Razoo

Around 1979,Dad bought five acres next to his place. I don't have a clue why. It was just there and he was able to convince Mills Parker to lend a tad of the Arp State Bank's money to make it happen.

The land was so overgrown with briars, brambles, and sedge that a rabbit couldn't squirt thru it. It was mostly downhill and looked like a rented mule would balk at working it?

Dad had more time than most anything else so he set about "taming" his new wilderness. His "tools" consisted of a razor (Dad pronounced it "razoo") sharp machete, some diesel, and matches. He would "whittle" at the brush a bit at a time and pile it behind him. When he had "enough" in the pile, he would put diesel on the green foliage and torch it with a match. The pile never really wanted to burn, it just didn't have choice as Dad kept it stoked with the petroleum until it built to a roar.

A whittle here and a whittle there (all he had was time) and eventually Dad cleared that five acres till it looked like the porch front of a church.

In 2004 the ole ranch hand bought the most beautiful 15 acres (to be) on earth and set about to make it reach its potential. He was kinda short on machinery. Only had Dad's ole machete and a wore out pickup (plus some extra time).

Wasn't no use to fret over progress. Just picked a spot each day and "whittled" on it like Dad. Next trip, "whittled" a bit more. (Don't forget the burn part)

After a year or two, good fortune allowed the acquisition of a chain saw. Course, "good" is a relative term as the damn thing nearly killed its operator a time or two. (Not the saw's fault of course, just a near terminal case of dumass on the part of the operator?????)

Then came a tractor, a limb saw, and other accoutrement's designed to ease the toil of old fat men trying to tame what nature ordained.

I am quite sure my loyal reader thought I would never get to the point of this drivel, but here she 'tis: Yesterday the ranch inventory added a steroid enhanced weedeater with a saw blade attachment straight from hell. You just point that puppy at some brush and it melts into vaporous organic miasma. I'm talking about a munchin', crunchin', brush bustin', bulldozer of a monster machine.

Damn, Dad would have loved to drive this puppy an hour or two!