The tale of the old wheel barrow
A short story by Jon Baldwin 5-19-2019
I really love old things that look rusted and busted. I don’t recall exactly which auction I bought this old rusty wheel barrow at? But it was in southern Minnesota in the late 1980s. I used it many times at my brick house in Arlington. It was very useful there, it seems I was always doing some brick work on that place. This old wheel barrow was great for heavy items like rocks and bricks, but not so much for soil or sand, due to the holes rusted through it. I’m not sure what kind of life it had before I found it, but it got plenty of attention while I had it at that place.
In 1990 my job forced me to move. I stored many things at a friends farm, including this old rusty wheel barrow. While it was being stored, my friend’s mom spotted it behind the barn and decided to use it as a flower planter. She claimed it as her own and it became useful once again.
Three years later and two more address changes for me, I went to claim my stored items. I loaded all my items, but one. I was told that the old rusty wheel barrow is no longer mine, it was hers. While I wanted it back, there was really nothing much to do about it, she had always been more than generous to me during all the years I knew her, so I surely wasn’t going to put up a fight for it. I figured at that time, she’d use it for a few more years and get sick of it, and let me have it back.
...A couple decades later...
That old rusty Wheel barrow was filled with weeds. It hadn’t had flowers for over a year, because my Friend’s mom had been ill over that time and then she passed away. She was loved by many, and many were at her memorial celebration.
Several months passed and my friend was fixing up the place, I stopped by and asked if he was gonna have any use for that old wheel barrow, because I still wanted it back. He laughed and told me, “After all these years? You don’t want that old rusty thing, it has many holes and is useless as a wheel barrow.” He further told me that he liked it as a flower planter, and was gonna plant flowers in it, so he was gonna keep it. I surely didn’t expect to hear that, and to be honest, I was quite upset.
Now that shouldn’t have upset me? It is just an old rusty wheel barrow, not really worth anything. I thought to myself, where did this selfish pang inside me come from? Why was I still attached to that old wheel barrow? What is even worse, this bothered me for several weeks. I talked to other friends, telling them the story, looking for sympathy, but of course there was none offered, as I was being foolish. I prayed about it, and finally was able to just let it go.
That summer turned to fall. I never did see any flowers in the old wheel barrow that year, but it didn’t matter as I was over it. Winter came and went. Spring arrived, the old wheel barrow was moved off my friend’s lawn. My friend tells me, he didn’t like to mow around it anymore, and if I still wanted it, I could haul it away. Funny thing is, I really was ‘over it’ and I couldn’t think of any reason to use it for. I have other wheel barrows to use for yard work. I don’t plant flowers in planters, I rarely had any luck with that. I learned it’s best to plant flowers right in the ground, so God can feed and water them.
Anyway, I still really love old things that look rusted and busted, so I reluctantly brought the old wheel barrow home.
I thought maybe this old rusty wheel barrow would serve as a curio mixed in with some of my other yard relics. For a while, I thought it found it’s spot, but it just killed the grass sitting at that location for a couple seasons. I really don’t think the old rusty wheel barrow was happy here.
A couple weeks ago, during a phone conversation with a relative, she tells me she is going to a flea market looking for a “vintage” wheelbarrow for a fairy garden. I don’t really know what a fairy garden is? But I told her, that I have the perfect thing for it.
The Photo is of the old rusty wheel barrow on this rainy day, as it just arrived at it’s new home. I think I can see it smiling.