Week 11 - 55

55. Sometimes humans are defined as tool-using animals. Nowadays, the scientists talk about chimps both making and using tools, but, hey, we're Number One! Tools in their chests, drawers, and wallracks; tools scattered on the table; tools used and unused, new and old; tools of love, tools of war, tools of work, tools of play. Tools can say a lot.


Walking down the muddy driveway towards the old garage, he watched as his workboots seeped into the mud with every step. He looked around and saw the damage that the hurricane had had on the old garage his father had built.
He took a step inside the dark and dusty garage. His eyes took a moment to adjust to the darkness. Sitting in the middle of the cement-floor was the old yellow and green John Deere tractor that, although it was on its last limbs, had helped him out in countless situations.
He slipped on a pair of work gloves to protect his calussed and permanently oil stained hands. He looked up to survey the damage that the tropical storm had caused.
The roof was very clearly caving in at the weight from the water and the wear and tear of numerous rough winters.
Sighing, he contemplated his options. He could repair or replace the roof, which would cost money he didn't really have to spare at the moment. He could build beams to help support the roof. But with the winter not far away and the daylight scarce, he knew he didn't have time to do that, especially working 7 days a week.
He knew that there was only one plausible option. One that was quick fix.
He didn't want to do that, though. This garage was older then his kids. He built it with his father when he was just a teenager. It was the first thing they built as father and son. Soon after that they were building houses and additions together.
Scattered all over the work benches in this garage were tools that had been with him longer then some friends had. Most of them rusty; all of them well-used. Where could he put all of these tools? Many of them weren't modern and he really didn't know when or what he'd use them for, but they were still tools that his father gave him. And now as a man nearing his 50's, he had very little left of his father other then old pictures, memories and these tools. The tools embodied many of the memories. Some of their best conversations were spent on top of roofs as their hands worked with tools.
He never cared about items; as a boy brought up on a farm, he earned everything he had. And he's always believed that. He only had clothes that he wore frequently, he didn't wear cologne, he had three good pair of shoes. He only kept the important knicknacks, most of them gifts from his kids. He didn't care about stuff.
He had his dog, he had his family, he had his truck. What else did he need?
Feeling attached to something like old rusty tools and an old garage made him feel stupid. But he still felt that he couldn't part with this old garage. But he had to make a decision soon; because by the looks of it, this roof will cave in by the middle of this next winter.
He laid his hand on the old John Deere tractor and sat for a minute, his memories doing all the talking.