Home projects to fill a Saturday afternoon

Nov. 13, 2008

Dear Patty,

Our neighbor Frank has christened DC "Project DC" because she always has one going. Last night she talked about finding a way to turn a garbage can into a pottery kiln. The plans warned that the kiln could possibly explode. Given DC's love for pyrotechnics, that isn't necessarily a deterrent.

Last weekend's project was dog-proofing the backyard of our rental house on Themis Street. Our tenant Stacy's golden retriever Champ is a rambunctious sort given to tunneling beneath the fence. For some reason he only digs on the side where the neighbors live. He's sociable, I guess.

With our helper Bill we dug a trench along the neighbor side and unrolled chicken wire, intending to nail the top to the bottom of the fence and bury the rest, preventing Champ from digging underneath forevermore. This plan seemed to make sense but had something in common with the kiln project.

To start with, when we hit one of the U-shaped staples with a hammer the lightweight boards in the fence merely bounced and the staples refused to go in. Even putting a knee or foot against the outside of the board didn't help. Each swing of the hammer seemed like an exercise in futility.

When I smashed my thumb it was time to go to Meyer Supply for help.

In the middle of the 20th century, all hardware stores were like Meyer Supply. Ancient hardwood floors creak as you walk in. The store smells of oils and steel and hard work. Someone in work clothes greets you, asking to help. The shelves are stocked with 10 kinds of work gloves, pocketknives, nails and hammers, all the things people doing it themselves need on a Saturday.

They also have patience with those of us who aren't handy men. If one clerk can't figure out a solution to your problem he asks another. At first, no one knew a remedy for ours short of a renting a nail gun powered by compressed air. Then one of the clerks suggested a staple gun.

Not your desk stapler. This staple gun is built like a tank. The staples are magnum-size, too. I walked out of the store in a cloud of relief and hope.

Back in the backyard, DC and Bill looked forlorn. Neither was hammering. "We're going to be here all day," Project DC sighed.

The staple gun was already loaded. I bent down and to the next length of chicken wire and pulled the trigger. Bam. This was a dream come true. Half an hour later all the chicken wire was stapled to the fence.

This was the miracle of the Industrial Revolution, machines making mass production possible so everyone could spend their Saturday afternoon at home.

Champ outsmarted us, of course. He simply started his tunnel out beyond the chicken wire and burrowed underneath.

I expect to return to Champ's backyard again this Saturday, perhaps towing the most important tool in the history of imprisonment -- the cement mixer.

Love, Sam

Sam Blackwell is a former reporter for the Southeast Missourian.