The Ax Man Cometh

I've been fighting a few stumps this week. Well, to be honest, I have fought them longer than that. The difference this week is that I finally was fed up and decided to be done with the stumps. They looked innocent enough. Just a few shrubs that should have taken a short amount of time to dig up with a shovel and be done with it.

The stumps had other ideas.

I employed the services of a handy-dandy 4-wheel drive pickup to finally drag one from his perch - kicking and screaming the whole time. It was ugly and half of my wife's flower bed came with it. Fortunately, the bed was not currently in use - after all, there were two bothersome stumps sitting where the new plants are to reside. I laughed in maniacal triumph at my victory over stump #1 and then noticed the mess that was caused. A careful investigation of stump # 2 revealed that a similar plan of attack was probably going to create the need for a licensed plumber to reset my sewer line and probably cause my poor wife to call the men in white coats to come and carry me to a place a little more fitting for a deranged conquistador of stumps.

Not that I could blame her.

So, I changed course and used some of my equipment - namely an ax-ish tool that has seen better days. The blade of the tool has roughly the same sharpness of a baseball bat or maybe a club...you know...like Captain Caveman.

That was never going to work. And so it was going to be up to that ol' Southern standby...the neighbor.

I am blessed with an outstanding neighbor, the kind that people used to have in the days before they wrote blogs or watched American Idol or Twittered or whatever we do these days instead of talk to those people that we see every day but don't really know. A quick visit across the street, some laughs over "are you still fightin' that silly stump?" and some small talk, I reemerged at home with a formidable ax...well, almost. In reality, the fifth or sixth whack and the stump was laughing again. The poor ax was reduced to a whimpering mass with a severed head. The blow snapped the handle clean in two.

My wife suggested that I set aside the brute force in favor of chemical warfare. For once, I agreed with her. So off to the neighborhood hardware store and when I returned I was well armed with a bottle of "stump-be-dead" and a new ax handle - as if I knew something about replacing an ax handle. Some friendly advice from the guy at the hardware store and a man actually reading directions can gel to overcome many obstacles and in a matter of time the ax was enjoying a new golden age - a glory better than before the altercation with the stump. Amazing.

The good news of the day? My neighbor says that he now owns an ax with a new handle for the first time ever. The stump is now gurgling and hacking out in the front yard. My sons got to see dad make something that was wrong be made right again. I got to accomplish something that I had never before attempted and very soon, my wife will have a new and improved flower bed in front of the house. And best of all, that stump will be dead. I may let one of the kids pull it up, just to add insult to injury.

And all of that without the guys in the white coats getting called out to the house...at least I don't think they will...