Home ownership is a wonderful thing. It gives one a sense of pride while highlighting maintenance skills in need of improvement. Being bereft as a handyperson, I am often challenged to sally forth into the world of tools. Facing such challenges fills me with the spirit of Moxie, whoever she was. Recently I looked out on my sea of weeds and realized they could use a sound whacking. 

While driveway chatting with my highly tool-worthy and handcrafty neighbors Rick and Susan, I noticed they had a battery powered weed eater. Now there was a tool I could get behind, I thought. Rick allowed me to heft it. It was lightweight. I even took it across the street and whacked a section of tall grass — easy!

Hope sprouted inside my chest. Just maybe I could tame the encroaching jungle that had made a mockery of my maintenance crew and me. Wild grasses grew in the hinterlands to where animals became obscured. Anything could be hiding out there. The cat boys could play for hours with ticks and seeds never to be seen again.

So, I went shopping.

I began with my local hardware store, but when I saw the price tag, I decided to look around. They had another long-handled weeding tool there, the design of which had been invented by someone’s grandfather, so it had to be good. You could pull weeds with ease standing up. But they wanted $50 so I continued looking. 

Time passed as time will and as I gazed out my kitchen window, I began considering renting my yard out to a movie crew for a new season of “Lost” or a Tarzan remake. I’m not exaggerating when I say I have large-leafed vines that flew in from South America or somewhere thriving beneath the vulture roost. It’s unpleasant to approach that region without a hazmat suit. I began wondering just how many battery charges and tubes of Ben-Gay it would take to tame Dover Jungle. Not one to buy on impulse, unless it’s chocolate covered, I dragged my feet, though not through the English ivy overgrowth that has now eaten my woodpile.

Then, one day, after a neighborly visit from Eagle Point Code Enforcement, I learned that my butterfly bush needed hacking back so that my neighbors could see to pull out of the street next door. I wasted no time whipping out my clippers and snipping away while wishing my neighbors knew they could come to me directly.  

Then one day, Susan mentioned tactfully that Lowe’s had a super deal on weed eaters for $99.99 and they came with a blower. Hot dog. I walked confidently into Lowe’s, shoved a weed eater into a cart, and felt the brief but satisfying twinge of what a DIYer must feel at regular intervals. Success loomed. 

Later, I saw an ad for that same grandpa’s weed puller on Facebook. It was only $29, so I ordered one. Every few days or so they visited me with a shipping update—Germany, then U.S. Customs, then the Yukon, I think, and finally, out for delivery. Exactly one month later a 5 inches x 5 inches x 1 inch box arrived in my mailbox. Now, I’d only ordered two things, one being a long-handled weed puller like grandpa used to use and the other, a blouse. This box seemed ill suited for either.

I opened the box, and there lay the head of the weed puller without the handle (what did I expect?). It was a bodiless weed puller, with which the manufacturer still maintained, according to the box, one could weed standing up and not have to bend over. Maybe if I was a buff hedgehog. The %^&* tool didn’t come with the handle? Ever feel like the brunt of a cruel joke? I spent a couple days shaking my head, then emailed the company. They wanted a picture. Several ideas for photo ops came to mind. But I dutifully sent them a pic of the disembodied weeder and this morning I received their reply. They said it looks right to them, but offered me $3 as compensation. Does anyone have a long tool handle they can sell me for $3? 

The weeds have gone to seed. One of these days, I’ll take the weed eater out of the box.

Peggy Dover is a freelance writer/author/procrastinator. Reach her at peggydover@gmail.com.