June 3, 2011 in Wordsmoker Short Fiction
So. I’ve got three cords of firewood that have been seasoning for about a year. They are still in long tree lengths, piled like jack straws in the yard behind the barn. I need to cut the whole business down into chunks that I can split and stack before the dark and cold really sets in. I went out to the barn to fetch ‘Ol Jen (my Stihl, .024 chainsaw) to expedite the proceedings. Unfortunately, she was not willing, and as much as I wheedled, diddled, and choked her, she simply would not start. Nothing to it but take her over to Ray’s Redeemed and Repaired Small Engine Shop for a proper tune up.
Ray’s shop is on Route 111 in Biddeford, Maine. It’s a tidy operation; the small shop and sales office tucked up against the family home, a small selection of new and reconditioned equipment on display in the parking lot; lawnmowers in the summer, snow throwers in the fall. The thing that distinguishes Ray’s Redeemed and Repaired from other small engine repair shops, however, is that there are only a few pieces of machinery out front, and everything is orderly and swept, and generally minded over. Read the rest of this entry →