There is no work that Red does not seem to want to do. Today he hopped up on Florence Walrath’s mower at the New Bedlam Farm after my friend Ben Osterhaudt had it repaired. Florence was said to have run the old mower into one of the barns and the front was broken and the blades damaged. I was assured by every men who came bye that it could never be repaired, and was not worth the money it would take to fix it. I am used to being underestimated by country men, who assume anyone from an other place can barely drive a car. I’ve lived on a farm for nearly 10 years, lived through house and barn restorations, tractors and many kinds of animal, hay and water crises. At least three different people assured me we would never get it started or running.
But they did not know me, and they do not know Ben Osterhaudt, who is the Prince of all restorations and repairs. I am almost psychotically willful – this mower was going to run – and Ben is gifted. I cannot imagine living up here without Ben, who restored my barns, much of my house and a million things that broke, leaked, or fell off the roof. Ben and his friend had the old mower running in one day, and I was riding it this morning. In a way, the mower is a powerful symbol for me of this move. On Bedlam Farm, I could never mow my own lawn. Too big, hilly, time-consuming. On the New Bedlam Farm, I can. And I will.
This is the kind of self-determination I want. A place Maria and I can care for, know well, fix up. I love this mower. I cannot wait to get on a big sun hat. I am a writer, not a farmer, yet it is time for me to live like a farmer as well as a writer. That’s the life of the new writer.
When the engine starts, Red goes and sits under my car and waits till I’m done. As I roared across the driveway spewing rocks, Ben turned to Maria and said, “hmmm, maybe we should plexiglass the windows.” I’ve figured out how to lower the thing and work the clutch. I love it. I am grateful for my new mower and the chance to ride it around our new home.
Florence Walrath mowed her own lawn well into her 90’s. I can do it, too.
