My brakes went and my mower broke this week. I’m not mechanically inclined.
I drove the car to a mechanic two miles from Aerie and asked him to check it out. He said it was a full brake job from calipers to pads, but he could do it the next day, and while his rates were higher than I was hoping to dish out for something I can’t even see (though I could hear them well enough), they were still lower than anyone else I called to compare. And I know Scott; he’s reliable, dependable, and has a reputation for being very fair. Plus I can walk home from there past cows and sometimes even turkeys.
While I was there the first of those two very recent days, I asked him about small engine repair since the two shops I’ve used in the past have since closed, and my own attempts to fix the engine did not pan out, despite watching several YouTube videos (though admittedly, one thing lead to another and I spent a few hours watching Taylor Swift songs and Family Feud clips).
So I asked, and Scott recommended Kelly Slaughter in the village. Cool.
I spent the better part of the past thirty years working in the city of Virginia Beach with its half a million residents. But throughout my adult life, I’ve always managed to live where I knew everyone and people knew me. In Massachusetts it was a fine 100-year-old house in a small hamlet on a reservoir. In Pennsylvania it was a farmhouse three centuries old with push out lead windows and farms everywhere. Here at Aerie, if I don’t know someone in town, they certainly know my son. There is something safe in this life, something reliable. I love traveling, headed out to Ireland, Prague, the Gulf Coast of Florida or the hills of western New York, but I know I can come home and settle right back into life on the bay.
I couldn’t find Kelly listed so I stopped at a shop known as “The Man Cave,” with deep hallways and rooms, alcoves, and endless piles of yard sale type items. This is the place where you can find virtually anything, but you have to climb and sift, move aside, and dust off. Fred is a man of about eighty and he sat in the front room in his chair and welcomed me to his world.
“Hey Fred. I need a mower. I’m going to find Kelly Slaughter to fix mine, but I saw the one out front and wonder how much it is?”
“Kelly! Kelly and I been close friends since we were young. I’m sorry to tell you but he’s not doing well. Thirty bucks and it’ll start right up. Already filled with gas.” This all in one sentence. Fred and I talked a bit. I told him I had to head to 711 to get money from the ATM and he gave me an envelope and said, “Well, I’m leaving so just put the money in here and slide it through the door next time you get a chance.”
I loaded the mower (which did start right up) and told him I’d have paid someone twice that to mow the property just once, so this is a great deal. “You’ll get a few seasons out of this anyway,” he assured me. “711 huh? That puts me in mind for a few slices of pizza. I might stop there myself.”
I took the money out of the ATM and bought Fred a few slices of pizza and paid him for the mower, went home and cut the grass after a month of outrageous growth.
Then back to Scott’s to drop off the car.
“I felt a slight shimmy earlier when I accelerated,” he said.
“Yes,” I answered, not feeling the need to expand. Scott’s good.
“I have transmission flutter stuff; should get rid of that. Car will be ready tomorrow about lunch.”
On the way home I walked by a ranch with close to a hundred head of cattle. It’s one of my favorite properties around here, and I stopped and talked to the cows a while. An eagle—very late for his trip north before all the osprey return and reclaim their nests—settled in the yellow field for a rest then headed out toward the river.
The next day at lunch I picked up the car and went to 711 to fill up with gas, where I ran into Wayne. “I hear Fred sold you a mower.”
“He did, and I already mowed the entire property, including the field and the northern yard.”
“Hell, Bob, you would’ve had to pay someone twice that at least just to mow it once.”
“Exactly.”
Bubba came out of the store headed to his new job in the next county. “How’s that new mower Fred sold you?”
“Good. I still need to get the old one fixed though.”
“You try Kelly Slaughter? I used to see him parked at the end of his driveway waiting for the mail each day. Haven’t in a bit though.”
“Kelly’s not well anymore and Fred said most likely not going to improve.”
“Oh too bad. I always liked Kelly. There’s a shop in Mathews. Another in White Stone. Or you can watch a few videos and do it yourself.”
I went home and put some old tomatoes out for the fox and filled the birdbaths for the deer. Then I decided they are right; I can absolutely fix the mower myself. So I sat once more at my desk and scanned YouTube for mower-repair videos. Turns out there are even videos for my specific brand and model.
I must have spent an hour watching. You know, I wasn’t crazy about Steve Harvey as host at first, but he grew on me, and I like how he keeps the show moving. And Taylor, well, I like “All Too Well,” of course; I mean, who doesn’t. But that one line from “Anti-Hero” keeps cycling in my mind: “Hi. It’s me. I’m the problem it’s me.”