|Me and Pappaw doing a little farming in the early 1980's.|
|Before we began the remodel|
The workshop has a huge sliding door on the both front and back. On warm spring days, when I got off the school bus, Pappaw would be sitting in that door way. From his chair he enjoyed the westerly breeze as he balanced an ever present cigarette among his stubbed fingers. Years of farm machinery repair, and one childhood wood splitting accident, had left him with only three intact fingers. The rest had been amputated at varying lengths. He came for a generation that did not over use the term "disability", they only knew of challenges that must be over come to get a days work done. I wish I could bottle up the work ethic and morality of his generation. Couldn't we all use a dose of that?
As time passed, so did my Pappaw and sweet Granny. His beloved tractor shop fell into disrepair, the neatly organized bolt bins lost order, the paint faded, the siding rotted and the windows cracked. The entire family used the store half for the storage of "stuff" that all should have gone straight to Goodwill. The workshop became a catch all for tools and yard equipment. It was a nightmare conglomeration and borderline worthy of the next episode of Hoarders! Of all the work we have done thus far to restore this farm, the task of cleaning out the old tractor store was the most daunting.
|The old store sign|
We began by hauling off to the dump anything that could not be recycled or useful to anyone else. That was about half a dozen truck loads. All the totes of holiday decorations made the trek to our house and up to the third floor attic. There were literally hundreds of pounds of hardware. Figuring someone could use some of the various sized pieces, I called up another local farmer and expert tinkerer. Big Everette, as we call him, came right over and went to work sorting through the metal madness. As he hauled off several five gallon buckets of nuts, bolts and assorted goodies, I don't know who was happier, me or him!
|Now thats how to dress up overalls, a pink bandana.|
I saved a few of every size of anything that looked remotely useful, this kept my daddy happy. Throughout the entire cleaning out process he was over my shoulder chanting, "ya'll gonna need that one day". I reassured him time and again that if we did need it, and it happened to be a part we had scrapped or given away, I would gladly drive to Home Depot and get a new one. I'm all about being prepared and having items on hand, but I feel certain no emergency will ever arise if we don't have a carburetor for a 1982 model Russian made tractor on hand. A side note, the Belerus tractors my Pappaw sold were Tennessee orange, gotta love that ;-).
Once we got every thing cleared out the fun part began. What I consider fun, is my husbands idea of torture. When we got married he had four requests, 1. He never had to rake leaves 2. He never had to paint 3. He never had to do any form of carpentry and finally the most important request, 4. We never run out of ketchup. So, abiding by our unwritten pre-nump, Allen was out for the remainder of the remodel. Thank the good Lord for good neighbors! Enter stage right...Dwayne, our neighbor and hobby carpenter.
|Two sides done!|
|Inside the Farm Store|
|The old sickle|
|Allen replacing the sign after I painted it|