The Little Mower That Could

Like most men, Cody is a man of projects. 
He dreams them up. 
Then starts them. 
Then usually finishes them. 
Then moves on to the next.

But when he told me he found a lawn mower in one of the barns at BSG, I had reservations. I couldn't remember a spare lawn mower in any barn, but if you read a previous blog, you remember that there are many things in BSG inventory that may not be accounted for. 

Then I remembered the lawn mower. 
The orange lawn mower. 
And the tenant that rented a house off of Momma and Dad. 
And how he would drive that junker orange mower to town for necessities. Like alcohol. 
Because he had lost his license for certain reasons. Like alcohol. 
And years ago he left. Without his lawn mower. 
And...it stayed.  

Cody was pretty excited about this restoration project. In fact, Sunday afternoon he was completely out of sight. Mainly because I was cleaning out flower beds, but also because he wanted to salvage this beast. 

Yep. This bird-poop-covered, hoodless, beltless, oil-less, and other things-less beast. It did have a string. It was holding on the blade deck. It also housed many nests. Nice little mouse resort. 

I tried to talk Cody out of taking on this project. The mower was known around Clay Township by many because of the fellow who brought it to town. He held up traffic more consistently than the Amish and he swerved more than George Jones. But he sure didn't sing like Jones; more of a slur. 

But one of the things I adore about Cody is his determination. Nothing I could have said (about my reputation, his reputation, the diseases you can get from excessive bird poop exposure) was going to change his mind. 
Darn. 

The next evening I was packing a suitcase for work when I heard the neighbor dog, Liberty, going nuts. 

I went to the front door just in time to see this beauty rig pull up in front of my house. 

My jaw dropped. 

He really did it. 
(Do you see the string?)

And if you look closely, you'll see Cody chatting with my neighbor, Rick, who welcomed him to the Greens Fork Lawn-Mowing Club by giving him a cold Natural Light for the task at hand. 
Cheers to good neighbors. 

Cody came back across the road and stood behind the trailer. 
"You ready to to hear this hog purr?!"
If there was one nearby, I would have crawled under a rock. 
"Cody!" I yelled from the front porch, trying to advise, jaw closed. "You cannot call that thing your "hog" - I live in a town with a biker bar. My neighbors all have motorcycles. This is a spark plug with a orange pop can wrapped around it!!"
I think I offended him. 
I felt bad. 
I encouraged him to "fire up his hog" and unload it...

Listen to that baby purr...

For the next hour Cody was in man heaven. 

Drinking free, cheap beer. 

Mowing a little piece of green land that he doesn't have to pay taxes on. 

All on a piece of equipment he brought back to life with his own two, dirty hands. 

He wasn't a big fan of my photo documentation 

I learned a few things Monday evening from this orange drunk-man-hauler turned 

second-life Husqvarna:

1. Never underestimate the motivation, determination or 

work speed of a man on a mission if it involves tools.

2. A little supportive faith goes a long way. 

3. Everyone deserves a second chance.

4. Crap will buff out, always does. 

Literally.