Too Much Time on Our Hands

 

We are allowed to burn, so I put a few little scrawny vines that I didn’t want in the compost heap in our fire pit late this afternoon.  Bud was catching up on the Civil War and working  on his banjo playing when he heard me piddling around.  Having very little confidence in my ability to perform simple tasks on my own, he rushed out to save the world, especially when he realized it involved fire.  My fire was extremely life-threatening, since my vines were very green and smoldering slowly.  He realized he had just the answer, retrieving this vintage blower from his shed, where he has his amateur blacksmith shop set up.  In a flash, he had save the day.  Those vines were toast, no longer threatening me!

I’m sure the guys among you would be interested to know, I found him a second and larger, and far superior blower at a flea market.  It was in better shape than this one.  Like an idiot, I suggested he pass the lesser blower on to a covetous brother-in-law.  Needless to say, he was outraged at such a ridiculous suggestion, didn’t.  As you can see, he desperately needed it today.