Microcosm II

      This time it began a couple of weeks ago.  I needed to fill ruts inside the combine shed with gravel.  I had a few other places that could use some gravel.  The GMC truck was sitting empty.  The G (John Deere tractor) hadn’t been moved for over a year.  I needed to mow where it sat in its aura of grass.

     I set out to knock over the first domino in a long line of dominoes that would eventually lead to me hauling some gravel from the pasture creek.  Step one, get the tractor started.  The battery came off the now-shedded combine and into the G. 

      It started right up.  Well, maybe my luck had changed.  It had a low rear tire, so I pulled it over and parked in front of the shop close to the air compressor.  I shut it off.    I dragged the air hose out and crawled under the tractor to access the tire valve.  I half expected to have to dodge some calcium chloride, but the inner tube was dry.

       (Calcium chloride is a water-based mixture used for ballast in tractor tires.  It probably weighs more than water and it stays low to the ground, gravitating to the bottom of the tire and inner tube, reducing chances of tractor rollover.  The solution is somewhat caustic to skin and especially eyes.  It is corrosive to metal.)

      A few minutes of air brought the left side of the tractor up to match the right side.  I crawled out from under the tractor.  Then I saw it.  A rip in the tire where the inner tube was starting to bulge through.

      That string of dominoes was going nowhere.  The rip was in the tread portion of the tire.  It wouldn’t take much at all to puncture that tube and I would be dead in the water.  Or more appropriately in the middle of the pasture or somewhere between pasture and farmyard.

      A new string of dominoes had to be erected.  I would have to get the farmhand off the tractor in order to get to the tire that has to be replaced. 

       There is a place in the south yard where I usually park the farmhand when I remove it.  Heavy cement blocks serve to hold up the farmhand when it is not on the tractor.  The site too was well endowed with tall grass. 

     I had to abandon the project for the time being.  I needed to get the ruts filled so I could park trucks in the shed.  One truck had seed wheat on it.

      I cleared off the bed of the 4X4, threw on a shovel and headed for the ditch just west of the mailbox where heavy rains deposit gravel when the water runs out of the field and across the road.  A couple of hours later, I had the ruts filled with some first rate gravel.  It was a hot day and I was tired after twice shoveling the gravel, onto the 4X4, and off the 4X4 into the ruts.  The G would have to wait.

      We move now to a couple of weeks later.  The G still sat in front of the shop.  I needed to get a few other things close to the shop.  The G would be out of service until further notice.  But I did need to move it.  And I should get that farmhand off of it.          

     Back to that string of dominoes.  In the intervening two weeks since I started the ill-fated project, the left side of the tractor slowly sank.  The tire was flat.  Oh well, air compressor is close at hand.

       I moved the heavy cement blocks that support the farmhand.  I took the Ford tractor and mower to the site and soon it looked all nice and neat.  With the golf cart, I hauled toolbox, bar, and jack, all things I would need to get the fork off the front of the farmhand and the farmhand off the tractor.

      Once again I drug air hose underneath the tractor and fastened the handy-dandy air chuck to the tractor tire.  After a minute or two, the tractor rose to near-normal level.  Then it was I heard an ominous hissing.  I crawled out from under the tractor.  The sound was easily located.  Through the afore-mentioned rip in the tire, I could see a pin holed, well, more like a nail hole in the inner tube.

      By widening the rip a little, I thought I could get a tire patch onto the tube, enough to hold while I got the farmhand off and the tractor parked where I could get to it to change the tire, if ever I could find a tire for it.  I would need to let the air out of the tire to get the patch to stick.

     Back under the tractor, I placed a jack to hold the tractor up while I repaired the tube.  I pulled the valve core out of the tube and let the air escape.  A little jerk with pliers opened the tire rip up enough to get glue onto the nail hole and then, after the glued dried appropriately, the patch.

     All went well.  But now the rip was even bigger and the tube might not take more than a revolution or two before it was punctured again.  I devised a boot, something like the mesh used to correct a hernia, used to plug a fissure in a tire.  I used an old inner tube folded over about five or six inches square.

     It wasn’t exactly laparoscopy, but it was similar.  With pliers and screwdriver, I force the folded inner tube through the rip into the tire between the tire and the tube.  For good measure, I cut a smaller chunk out of a plastic antifreeze jug and forced it in there, too.

     The slick plastic piece didn’t want to stay in place, so I finished off with . . . you guessed it, duct tape to stabilize the plastic patch.  Back under the tractor, I replace the valve core and once again hooked the air hose to the tire. 

      All was well.  No hissing.  I cleared away tools and jack and mounted the tractor.  It would not start.  I pulled spark plugs and cleaned them.  Fouled plugs are the usual reason the old thing won’t fire.  Plugs replace, I tried again.  Nothing!

     It was growing late.  I was tired.  Sometimes, if I let it set for a while, it will forget its abstinence and start right up.  Tomorrow.

      Tomorrow got here.  A look out the window showed the left side of the tractor much lower than the right side.  Oh well.  Maybe the tire would hold air long enough for me to complete my project.   After two hours of removing, cleaning, installing spark plugs, I had to give it up again.  The thing just would not start.

     A batch of expletives and hand gestures hurled at the G left it unmoved.  I pulled the spark plugs and left them out to give the cylinders a chance to dry out while I took a lunch break.  In my mind, I was writing the want ad:  “For sale, John Deere G with bad rear tire.  John Deere collector’s must-have.  With or without Farmhand.”

     I made one more try after the nooning.  I was interrupted by Jerrod and his son.  They came out to finish up some details of last January’s siding job.  Two lightning rod cables need to be fastened to the corners.  The big project was the roof flashings over back porch and west addition to the house. 

     They had installed them over the siding.  They should be behind the siding so that water running down the wall had nowhere to go but onto and off of the roof, no chance to get into the joint between roof and wall.  That took a couple of hours. It's all better now.  It looks much nicer with the flashing installed properly.

     After they left and I cleaned up, it was too late to try the G again.  If it started, it would be dark before I could get everything done.

      I gave it one more try the next day.  I got nothing, not one pop, no smoke, nothing.  Somewhere out of the fog of ancient memory, I remembered that when this happened in the past, new spark plugs made a difference. 

     It has a new magneto.  The spark plug wires check out ok.  It was getting fuel.  New plugs will be the next domino to try.  The new plugs won't say "Champion" on them if I can help it.

     Meanwhile, the G sits in front of the shop blocking the way for other equipment needing attention.  Blocks hold the left rear up so the weight of the tractor won’t cause other problems with the ancient tube and tire.

     And so it goes.   

         

Summer Microcosm

     That jar has to go downstairs.

      I had my morning chores all lined out.  The dirty work clothes were in the washing machine, now my clean work shirts and jeans, waiting to be hung online to dry.

      There wasn’t much rush since rain showers the past two evenings meant it would be afternoon at the earliest before I could go stir the dirt with tractor and plow.  Hanging out the clothes was first on my mental list.

     But wait, that jar needs to go downstairs.  Jar in hand, down I went.  Then I saw it.  Or rather, I didn’t see it.  Mouse bait was gone.  A check of other sites in the trap line revealed two of them had been visited overnight.

     Now I had to rebait the two traps.  That meant a trip to the garage to get bait.  On the way to the garage, I decided I might as well check out the cellar door, one of the most frequent rodent entrance points. 

     There were some places where the dirty rodents could be getting in.  First things first.  I grabbed the bait and returned to the basement to freshen the traps.  Back to the cellar door. 

     Some caulking had loosened its grip on the decaying wood.  A mouse could easily squeeze itself through between the sagging caulk and the old wood.  Back to the porch for caulk. 

     The open tube in the caulking gun had dried caulk in the spout.  Attempts to force the caulk out failed.  I grabbed a knife and sliced off the tapered part of the spout.  Then the dried caulk shot out like a cannonball and the fresh stuff threatened to splat on the floor.

     The old caulk in the cellar door joint was soon removed and replaced by fresh stuff.  There were a couple of holes that would need steel wool to fill the gap.  Back to the garage.  When I grabbed the doorknob, the same one I had just used to access the mouse bait, it didn’t exactly come off in my hand.  It did flop around loosely in the door.  It didn’t retract the bolt from the latch.

     I thought of garage door opener remotes near me, but I managed to get the knob to engage the bolt well enough to open the door.  No need to open the big door.  But, one more chore lined itself up in front of project number one, hanging up the laundry to dry. 

      Having crammed steel wool into possible moue ingresses, I returned to the caulking gun, which soon ran out of caulk before I had completed my task.  Another partially used tube of caulk proved more difficult when it came to dislodging the dried goop from the spout. 

     Eventually, I succeeded with the caulking gun and had closed several possible leaks in the doorway.  Now for the garage doorknob.  It shouldn’t be malfunctioning.  I removed it only a few months ago when I painted the door.  I lubricated and adjusted it when I replaced it.   It should be in good shape.

     Straining to see anything in the dark interior, I recalled that I needed a straight blade screwdriver to release the catch on the knob.  Back in the porch to get the screwdriver, I glanced at the washing machine.  Oh yes, I was going to hang out the laundry first thing.

      When I removed the knob, the escutcheon dangled loosely and the entire lock mechanism flopped around, held in place only by the bolt.  A couple more trips for a Philips screwdriver and a flashlight and I was able to see and reposition the escutcheon and tighten the screws to hold it in place.

      Now all I had to do before getting to my first chore, the laundry, was put away tools, steel wool, and caulking gun.  As I finished at the clothesline, I glanced at my watch—after nine o’clock.  No need to worry about getting an early start on the day’s work.

      And that is pretty much the way my summer has gone.