A long, long time ago, in a province far, far away, lived a man my wife calls 'Dad'. His name was Roy, and he was a very handy fellow. He could frame a house, build all kinds of decorative and practical things for the house and yard, and he had a huge garage full of tools, of which he was justifiably proud.
In that garage hung a sign with instructions for people who might be there to work on their cars, or who otherwise needed to use those tools. The sign read as follows:
1. Glen is not allowed to touch any tools.
2. If you need Glen to get you a tool, see Rule #1.
These rules were put in place after I set a new world record by breaking four screwdrivers and a hammer in the span of two days. Just like people who kill every plant they touch, or politicians who blow every dime of taxpayer money they can find, I was a menace to the tool community. Tables saws had built-in warning sirens that went off if I approached within ten feet. Wrenches would grease themselves to keep me from grasping them. It was a nightmare.
Fast forward to today, and here I am reading books on how to build things on a farm or homestead. I already built a chicken coop, two chicken tractors and a pigpen in the past couple of years; now, it's time to get serious. We've got big plans for this farm, and it's going to require me to not only learn to use the tools, but actually buy my own instead of using my son's collection.
It's crazy where life will take us sometimes. But Dannielle and I have finally got a grasp on what we want to do with this place and how we can make it succeed. I'm not going to spill any beans just yet, although beans will be involved somewhere down the line. So will a wider variety of animals; pigs, chickens and bunnies are just the start.
It's going to be a wild ride; I can't wait to see how it goes.
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