Magic Words

Over the weekend, when the family was lingering around Nanny's table, my son asked me if he could borrow the little black tiller to work on his flower beds.  I told him, "Sure."

Nanny said he ought to try to crank it before he loaded it, just to make sure it still worked.  "It's a booger to crank," she said.

I told him not to give up after the first few cranks.  "Sometimes, there are some magic words you have to say to it before it'll start."

Pop-Pop chuckled.  He's heard the incantation a few times.

"I bet I know a few of those words," my son said, grinning. 

Nanny said she wasn't convinced that the magic words actually worked.  "I've said a few 'magic words' to it, myself," she confessed.

We all laughed.  We've heard Nanny's "dad-gums" and "shoots" and "spits." We didn't think the tiller would have paid much attention to them.

"My magic word vocabulary might be a little bigger than yours, Nanny," my son said.

After lunch, we went outside to find the tiller.  It wasn't in Pop-Pop's shed as I had thought, but I found it in my shed.  I dragged it out and took it to Nanny's.  Josh put some gas in it and prepared to crank it.  I showed him how he had to flip this switch, and slide that lever, and push that turkey-timer button on the side.  "If it cranks," I told him, "run it out there and loosen up a row for some onions." 

He gave the cord a good yank, and another, and another, and another.  He adjusted the choke, and yanked a few more times.  "You sorry son of a - "

"HEY!" I said, "Not yet!  You've started the chant too soon!" 

He fired off another round of magic words, and yanked the cord again.  The tiller fired right on up.

"Nah," my son said, adjusting the choke.  "You haven't been starting it soon enough!"  He revved up the motor.  "Whatcha want plowed?"