Battling the brush hog, a yearly event

The day of mishaps really started out like any other day, but let me tell you, it was anything but.

In the spring or early summer, Bob always takes the snow blade off his tractor and puts on his brush hog. Well, this turned out to be that day.

Whenever he mentions brush hog, I always shudder. That is invariably when he says to me, "I'll need you to help me."

I am about as helpful as a newborn babe, and he knows it, but he has no choice. I am all he has.

I could tell already that this was not going to be a good day. So, I looked around for some gloves to wear (anything to prolong going out to the shed), but it was to no avail.

I trudged out to the shed knowing, just like every previous year, that I would not be of any assistance to him. How do I know? Most of the time, things change, but not when I am (Lord help me) going out to help with the brush hog.

Bob always gives me a lecture on how one just can't be too careful.

"Don't get too close to the brush hog, or the tractor, and 'specially keep your feet out of the way."

I always have the same job. You would think I would have mastered this feat by now, after so many years, but alas, I haven't. What is this job? Very simple.

Bob lifts up the brush hog, and I must get the steel ball positioned, and in the shake of a lamb's tail, put the big bolt or whatever it is called through the ball and put the pin through it.

I positioned myself between the tractor and the brush hog, making sure my feet were not in the way. Bob started the tractor and began to lift the brush hog, but I thought when he lifted it, it would go straight up. Instead, it began to angle toward the tractor just where my knee was.

It made contact with my leg, and I yelled, "Let it down, let it down!" at the top of my lungs.

As fast as you can say Tom Mix, he let it down. It would have crunched my leg between the tractor and the brush hog.

Bob had a horrible look on his face. I am sure he thought it had hit my knee replacement, but I said "No, it hit the side of my leg, and I ended up with a nice bruise."

I stood there blubbering while he managed to get it done all by himself. This little farce has played out for many a moon, and if we are still here at Ironquill next year, I am sure it will take place again.

And now, for the second mishap of the day. Bob took off for the woods to mow some trails with his brush hog, and I began my day just thanking the Lord that I still had a leg and didn't hurt my knee replacement.

Supper time came, and I could see Bob coming back to the house. When he arrived, his face was all bloody, and I said, "You look like you have been in a fight, and that you got the worst end of the fight."

He gave me a very glaring look and said "That isn't funny."

"Well, what happened?"

"I was driving along mowing a trail when a big tree branch came up and hit me in the mouth. I am just lucky it didn't knock out my front tooth."

His mouth and lip were really bleeding, and he had a whale of a fat lip.

But, he said, "I guess I showed that branch. I pulverized it with my brush hog. It will never hit me again."

After getting cleaned up and putting a bandage on the worst part, Bob could hardly eat his supper. He went to bed early.

Today he decided it would be better to mow the grass than mow trails with his brush hog.