Rusty Eye-Sores.


The afternoon had nearly ended … the last few rays of daylight were slowly fading into the early evening winter dusk … the day was quickly becoming chilly … I looked out my kitchen window while doing the last few dishes from the dinner preparation and found  Abby and Lyla, our second daughter (6) bent over a rusty, old red snowblower.

Now, you have to undersatnd something.
My husband – and yes I do love him dearly – collects weird things.

Like snow blowers. That don’t work.

Lawnmowers. That don’t work.

Motorcycles. That don’t work.


{Are you seeing a pattern here?}

I have complained many, many times about how messy his barn is … filled with motors of all kinds, ‘things’ strewn about in a crazy mess, covered in oil and grease, mechanical beings rusted away and waiting for their deliverance. You see, my very patient husband is extremely talented at restarting what was once dead. Mechanically speaking. I tell the girls all the time “Give it to daddy … daddy can fix anything.” And he usually, honestly, can.


But this does mean our barn looks like a burial ground for the Eye-Sore Land of Deserted tractor parts.

On this somewhat mild November afternoon, he must have pulled it out from the barn to fix it, quickly attracting the attention of our energetic-curious daughter. I think they must have spent at least over an hour together, working on this messy contraption.

Just watching the two of them together, puttering away with dirty mittens and grease stained clothes, made me so happy inside. I put the kettle on to boil some water for a special treat for them and slipped on some outdoor shoes and stole away to see what they were up to …


“Show mommy how you work with a ratchet,” I heard Abby say. Pride was in his voice. Lyla quickly and easily grabbed the needed tool and started … um, doing whatever it is that a ratchet does (obviously, I have no clue).


Then, it was Lyla’s turn to be proud …



Running back to the house, I quickly filled some mugs with steaming hot chocolate and marshmallows, returning to their work station with their treats in hand …


A lesson was taught that afternoon.  I learned I really shouldn’t complain about the 25 rusty snowblowers {that don’t work – yet} or the antique lawn mower-press-type things that take up 50% of our barn floor. I know he can fix them. And I know he often just gives them to a family that may be needing a snowblower for their long driveway during our very-snowy winters.


And if it means an afternoon spent tinkering away with his daughter …


teaching her a little mechanical skill and investing in her life ….



those eye-sore rusty ol’ snowblowers are worth every square inch they take up in our precious barn.



P.S. This snow blower is now for sale. It’s purring like a kitten … you will see it at the end of our driveway tomorrow with a for-sale sign. I told you he can fix anything.


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November 22, 2012 - 10:44 pm

Grandma Gerr Wonderful! Love it! x

November 21, 2012 - 9:55 am

Marilyn Haner How sweet.So reminds me of Larry with the girls when they were small. That’s why Holly and Dawn are so independant and determined to try anything and nothing is impossible in thier mind. I have a picture of Holly standing by daddy watching how to fix the lawnmower as he continued to explain it when she was no less than 3 years Smells and memories of those time are a stay in their conciousness forever. Very important for building life bridges. Love it. Brought tears and memories to my heart.

November 21, 2012 - 9:42 am

Devon Oh Gillian, what a heart felt moment in time! Wonderfully beautiful lessons we learn (and photo’s you take!), I especially love this blog!! 🙂

November 21, 2012 - 12:23 am

Chris Mccoy times like that will never ever be forgotten! And for Lyla, the smell of grease, will forever remind her of her daddy! 🙂

November 20, 2012 - 11:48 pm

Sherri Smith LOVE!!!! The story and the colours touch my heart. xo

November 20, 2012 - 11:46 pm

Jody What a beautiful story Gillian. It’s nice to appreciate time and knowledge we don’t expect. Thanks for sharing.