I carried my chosen plants down to the checkout counter and chatted with the owner, Phillip, as I paid for my goodies. I casually on purpose mentioned how I liked his butcher-block table up by the shed, and he said "Oh do you? Would you be interested in that?"
What?!!! He's willing to part with his table?!!! Ok, pull yourself together, you need to respond to the question.
"Yes!" I mean, "Yes." Play it cool.
"What's your price?", I asked him while trying to rearrange my expression into something resembling a poker face.
"Well, I'll just give it to you if you want it..."
AACCKKKK!!! What did he just say????!!!
"Really??!!!", I squeaked. All attempts at a poker face were out the window at this point.
"Yeah, a guy offered it to me so he didn't have to burn it, and I took it because I thought somebody might find a use for it. Since it was given to me, I don't want to charge anybody for it. I just hated to see it burned."
My kind of guy. A kindred spirit. I told him I had a use for it, and we'd be back with the pick-up truck the next morning. And then I thanked him. Profusely. I'm not ashamed of it.
I needn't have worried, though. When we pulled up at the greenhouse, Phillip already had the table sitting on a forklift and moved into place, ready to be lifted into the truckbed. Those Mennonite folks are on it. They don't waste any time.
He hopped on the iron-wheeled forklift, pulled a few levers, lifted the table high in the air, and then slid it right in the bed.
"Well, glad I could help.", I sputtered, and was rewarded with a grin from Phillip and a sigh of relief from my husband.
The relief didn't last long, though, because everybody knows Murphy's law:
What's Loaded Must Be Unloaded.
Or something like that.
We realized the challenge we faced when we pulled in our driveway, got out, leaned against the truck, and contemplated what lay inside the truckbed. The table filled it almost completely--5ft long, 2.5ft wide, and 1ft deep. With six solid maple legs. And no iron-wheeled forklift in sight.
He rounded up a few barrels we were saving for a new rainwater catchment system, laid them on their sides behind the tailgate, climbed in the truckbed, and gave the table a shove.
I have no photos of this. Somebody had to be on the other end to catch everything if things went south. And that somebody couldn't hold a camera at the same time.
It just rolled right out of the bed and onto the barrels as smooth as pie. Mmmm, pie.
I think it can be mended.
It's a big project.
It's gonna take every bit of my non-existent woodworking skills to get it in shape.
But I can do it. I'm visualizing it all gussied up, on display in the hundred and ten year-old general store, surrounded by life and given purpose once again. I can do it.
I think I can, I think I can, I think I can...