotten it installed. The latest on this evolving story is that it seems the fuel filter may need to be replaced. All minor repair for a rototiller that’s likely been around since the 80’s.
As my dad puts it, “They just don’t make them like that anymore.” As my husband labors over the ‘tiller I anxiously await to see the ground uprooted for the new garden. In a way, maybe the garden is a metaphor for our family. It was difficult to get us uprooted but now that we are we are happy. If our fruits and vegetables are half as happy as we are, we are in for a full harvest.