Last week, we added a much-needed Ferris zero-turn mower to the farm’s equipment line up.
It was really a stunner. Shiny. Red.
Keyword here: was.
I mowed for about an hour with it on Sunday. Trimmed up the backyard with a swift jaunt across the lawn.
So when Aaron jumped on to mow the orchard today, the mower had a grand total of less than two hours on it.
Imagine the shock to see the brand spanking new mower covered in mud and stuck in the muddy spring running toward the pond. I jumped on while he pushed and within a couple of pulses of the engine, it was rolling back up the hill without issue.
Fifteen minutes later, the farm goes silent. The engine died and Aaron comes walking around the side of the chicken coop.
“Hey, need your help again.”
This time, the mower was meer inches from the pond. Eh hem, from being IN the pond.
Again, I jumped on and lightly nudged the engine while he pushed. The wheels slowly spun as the soft mud squished out from under them. Under the weight of the mower, the entire machine slid even closer to the pond.
Panic. Full panic.
“You just have to grab the tractor,” I announced. I refused to be responsible for putting a new (like new, new) mower in the pond. I also refused to go in with it. Inevitably, me bailing while it’s running would be the actual reason it would fall in.
I could not.
With the tractor and a chain, the mower was out of the mud in minutes. Caked in its own dirty war paint, it roared back to life and continued the day’s work.
Holy. Cow.