Now there’s a statement with ever increasing meaning and a frequency that has become a source of a few laughs and could account for some embarrassment for some of us, if we are so inclined. Not in my case, though. I can fall down on the job with the best of you.
Last month I was minding my own business driving through a field of 4-6 foot high grass, weeds, saplings, etc. with two clients who has purchased this 48 acre undeveloped property in order to build a new private school. There was trace evidence of a farm road, so I put the Blazer into 4 wheel drive and we started to explore the property.
Nothing had been planted this year as the land had been contracted for by the school, but the old barely visible tractor path led us toward a grove of trees at the bottom of a slight incline. Farmland is easily crossed, even with the weeds as high as these were. I stopped the car about twenty feet in front of the grove of trees and told the ladies to wait in the car as I wanted to explore whether or not there was a running stream at the end of the slope, and if so, was it okay to cross it with the car.
Now this verification of the unknown was a practical move as I have a reputation for getting vehicles stuck in places I should know better about.
Before we started on the pond at the rear of our property, every year for seven years as the weather heated up in early July, I would take the tractor and try and cut down the weeds at the edge of the area where the six or seven springs were. That area was marshy, but tended to get a little drier in the summer time. I was reasonable intelligent back then and have not improved with age.
Every year I got the tractor stuck, and every year I took the truck down and pulled myself out just as my neighbor was coming down his driveway, close to my stuck tractor-with-the-chain-attached-to-the-truck truck. Dave would stop, smile, and call over "Do you need any help?" and I’d reply, smiling, that it all was under control.
Well, it was under control until July 1982 when the tractor, stuck up to the bottom of the mower deck, wouldn’t budge, and the 4 WD Jeep truck was also sunk to the floorboards. With all engines running and the wheels churning the mud everywhere, I connected the 4WD Jeep Wagoneer to the front of the mud-sucked truck. It also sank in what was, until then, terra firma.
Naturally Dave came down the drive as though he had rehearsed the moment. No stopping this year: he came back two minutes later with his farm tractor with wheels as tall as my 6’3", hooked up to the front of the Wagoneer, and easily pulled all three of my mud-caked vehicles out. Dave never said a word as he went home smiling almost out loud. Now that’s the mark of a good friend: he didn’t rub my nose in the mud, he just let me wash it off of everything later.
That was the beginning of another story about how the pond came to be the next week, and how I took a backhoe to the backyard and after two days had scraped all the grass away, mounded some good topsoil for re-spreading later, and pushed over lots of trees and scrub growth into a pile about 30 feet across and 10 feet high. At the end of the second day I was a master of my own destiny with clear thought and total satisfaction. Out of beer and daylight, I turned the backhoe off next to the hole that was now fifteen feet deep and about 20 x 20 in size.
Early the next morning the hole had about eight feet of water in it, rising before my eyes. But I digress from the point. The rest of the pond story I’ll leave up to your imagination for now; it’s worth another conversation later. Suffice it to say that I’m not the sharpest pencil in the box. The pond was completed in ten days, but not by me.
Back to the story: I got out of the car with cane in hand and all of the above memories in the forefront of my mind and walked about twenty feet through the weeds to investigate the conditions ahead. It looked like there would be no problem. Satisfied, I turned around and immediately fell down in the brush.
Now I had left these two ladies in the air conditioning inside the car with the engine running and the windows up. As they were engrossed in conversation about where the buildings for their school would be located, how the drive would wind from the road back to the buildings, could the old barn salvaged to house alpacas and horses for the children, etc., I struggled from down in the weeds to get up. Of course I couldn’t do it alone.
About a minute later they realized that I wasn’t to be seen. Simultaneously both rear doors opened and they called out "Where are you? Are you OK, John?" I assured them from the ground that I was okay but just needed them to grab me by my belt, one on each side behind me, and give me that necessary lift. Nothing broken; pride stained almost as bad as my ruined pants. Naturally they were nervously concerned when we got out back near the barn as they didn’t want to have to pick me up again.
We finished the property tour without any further incidents and all agreed that it was a great parcel of land. Laughing at the incident, we parted as I told them I would have to tell the world that I had gotten "picked up" by two women that afternoon.
I stopped and bought a new pair of pants from Len at the Jos A Bank outlet store, where I get all of my replacement clothes, each week. I think that I am their best repeat customer. Nothing wrong with a new pair of pants or a new sports jacket every week from the outlet store: it saves on the dry cleaning bills.
I called home to see if we needed milk, eggs, bread or cheese, and Mary told me that Ron and Mary Lou were there for a drop in visit and wanted us to go out to dinner. When I got home about ten minutes later, I was caught! There was no way I could hide the permanent grass stained and muddy knees. We all had a good laugh over the events of the day. While we had to take a rain check for dinner the company was most enjoyable. Ron is another "KD’er" so he, more than many of my friends, could empathize with me and laugh over the falling down on the job afternoon.
I hope that you don’t let the falls and embarrassments in life stop you from doing the things that are important for you. Work is a good thing, giving purpose and meaning to the worth we all have. My favorite book was written by Watty Piper: every one should be required to re-read this classic. When you’re in the bookstore next time, have the employee check out the author for you. You’ll immediately remember the name of the book when told to you, but buy it for a few dollars and take it home so you can read it again.
May you live as long as you want to, and want to as long as you live. That has become our family toast: it works for birthdays, funerals, graduations and every occasion known to this man.
John A. Coakley
November 3, 2003