After saving Thursday morning's first post, I followed through with my plan to look for the right kind of gizmo to keep the tiller tire on its axle. I was a little worried that the part was no longer available, since this tiller is about 15 years old. I put on some shoes, grabbed my phone, and headed down Nanny's driveway to take a picture of the tiller's serial number so that I could find the right part.
Nanny spied me coming down the driveway and nailed me as I passed the back porch. She and my sister-in-law were about to go to Walmart, did I need anything, and she hated for me to work out in the heat with nobody on the premises in case I got too hot and fell out.
I said, "No, I don't need anything. And don't worry, I didn't come to work, I just came to take a picture of the serial number on the tiller." To prove I was telling the truth, I waved my phone at her, and said, "See? I'm not even wearing my gardening apron."
Mercifully, my sister-in-law drove up about that time and distracted Nanny. While she was helping Nanny climb into her lifted Jeep (she keeps a step-ladder in the back for just this purpose), I high-tailed it to the shed, snapped the picture, and came home to find the part.
Well, guess what? The "official" gizmo that keeps the tiller tire on its axle is a bolt and a lock nut. The bolts are available, but the lock nut has been discontinued. I was, like. . . WTF? Who discontinues the nut without discontinuing the bolt?
Anyway, the official part was essentially the same fix that The Husband had come up with (except we didn't have a lock nut on hand). We can go to the local hardware store for a lock nut (and a handful of spares). Crisis averted.
As soon as The Sister-in-Law rolled out with Nanny, I went back to the garden and started tilling up the purple hull pea rows. I'd finished the tilling and was about to mark the rows when Nanny got back home from Walmart. In nothing flat, she changed clothes and came out to the garden with the peas we intended to plant. "Do you want me to start dropping these seeds?"
I wanted to say, "No, get your ass back in the house and leave me alone." Instead, I explained that we weren't ready to plant, and I got a hoe and started dragging the trench for the first row. This activity never fails to bring back the memory of Pop-Pop standing at the end of a row, saying, "Yer row's crooked," but then adding, "Well, you c'n plant more on a crooked row."
It was coming. I knew it. I had turned around and was dragging the trench for the next row when Nanny hollered, "Your first row is bowed. Come look."
I said, "I don't care. We can plant more on a crooked row."
But nothing doing her until I re-did that first row.
By the time we got the 4 rows of peas planted, I wanted to . . . .
But that's illegal everywhere.
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