If things keep going the same way, tiller repair may end up being one of my specialties.

I have an old Troybilt that a friend gave me some time ago. The tiller had been parked in a ramshackle building for some period of years, left to its own devices. A mouse had found a home under the belt cover and all of the moving parts were in bad need of oil, but it was mostly there.

Since I know that brand to be a pretty good one, I hardly balked recently when I saw it needed new belts and a few springs and adjustments. I knew it was time to call up my local small engine specialist. Like a real trooper, he was there in a little while, applying belts and turning bolts like he knew what he was doing. After putting on the new belts, we noticed that the reverse belt was too tight, so it was back to the store for a longer one. After that, everything seemed to be working pretty well, at least until I got into the garden.

After chopping down a few weeks of grass and weeds in between the rows, I noticed that the tines had started slipping. After removing the belt cover, I saw black rubber residue, a sure sign of a slipping belt. After further investigating, I figured out that both of the belts that were on the tiller originally were the wrong size.

Evidently, some do-it-your-selfer in the past had applied his own special touch to the mix.

Even so, having less than $100 in a good rear-tine tiller is still more than reasonable.

Since I placed my garden right beside the driveway, I get to look in on it every time I go home and every time I leave. Since I go home for lunch most days, that ends up being several times a day.

I’ve even got my hammock strung under the now-loaded apple tree nearby, so I can see the garden as I swing in relaxed bliss.

So far, I have spent a total of less than five minutes there this year, but I do intend to improve that number.

Of course, I also intend to catch more fish this year, take out my bass boat, build a building and save the world, but not necessarily in that order.

With a newspaper assignment on tap for Saturday and a few yard sales around the county to visit with my family, I got a late start in working on the garden. Even so, I managed to spend a couple of hours there before it was time to mow the grass.

Since I hadn’t trimmed the bank around the house in a few weeks, it was a battle with my old push mower from the get-go. Not to mention the fact that I traded off both of my string trimmers and now find myself doing without. My mother once warned that I would go off somewhere and trade off my clothes and come home naked if I thought I could come out ahead. One of the trimmers was too small and the other was too heavy. Maybe I’ll luck out like Goldilocks and find one that’s just right this time. Then again, any string trimmer has one major fault — you have to use it.

As for the garden, I’ve been feeling a sense of pride lately, with my potatoes, corn and tomatoes apparently coming on strong. The funny part is, other than sticking a few plants and seeds in the ground, my part of the process has been minimal. The good Lord and the good earth have done the rest, but I’m taking most of the credit anyway. I’ve even developed a garden comparison syndrome. I look at all the gardens I pass to see if they are growing better than mine or if they are better tended. “They have fewer weeds, but my potatoes are hilled up better,”

I recently noted. Sometimes the remarks are even more disparaging, like, “Are those little tomato plants there in those weeds?”

With the corn and weeds currently competing for growth in the top part of my little garden, I need not get too high minded. But I am going to get to those weeds just as soon as I get a new belt put on the tiller. Really I am.

I often wonder how other people have time to do all the things they want and need to do and still have time to sit on the porch. My father told me recently that he wouldn’t want to live somewhere that he couldn’t sit and watch the cars go by once in a while. It must be an older person thing. I told him that I would rather have a porch where I could look out and never see anyone. I also pointed out that every time I sit on the porch — when I can get on the porch, that is — I always end up thinking of all the things I should be doing instead. The only time that doesn’t hold true is when I take a short break from doing something to sip some cold ice water.

He told me that I should learn to appreciate life as it happens, rather than waste time thinking about what’s going to happen.

I suppose once you live 70-something years, you’re more interested in thinking about what you’ve already done than in thinking about what you could or should be doing. I can’t imagine spending all my time reminiscing any more than I can imagine being entertained by watching cars go by.

Perhaps the day will come when I sit on my porch and watch the sun trail across the sky and cars whiz by on the road, but I don’t see it happening any time soon. I’ve got way too much work to do and way too little time to do it.

Most working people have either time or money, but never both simultaneously. I guess aging is much the same. Most young people have energy but few skills; but by the time they’ve lived long enough to earn both, they lack the energy, motivation and health to do anything with them.

Isn’t that the paradox of life? The longer I live, the smarter my parents look. I had to live most of these years just to be able to understand that I didn’t know everything like I thought I did. “A man that knows everything never learns anything,” Daddy told me once. Now that makes sense.

Get more tongue in cheek commentary this week's issue of the Alleghany News!

Email: allnews@ls.net