Like myself, the wagon is showing the ravages of time. One of the first things to go on the wagon was the pull handle. No problem. I just tied a length of rope to the plastic attachments on each side to pull it along. Although the attachments have broken, the rope is still hanging onto the plastic remnants and I still pull it. There have been many times when the rope has entangled my feet and sent me sprawling. No problem. In the past I have just bopped up and continued working. But agility is a little questionable at this age and I avoid the rope assiduously.
The wagon has carried dirt, mulch, bulbs, weed piles, manure, bush clippings and most recently, rocks. Not long ago this spring I visited a quarry and picked up close to 50 rocks ranging in weight from three to five pounds. When I got home, I unloaded the limestone rocks from the back of my vehicle into a corner of the garage. For some mysterious reason, there were terrible pains in my back the next day.
After being advised to wear a back brace, I began the transfer of the rocks from the garage to the back yard via the little green wagon. Thankfully the rope handle held and all the rocks, about eight at a time, were transferred to the edge of the herb and flower gardens behind the house. They look lovely and what pride of accomplishment I felt!
Now it was time to clean the weeds from the gardens and plant the prizes purchased from Hasting’s Plants. Again, the little green wagon came into play. I put the cover onto the top of the wagon. It, too, had broken off its plastic hinges long ago but when placed carefully on the top, it still served well as a rolling seat for reaching plants. This was much more comfortable than standing on my head to garden.
However, when I was placing the cover on the top of the wagon, I noticed that the bottom of the wagon now had a huge crack in it. Another injury to my beloved wagon! The weight of the rocks must have created excess stress on the plastic, but nonetheless, that dedicated wagon is still serviceable. I thought.
Thus, I placed myself on the cover of the wagon and began the weeding and seeding process of the herb garden. As I worked, I noticed that the plastic cover upon which I was sitting began to sag. Well, darn, the crack in the bottom of the wagon apparently released the support and integrity it gave to the sides. But I continued to work, ignoring the fact that my knees were level with my eyes. I began to imagine what would happen if the plastic rebounded. Would I be ejected like a fighter pilot? Possibly going into orbit?
Those were amusing thoughts until I tried to get out of the wagon into which I had sunk. That maneuver was no laughing matter and I thought I would be wearing that wagon on my backside for the rest of my life. Eventually we parted company. I still love my little green wagon but our relationship is limited. It now is mainly a weed carrier.
The wheels on the wagon are solid rubber. My son made a soap box derby car when he was growing up. The most difficult items to find for it were good wheels. Now, if anyone needs some good wheels for a project, contact me. Just look away if my eyes become a little misty when the little green wagon departs.
©Ann Rains--June, 2018