Disaster on the Deck
Some couples have romantic stories about dancing in the kitchen or sunset walks by the lake.
Craig and I? We have a story that involves tools, tractors, and just a hint of disaster.
Craig and I built our home back in 2002. The only things we hired out were the basement excavation, plumbing, wall texture, and the first coat of primer and white paint. Over the years, Craig has continued to build, repair, and improve everything around our place—inside and out. No matter how big the project or how new the challenge, he always figures it out. He’s confident, capable, and calm… until I get involved. That’s when disaster tends to pull up a lawn chair and make itself comfortable.
Case in point: the cottonwood incident.
We had an old cottonwood—dead as a doornail and leaning toward the house. Craig decided it was time to take it down. Armed with his trusty John Deere compact tractor, he was ready for action.
This was going to be a two-person job. I lifted him in the tractor bucket so he could tie a heavy rope around the highest part of the trunk he could reach. Then I lowered him safely to the ground, and he grabbed his chainsaw. I figured my part was done, so I started heading toward the house.
“Oh no,” he called. “You’re going to help make sure the tree doesn’t fall toward the house.”
“Oh no, I’m not comfortable doing that,” I said quickly.
“It’ll be fine,” he assured me. “You can do this.”
(Famous last words.)
My job was simple—or so he said. Keep tension on the rope while he sawed the trunk. When he yelled, I was to drive forward about thirty feet.
The sawing began. I pressed the pedal gently. After a moment, Craig yelled, “Go! Go! GOOOO!”
Hearing the urgency in his voice, I leaned forward, gripped the steering wheel, and stomped on the gas.
The tractor didn’t move.
“GO! GO! GO!” Craig screamed again, as the tree leaned… and fell—right toward the house.
Dry branches smacked the roof and windows. The tree landed squarely on the deck, splintering the composite railing and ripping up the edge of the decking. Thankfully, no one was hurt. Just the deck. And maybe our pride.
Why didn’t I pull the tree away, you might ask?
Safety. Pure, ironic safety. You see, a John Deere tractor won’t move unless someone is sitting firmly on the seat. When I leaned forward to press harder on the gas, my butt lifted—shutting the whole thing down.
Craig shouted, “Why didn’t you drive?!”
“I tried!” I yelled back through tears. “It wouldn’t move! I told you I didn’t feel comfortable doing it!”
Then I marched straight into the house, sobbing, leaving Craig to assess the wreckage of our latest joint home-improvement disaster.
We laugh about it now (mostly). The deck got repaired, the roof survived, and the story became part of our family legend. These days, Craig doesn’t ask me to help with any tree trimming or felling ever again—and honestly, we’re both better for it. Twenty-five years in, I’ve learned that a good marriage isn’t about avoiding disasters—it’s about surviving them together, laughing afterward, and knowing when to step away from the tractor.
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