Never, Ever Give Up on Fixing Something

I learned a great deal from my Depression-Era parents and grandparents not to throw things away needlessly. That habit can lead to hoarding, but in my case, my Type-A personality tends to sort things and only toss or recycle what can possibly have no future use. I find all sorts of useful items tossed out in city alleys, when working on my rental property. Many I have repaired and put back into service.

Sometimes, however, I still make mistakes. 

A few times this month, I nearly spend money needlessly. It's a lesson to 1) read the instruction manual on appliances and 2) Watch more YouTube videos.

First it was our lightweight Shark Vacuum, a well-rated device we'd paid decent money to buy at a big-box store. It simply stopped running. A quick check on YouTube and a vacuum-repair site showed me a second filter in the body of the machine. In ours, it was completely clogged. In five minutes, the machine ran again, saving us perhaps $800 on a new vacuum we'd been eyeing.  For under $30, we purchased new filters to keep the old vacuum going for (I hope) many years.

Then it was house paint, something that costs forty dollars a gallon or more already, not considering how ill-conceived presidential tariffs may influence prices soon for so many things we buy. I have saved a lot of paint for a decade that was used when renovating our rental property, but a good deal of it came in older metal cans. These rust, unlike newer plastic paint cans. Some paint had to be tossed out, but I carefully opened two cans, salvaging what I could and finding the paint still viable. I put the remainder into plastic jars saved from the kitchen, in case our tenant needs more touch-ups.

I was ready to get a new range for the rental house too; the oven door had gotten liquid between its two glass panes. It proved tedious work but I removed the door, disassembled it, and cleaned the glass. Now it again looks nearly new. The culprit? The door's handle was loose, and the handle seals the top of the door assembly. My last tenant must have burned something in the oven, so steam worked its way into the door's innards.

Finally, I was faced with hard water and stained porcelain. Our commodes looked horrible because of our well water, as did our shower floor. No amount of scrubbing with brushes and Barkeeper's Friend (or more caustic products) would clean things.  I was about to purchase two new commodes and consider re-tiling the shower when I read about pumice blocks. Suffice to say that these did the job, for under $10. The grout in the shower and the basin in the commodes look clean again. The shower will take constant vigilance, and here Barkeeper's friend with pumice and a small brush for nooks and crannies made showering a pleasure again.

 Learn about your house and vehicles. From an HVAC tech I learned how to unclog a drain-tube in our heat pump; last year that saved me an expensive service-call. Then I learned to flush my hot-water heaters annually, too. Do you know how to do that? It can save you hundreds of dollars in deferred replacement costs, since it extends the life of the heater. 

The economy looks shaky to this cheapskate, with lots of wishful thinking and tomfoolery of crypto-currency that screams "Charles Ponzi" at me.  I suspect that hard times lie ahead for spendthrift nation that is so poorly led. What can you do now to save money on repairs and replacements? Might be time to read that owner's manual again, or maybe for the first time. 

 

 

Essential Automotive Skills

Decades ago, I let others change my oil and rotate my tires. No longer. I have saved thousands of dollars in the process.

I thought it would be fun to share some skills that anyone with a motor vehicle should possess. 

The idea with these basics involves both agency and thrift. I skip some tedious repairs on modern vehicles, like flushing the cooling system or swapping headlight, tasks I do.

Changing a tire: while rotating your tires is a relatively big undertaking even with a vehicle lift, changing a tire should be easy. It avoids helplessness by the side of the road. My nephew John Ryan insisted that his children should learn, along with learning to drive a manual-transmission vehicle. I mentioned this in an earlier post about avoiding “learned helplessness.

How To Learn: The best way to learn is to read the owner’s manual. Learn the order of tightening wheel lugs and how to do so correctly.  Next, practice jacking up a car on a level surface. Lower it. With the tire on the ground, see if you can loosen a lug. If not, you may want to purchase a better wrench. I got one from Amazon that I use on cars, trucks, a camping trailer, and tractors.

Simple Safety Props:  Pack a few 10” pieces of 2x6 wood in the car, too. One can be a block to place the jack on, if you find yourself with a flat on soft ground or even the volcanic grit of Iceland, which is where my last flat happened. The second block can chock a wheel on the side of the car not lifted. 

Checking and changing your oil: the former is wise, and though the latter is often dirty work, even with a lift, it is rewarding. It also can save you thousands over the life of the vehicle. I used to do oil changes while lying in the street in front of the house, before I had a garage. 

Tools Needed: You can buy ramps, or go with a good floor jack and jack stands for safety, plus an oil catch-pan. I do this for our Miata, too small for the lift. I set the handbrake and leave the car in gear (park when an automatic) when I have it on the stands or ramps, with those wooden blocks mentioned earlier, set behind the rear tires.

Watch lots of videos first for your vehicle. Draining the oil pan is easy but removing a filter on some vehicles takes research, practice, and the right combination of extensions for your socket wrench. I own lots of cup-style filter sockets. They are cheap and generally perform better than the old universal oil-filter wrenches of my teens.

Learning Those Codes! Some folks panic when the "check engine light" appears on the dash. I get out my cheap OBD-II scanner and my phone. I picked up the scanner for less than $20 and after trying some free phone apps, went with one I think cost me under $10, called OBD Fusion. It reads the codes on your car, using a public network called OBD-II that your phone will detect the moment you plug in the scanner.

You will look really impressive when you go into your local shop and say "my scanner shows an EGR error code" but you'll have to first read the scanner number and look it up on the phone or elsewhere. My 2003 Chevy truck recently showed a "PO165" error code. Luckily, the OBD Fusion software also showed me that it was an oxygen senor, even which of four needed replacing. For me it's a DIY job, but that requires a lift or lots of agility under a safely-jacked and supported vehicle.

A dishonest shop might add extra things to your bill, but if you walk in and say "I need O2 Sensor #1 in Bank 1 changed," you won't be ripped off.

Charging up a battery / jump-starting a vehicle: Think positive to positive, negative to negative, and you have it.  

Tools Needed: Good jumper cables cost less than 50 dollars, but they require the presence of another vehicle. Even better, I keep a portable jump-starter in the shop and haul it in the trunk of our cars when on the road, as well as a basic toolbox. Keeping a battery minder on your car in the garage can be wise for vehicles not driven frequently or in cold weather. They trickle-charge batteries and can prevent the sorts of hard starts that reduce the life of a battery. 

If your battery goes for good (usually a bad cell in it) you can save a great deal by swapping out your own battery. Lots of newer computer-laden cars (I hate 'em) are built to make you go to a dealer to pay big money for this. But you can work around it with a device called a "memory saver" that hooks up to the same OBD-II port mentioned earlier. Check to be sure your particular vehicle does not retain system memory; it varies by year and make. Again look for YouTube videos showing you how to avoid losing all your radio presets and other information that can occur with a battery swap. 

Maintaining tire pressure: I forget to do this regularly, but a decent gauge is cheap. Most passenger vehicles need under 40 psi, save for high-performance tires. Your little bike pump will not suffice, but a cheap electric pump will do. 

Changing air filters: Engine and cabin-air filters can be fiddly but need no special tools to swap. Again…videos for your vehicle. Our Toyota Tacoma took all of five minutes. 

Adding coolant: I check the system on older vehicles and tractors frequently. The trick is to have the system cool enough to open a radiator cap on an old vehicle, or simply watching the fluid level in a newer one. I am stunned by how many folks I know who cannot find these service points on their car or truck.

Reading a paper map: Will your phone always work? I dislike phones generally, but in particular I hate using Google or Apple Maps to tell me where I need to go. Instead, I tend to look at the map and memorize the routes. I rely upon the apps on a first trip or two only or when planning (some apps can show roadwork or congestion in real time). 

After a few trips, the route gets imprinted in my memory instead of making me helpless if my device does not function.

Better still, in case of a dead phone or loss of signal, I keep old-time paper maps in the vehicle. While you are at it, learn where North, South, East, and West are. I test my students about this; almost none know those directions, nor can they read a map. They are slaves to a device, when the device should serve them and help to mentor human skills.

What have I forgotten?  Let me know.

I Can't Get That Part: What to Do?

Though one of the primary rules for this blog has been "no politics," I am going to sound out about tariffs, in general. In my Macroeconomics class way back, we studied how they tend to punish the populace of the nation that levies them, especially when import-substitution may take years or decades to accomplish. 

Our 2006 Honda needs bushings for the rear differential. Our 2003 Silverado needs oxygen sensors. Both are DIY jobs, but the Honda's work will be tedious so I asked a mechanic doing some brake-work to replace the bushings.

 "Sure, if I can get the parts," came the reply.

That prompted me to order the Oxygen sensors for the pickup NOW. I'm certain they are Chinese made. I think lots of Americans are panic-buying ahead of the tariffs taking effect, hedging their bets against chaos. Costco the other day was rather feral.

But let's play along with our so-called leader for a moment. In particular I want to test his crazy notion that we can bring manufacturing back home fast.

Let's say I wanted to open Tractorpunk Bushings LLC tomorrow. I'd apply for a loan, find a location in a light-industrial park, purchase equipment. In theory, I might get my first bushings molded and listed for sale in a year. But how many could I produce, even if one could 3D print them in polyurethane or rubber? And how would I buy rights to bushings patented by major manufacturers, domestic or foreign?  Where might I find employees skilled at running the machinery, which these days requires computer skills? I'd need someone to manage the advertising, shipping, and order fulfillment.

And how many vehicles in need of bushings are on the roads and in the fields of this nation?

 As a Distributist, I think we should have local manufacturers: tens of thousands making and selling things from open-source designs licensed in the Creative Commons. I could even foresee a galaxy of small firms building a hundred cars and trucks locally each year, based on low-tech utilitarian models with good pollution controls and safety features. Customers wanting high-tech or luxury in their vehicles would pay more or pay a specialist to come to Tractorpunk Cottage Motors to install that infotainment system or leather heated seats.

My idea goes back to something I wrote about before: vehicles have gotten too complex and it's best to buy a really old one and fix it yourself if possible. YouTube makes that work. Where do you think I learned to change O2 sensors and bushings? The best videos come from small companies that sell the parts. But where do they get them?

My Distributist alternate reality for a million cottage fabricators would be even harder than the Free-Market, patent-driven Capitalist model I described. 

So for now, stock up and watch YouTube. You may have to DIY things for a while. If you are serious, invest in jack-stands, a creeper, work light, and a good set of wrenches. You are going to need them.

Plant a garden too. Learn to can and dehydrate. Save seeds. Think about how to defend yourself. Meet your neighbors and share work, without talking politics or religion. Put down the phone on which you are doom-scrolling, turn off the TV for a few hours, and learn a craft for making, mending, sewing, knitting, building.

These are troubling times. I don't see them improving without a crisis of the sort we in the States have not witnessed in many, many decades.

This post may be one of the gentlest slams on our leadership, such as it is, as you will ever read. Maybe we should be screaming. I think we will, once the real price of arbitrary tariffs sink in and cut into our household budgets.

Be Careful With That "Seasoned" Firewood

Buying any wood this year?

We are going through a lot of wood in our stove this seasonably cold winter. I am reminded of all the poor quality or under-seasoned firewood (always promised to be "seasoned") that I purchased back before I cut my own wood. No, my pile does not look as nice as the header photo.

Nearly all of the wood I purchased before moving to the country went for ambiance in a fireplace. Now we need it for heating, saving over $1000 each year compared to running our heat pump. If you too heat with wood and are new to it, however, here's a cautionary tale.

You see every expensive bag of supermarket logs marked "seasoned," but a study from the University of Tennessee's extension service finds that claim laughable. The UT folks tested batches of store-bought logs; they found moisture content at 50% to 90% the rule. That's far too wet to burn when firewood needs to be under 20%. For most wood not kiln-dried, that means at least 9 months split and stacked dry. Many types of wood require a year or more.

What do I mean by "wet"? It's not the wetness one finds from a log sitting in the rain; instead, it's the internal moisture of green, growing wood lost as a dead log dries naturally.

For a load of maple that fell in a storm this year, mostly big branches, I chainsawed some into small logs yesterday and hauled them to the shed. Wood from the same stormfall maple that I'd cut in late spring is barely safe to burn now, but it had been split and stacked in a sunny shelter. The remaining wood left in the forest comes in at 30% moisture. I might hazard burning a bit of it in April, after checking with my moisture meter again.

I've written about this magical device before here. They run under $30 at Amazon or you can "go pro" but that's best for a wood buyer or firewood dealer.

Today I checked some seasoned wood I split and stacked a year ago. I placed the meter at the end of a white-oak log and also into its split side. Both gave low moisture. 

 

Likewise some very old pine that I mix in with my hardwoods.

 

I don't like to burn a lot of really dry wood but it's good in a mix and to start the fire.

If you buy firewood, do yourself a favor. Get a meter and be Type-A so you don't ruin your chimney. And post to your community-living groups if you find very wet "seasoned" firewood.

Stay warm and feed that stove!

Pride of Workmanship?

As I retire from full-time work in a month, I have been thinking about pride in one's work a great deal. I have never been fully satisfied with my career, which may be a good thing: too much complacency leads to a numbing of the soul. I would instead invent new directions to pursue. This sort of free-lancing stands at odds with the values of corporatism, including the variety now infecting higher education. Not so oddly, I find the opposite--a sense of pride in serving one's community--in small businesses locally owned. It's a delight in our time of anonymous and virtual commerce to encounter vestiges of craftsmanship and civic pride. 

So often, however, it's just the opposite.

I spotted the worst paint-job in many years recently, pictured, at a roadside place in Buckingham County. I hope the owners did not pay much for the job. The painter, using a spray-gun, clearly cared nothing about putting glossy red paint on the grass and parking lot. Ironically, the paint was not well applied to the picnic table. The finish had run, pooled, and left thin or unpainted spots.

At our own picnic table, not yet "painted," I noticed that the original finish was a good-quality penetrating stain, not paint. Stain provides a better sealant for outdoor furniture, too. It can be renewed easily without scraping, even on the oldest wood, as I found not long ago with the old fence at our rental property.

Yet someone painted over the old stain, and once you put paint over stain, there's no going back. In a year, that haphazard paint-job will peel. The owner will either have to scrape the tables down or, as I fear, toss them out and get new ones. They are not bad tables, either. I'd like to get one, sand the heck out of it, and stain it again.

Usually we take our burgers and go to a nearby pocket-park, a tiny miracle of good craftwork. It features durable picnic tables, nice plantings, and a permeable-surfaced parking area.  You don't see trash on the ground, either. I don't imagine that it cost the county that much to build and maintain. It also speaks to something so old-fashioned we rarely hear its name today: civic pride. The town government does not know the travelers or locals who might stop for a smoke break or a sandwich; the small amenity simply says to everyone "you are welcome."

Pride is a dodgy commodity. "What is the return on investment?" a wily and short-sighted American capitalist might ask.

A great deal, I'd answer, but not something to measure in dollars and cents, the false American god of our era. Especially in the mad rush of Black Friday.

Today, of all days, on Black Friday, our water heater decided to start leaking heavily. The unit, at 12 years old, still looks great, but that's the outside. Not wanting to brave the crowds at the suburban asteroid-belt of big-box stores, I went to our local hardware. They had a heater more efficient than our old one and with the same volume. It took me all day to finish the job, but we have guests arriving and they'll want hot water. "Calling some guy" would not suffice, and I've installed two smaller electric water-heaters.

I needed a few tools not in my plumbing box, one a crimper for the little copper rings that make watertight seals on Pex pipe. A novice can learn this sort of plumbing, as compared to expensive mysteries of sweating copper pipe or the cheap, easily broken PVC pipes that I find mostly good for building hoop-houses nowadays.

A young man helped me find the fittings for the new heater, after I discovered that my old pipes were about 3 inches too short to reach the new tank's inlets. The new hardware was cheap enough, but the crimp-tool cost 60 dollars, almost 10% of what I'd paid for the heater. Yet I needed the tool, badly. The young man looked it over and said "This is a nice piece. You take good care of it and it will last the rest of your life."

I joked about only needing 30 years, but his remark stuck with me. I want to hear more of that in a time of disposable products and bad paint-jobs. I do indeed take very good care of all my tools. In the end, our new water heater is no thing of beauty, but it is firmly placed, not leaking, and looks as if a professional installed it. I'm proud that by sundown, I could have a martini and say "job well done" as hot water again flowed from the taps. I'd done it myself, probably saving 500 dollars. 

You could, too.

MTB: A Modern Problem

I want to follow up on my post about why we should buy and maintain really old vehicles.

Folks, we are being had. "MTB" came up in a Facebook discussion about how rotten most modern smart appliances are. It means "Made to break." Thanks to Sam Baird for sharing the meme included above.

We have been told that touch-screen controls are what we want. Granted, that seems to be the case when we are not in motion at highway speeds.

This tech fails miserably when in motion.

In a Jetsons world, I'd be able to say, as I do to Generative AI, in natural language "Car, it's a trifle hot in here. Set the AC to compensate for the human-caused, slow-motion catastrophe  of climate change beyond our little bubble, no matter what the Republicans and other logic-challenged deniers say. Make it cooler, in short. Focus first on my fogged up windshield, made that way by my rage over the recent election."

Yet we don't live in George and Jane Jetson's world. In our janky beat-up world, especially in a newer car, I must navigate a series of menus.

No. I want to reach down, touch a dial I know by muscle memory, and set it without my eyes leaving the road.

Why we came to this impasse I don't understand. Enlighten me in the comments.

It's a comfort to me that Honda reverted to haptic controls on their once-small H-RV, now the same size as my 2006 C-RV. When my first 2004 Honda got totaled, I looked at some of these newer cars, but I cringed at the idea of adjusting vital functions by taking my eyes off the road. Luckily for this curmudgeon, a 2006 Honda came my way.

The company must have heard from other grumps, because they soon reverted to the tried-and-true dials we Honda-lovers have used for decades.

I'm not an utter Luddite. The right backup camera can save lives. The crappy afterthought ones (I've rented two cardboard-box quality Chevy Malibus) appear afterthoughts included to meet some regulation.

 The Japanese, as usual in their cars, strike the right balance.

 

Thank you, Honda. Now would the rest of the auto-makers take notice? Think about it when you next need to reset the vehicle's clock for daylight-savings time.

Chainsaw Logic: That One Little Wire...

I think this post constitutes part of a series. I've written often here about Occam's Razor, and in this instance it and the old "For the Want of a Nail" allegory.  

It's easy to forget the simple, in our age of wonders, how one simple technical issue can make everything stop. Right now, I am streaming a BBC World Cafe concert with Gillan Welch and David Rawlings. My 1980 self could not even fathomed that as possible.

It's a form of magic, following the precepts of Clarke's Law. Remember, "any sufficiently advanced technology is indistinguishable from magic." We get baffled when the technomancy suddenly halts, the screen locking up or the phone "bricking," even a damned advertisement on the YouTube concert-feed popping up mid-song, despite my ad-blocker. The spell is broken, though in my case that stupid ad lead me to the NPR ad-free original. 

Until we fix things, we sit like our primate ancestors before a sacred stone, bewildered at the departure of our gods. Yet sometimes we can bring fallen technological deities back to life.

Recently a friend of my wife's had an enormous Red Oak tree fall in her yard, nearly hitting her house. It would have totaled the place, frankly. now it lays in her yard, some 70' of tree with 40' being straight and nearly 36" in diameter. It's what furniture-makers would call a "veneer log" for the lack of hollow core, lack of limbs, and straightness. Yet we cannot get any log buyer to look. Apparently these folk want a bunch of such logs (worth several thousand dollars each) before driving out.

After inspecting the tree, I came back with my little "firewood" saw and The Big Dog, a $1000 Husqvarna 365 with 5hp and a 20" bar.  I had planned to keep the beast the rest of my life.

"Woof Woof!" said this Big Dog, until it would not bark for me, let alone start. 

I gnashed my teeth. I pulled at my beard, having no hair on my skull. I cursed the gods of Sweden and two-stroke internal combustion, to no avail. I considered the expense of even a diagnosis at the dealer, looked at (heresy!) a $500 Stihl "Farm Boss" saw, ready to spend MORE money. 

No. I was doing what an academic colleague calls "catastrophizing failure," meaning that I assumed a small setback would lead to an utter and permanent disaster. 

Realizing then where I went wrong, I began replacing Husqvarna parts myself, starting with the simplest parts and least expensive that can lock up a saw: a new spark plug, a kill switch, then an ignition coil. Still, Occam failed me. The saw would not even "burp." A second wave of self-doubt followed as I watched more YouTube "how to" chainsaw videos by burly men with Southern US, Scottish, or Scandinavian accents.

Then $30 later, I fixed the saw and it fired right up. Even that 30 could have stayed in the bank. I checked the electronics, working backward, to my new spark plug. What if the wire that attaches to the plug had turned sideways when I pressed on the rubber "boot" that covers the end of the plug? 

With a razor blade I cut open enough of the cover to see that the wire loop connected to the plug. It's the little metal piece shown in the image at the top of the post. I slipped it over the plug. Then I pulled the cord.

"Woof! VROOM!" The Big Dog barked!

I've learned from working on engines a little bit, whether on old tractors or late-model cars: a single wire can bring done tons of working metal. So can a pinched gas line. So once again, Occam proved right in the end. This is why we pay a mechanic 25 cents for a screw, and $50 for knowing which screw to replace.

Now back to that tree. I just felled a section the size of a normal tree in 30 seconds, a task impossible with my firewood saw. 

Never give up working on stuff. A fix may be simpler than it seems. And now I have some spare parts for the saw. 

I was about to put the saw on a pagan altar and make offerings to it. Clarke was right but so was Occam. Keep moving up the chain of causality to the problem, and one can fix nearly any machine (and maybe large societal or environmental woes, as well).

Why You Should Buy a Really Old Vehicle

Yesterday I walked into a chain auto-parts store (there being no other options) for a cabin-air filter and set of wiper blades for our 2003 Chevy Silverado 1500. It's a truck we bought from my father-in-law's estate, and it has been lightly used, sporting just over 76K miles. We don't plan to sell it; I can do a great deal of mechanical and electronics work on it myself.

A small annoyance of my shopping trip involved the parts books in the shop; they only go back to 2004. A grumpy manager explained to me that "the companies don't care much about vehicles more than 20 years old." Well, they better.

A recent story from S&P Mobility shows that older vehicles are getting more common on our roads and in repair shops, with light vehicles 16 or more years old increasingly common.

Therein lies a problem, as used cars "will be increasingly loaded with sensors for infotainment, communications, and advanced driver assistance systems like adaptive cruise control, lane departure warning and collision avoidance. Adaptive cruise, in particular, has been on a steady upward penetration trend since 2015; it is projected to be in nearly 70 percent of model-year 2023 vehicles, according to S&P Global Mobility estimates." 

Our Chevy, like our 2006 Honda C-RV, lacks a backup camera, touch screen, or lane-departure sensors.

Good. It's harder and harder to find minimalist vehicles. Convenience and Comfort are wicked deities; they make our lives easier 95% of the time, only to leave us stranded and helpless. There must be a better way.

I don't want any of that stuff. On the other hand, I do want passenger, driver, and side-impact airbags, antilock disc brakes, and power steering. I also don't want components that require dealer-specific software. A relative's new Ford Explorer became a brick after the assisted-parking feature broke. The dealer not only quoted an outlandish price but a months-long wait for repairing this (to me) frivolous feature; one should learn to park, not let a car park for you. Luckily, a local shop agreed, if our relative purchased the $1500 Ford-specific software. The repair still proved far cheaper than the dealer's price. The Ford is back on the road.

I'd recommend that for a daily driver, you shop for a low-mile vehicle in the sweet-spot between about 2000 and 2010. These cars and trucks are out there. If you can turn a wrench, excellent. But first go to drivers' forums to ID common issues for DIYers. My wife's Volvo S60, a 2013 model, had to go to the dealer for a battery replacement! I grumbled but have a pal at the service desk who showed me the song-and-dance routine to reset the car's computer. All the dealers know I'm a self-trained gearhead, and Nan is a mechanic's daughter who bought lots of parts for Big Ed. She can tell a scam in the service department when she hears it. She since sold the Volvo, not without some lamentation, for a 2017 Mini S convertible, a very cool car but so complex that it gives me shivers. I can change the oil, filters, and rotate the tires. That's about it. We'll see what happens when the warranty expires. One option? Sell it and buy an older low-mile Volvo C70 convertible with the simpler soft-top, not the retractable hard-top.

I also found, for instance, that in 2004, GM (in their infinite lack of wisdom and abundance of greed) moved the fuel filter from under the Silverado into the tank, so a DIYer must really work hard to replace it. Mine can be changed simply and quickly, with the vehicle parked on the ground, as long as the fittings have not rusted solid. I spray-painted mine after a shop had to change the locked-shut filter for me. Now, at every DIY oil change, I fix any rust on the chassis of each car and touch up the paint there.

You can get parts for the types of vehicles I advocate driving, too. You will need to know parts numbers and specifics if the clerk at the register cannot help, which will be likely given the state of hiring at these stores.  I don't tend to recommend specific franchises, but NAPA seems to have the most knowledgeable helpers. Pity that our local NAPA is staffed by grumps! I go to one in town.

Some innovations have surprised me pleasantly. I replaced a window motor in the big Chevy truck easily and for $75. A few YouTube videos showed me how to remove the door panel and swap out the plug-and-play electronics. Once I was a staunch crank for crank-windows. Now I'm good with power. Likewise, when my dash went out on the truck, a mail-in repair shop that advertises on eBay replaced all the "stepper motors" that control the dashboard lights, speedo, and other gauges, with shipping for that same magic number of $75. The truck could still be driven while I waited for the instrument cluster to be returned. I got it back with better backlights, too, and I installed it in five minutes with simple tools.

I'm looking forward to reading Matthew Crawford's Why We Drive: Toward a Philosophy of the Open Road. I met Matt and had a few interesting chats with him when he lived in Richmond. I love his book Shop Class as Soulcraft. He argues passionately for us being doers with skills, not consumers who press a "pay now" button. Like me, he favors old, if inconvenient and less comfortable, rides. You, your sense of purpose, and your wallet might, too.

There are other kooks like me or Matt out there: we might own a handful of cheap used vehicles; if one breaks, we use another while we fix the other one. It beats a car payment and you can do most work with jacks, stands, or ramps. So much can be done with the hood open and nothing else. Maybe we need a new automotive deity: Self-Reliance?

Grandfather's Hammer and Keeping Old Things in Service

Some of you may know the Grandfather's Axe paradox. I encountered it a few years ago. The paradox asks us that if every part of an item is replaced one by one, in the end, is it still the same item? I heard it stated as "this is my grandfather's axe. Since he used it it has had two new handles and one new axe head."

So is it the same axe? The empirical, scientific answer is "no." Every molecule of the original item has been replaced, even if it looks identical.  I'm a Humanist, so I'm going to sail off in a different direction.

The paradox stretches back to ancient Greece, where it was called The Ship of Theseus. I really enjoy logical paradoxes, if you cannot already tell. I am not going to give you my philosophical opinion, right away, but I will talk about an item that evades the paradox because it is pretty much the same as when my grandfather used it.

He was a junk-dealer by trade, an immigrant from Hatay in what is now the southeastern corner of Turkey. Arriving in Richmond in 1911, in time he acquired an old truck and combed the countryside for scrap metal, old broken tools, furniture, or anything that might have some intrinsic value. Somewhere along the way, he found an old claw hammer, or at least the head of one. He fixed it to a length of metal pipe and used a giant nail to hold the head to the new handle.

I found that hammer when cleaning out his basement in Richmond, a couple of months after his passing in 1982. It went into an old tool box I still have in my barn, but the hammer recently re-appeared in my shop, when I found myself in need of something for driving masonry nails in the cinder-block wall for hanging tools, old tin signs, and other bric-a-brac. The old hammer works like a charm.

For years, every time I saw it, my Type-A, rationalist side would say "that old hammer needs a proper hickory handle," but somehow I never quite got around to it. I'm happy about that now. I'm slightly less Type A (and probably less rational) after a dozen years in the country, since farmwork requires a certain amount of clutter and temporary disorder when, say, the garden is bursting with food as it is right now.

We live in a time of fast food, fast fashion, disposable electronics. No thank you. My anti-consumerist, Humanist side wants to stake a claim to keeping old things that work well around as long as possible, even if, especially if like The Ship of Theseus, every single part has been replaced at least once. I recently put new front wheels on an old Woods belly mower that my late father-in-law slung under a 1951 John Deere M tractor he purchased new. In the years that I've been custodian of the machine, I restored and repainted it, replaced the seat, swapped out a new wire harness and battery, put in an electronic ignition. I bought a new mesh inner panel for the grille, a gas cap, and lots more.

Is it the same tractor? Mostly, yes, and it does exactly what my father-in-law did with it. When I'm gone, a grandchild or great-grandchild will get Grandpa's tractor, and one of my nieces or nephews who has a taste for DIY work will get my grandfather's hammer. Perhaps the paradox becomes meaningless if the object's purpose remains the same, and that object gets passed from generation to generation. I hope they don't just use the John Deere for parades or the hammer as garage-art.

It will help if I can get someone to form a bond with the tractor or the hammer, telling the story once a younger person shows interest. Luckily, the interest is there for lots of things that have been family heirlooms, but most of those objects I've handed on have not been tools. To merely hang the hammer on a wall (as I did the mower's old wheels, one of them still quite usable) seems to break a chain.

I don't have a fancy philosophical name for this but "the thingness of things" has been my go-to. I feel the material presence of my forebearers when I get on that tractor, hammer a nail, use a biscuit-cutter that belonged to my late mother-in-law. My favorite skillets are cheap and thin Taiwanese-made ones my mom got me at a Roses store in the summer of 1982, when I was returning to college and an apartment for my final year. I use those pans daily now and think of my mom, gone nearly two decades.

So look around the shop and house at old things your ancestors used to make life simpler: a rolling pin, a favorite casserole dish, the old Buick sedan that grandpa loved so much. Look at the well-made furniture that is not modern chic but still perfectly useful.

Could you still use those things? Why not?

Avoiding "Learned Helplessness": Yes, You Can Do It

I'm back from holidays and going about my chores as much as the sultry, even murderous, summer permits. Yet when in Canada, I didn't take much of a break, helping my cousin's husband fix deck-boards, replace the screen on a door, and weed-whack their lake camp's herb garden. My sister, who shares our mother's love of gardening, wondered how I can "do it all" on our farm where the tasks are endless.

First, I have a wonderful partner who has skills that compliment my own. Second, neither of us follow sports or watch TV beyond, at best, an hour weekly. Third, we don't stay glued to phones. Time opens up like a Spanish fan if you ignore those chronological vampires.

Those factors didn't really impress my Sis, who said "okay okay, no sports or TV. But how did  you learn to fix things and make things?" 

That stumped me. I fumbled for an answer, noting that when something interests me, such as how to properly run a circular saw like the one we used on the deck, I get obsessive in learning every single detail from print and Web sources. Nota Bene: beware YouTube advice-gurus. Watch a BUNCH or videos first to get a consensus. I mentioned by belief that while self-sufficiency proves impossible, Emersonian self-reliance should be our goal. I've written about it here before.

Gradually, however, I realized that my OCD personality and life philosophy are only part of the answer: at a certain point, I decided to never succumb to what plagues too many of my students, a "learned helplessness." You can Google that term, but to me it has meant that folks facing a problem turn to others right away instead of trying to solve it on their own.

Here I am thinking less of emotional or medical problems and more of the daily routine that can suck up so much of our time: cutting the lawn, servicing that lawn-mower, changing a car's wiper blades, rotating the tires yourself. 

Granted, they may bore you. They may be tedious. You might rather do other things. But being a cheapskate, I began to tally up how much of my green money would be going to "some guy" for each of these tasks. Imagine how much you'd save if you went out to eat only a few times a month and bought fewer prepared meals, and instead learned to cook from scratch. Try it for a week, with simple recipes, and keep track of how much you spend on good groceries versus a typical restaurant meal.

There are some chores I won't do: the chimney cleaner was at the house today and for $195, our stove and flue got a clean bill of health for the next heating season.

No, I don't want to be on a hot metal roof in 100+ heat. But then I also didn't want to give the guy who put a new windshield in my wife's pickup another $70 for new wiper blades "on special." My scowl and words about the shop's no-brand blades' price as compared to the Bosch I install ended that discussion.

You can change wiper blades in two minutes, and most of these skills listed earlier are within the reach of a typical human with enough flexibility and stamina; an elderly neighbor used to rotate his tires in the driveway without a lift such as the one I use. Conversely, many of my students have never changed a single tire. They "call some guy," presuming that guy will be around.  My nephew John's kids, on the other hand, are tractorpunks: John made them learn to drive a manual transmission car and change a tire as part of "adulting." He's my hero.

Sometimes it only takes a mentor to urge you to DIY. In Iceland, we had a flat on our camper van, and after setting the jack in volcanic soil hard as packed gravel, I found that the wimpy tire-change wrench would not budge the overly tight lugs. I caved. I called some guy. Specifically, I phoned the camper office and a friendly Scandinavian who runs the place said "oh just jump up and down on the wrench." And like that, I changed my tire.

So the next time your mower needs the blade sharpened, or an oil change, or the car's cabin air-filter is due for replacement (read that schedule in the owner's manual!) why not watch a few YouTube videos and give it a go?  You will feel more in control of the small things. That TikTok video of some parasite influencer can wait. That glamorous cipher will not make you less helpless or live a second longer. Again, start small. Eventually you might be changing the car's oil, rotating the tires, or installing a microwave yourself. You can do these things. Yes you can. Give our consumerist culture of learned helplessness the middle finger.

I should have changed my cabin air-filter sooner. I think they hid Jimmy Hoffa in there.

Old-School Tools: Barge Cement Update

 

I do not place advertising on this site. In a time when many driving down what we once called "the Information Superhighway" looks like a tacky highway full of ugly, intrusive billboards, I hope you appreciate that.

I do, however, endorse products that have worked well for me. One of them is an old-timer, Barge Cement. In its original formula that I have written about here, it has saved many a shoe from the landfill, as I found when a pair of slip-on work boots nearly lost their sole. With the parts cleaned and clamped, Barge provide me with years of service beyond what would have been the end of the boot. Here's the form of Barge you might find on brick-and-mortar shelves. 

 

Check the web site listed below for specialty versions, like one I've recently ordered online.

Recently I've another tough job needing adhesives, fixing weather-stripping / dent guards on a farm truck, before I repaint them. Regular Barge, the shoe adhesive, will not bond to all plastics, and who knows what GM used for that piece? Enter Barge Super Stik. I learned that the firm offers a range of cements with differing set-up times and curing times. I recommend checking their chart to verify if the materials to be bonded will work with a particular adhesive.

Fixing stuff is at odds with the ethos of Huxley's Brave New dystopia that we seem to inhabit, but I'd rather mend it than end it. That applied to a 1951 tractor I got back in service a decade ago; I changed the oil and mowed grass with it this week. It applies to shoes and other things, if you wish to say no to a consumerist "paradise" of cheap goods meant to wear out and be tossed into our brimming landfills.

So be subversive: go out and fix something. Barge is a premium product at a premium price, but if you follow directions you will not be disappointed.

Saving an Old Fence

When we lived in town, I always felt the pressure not to have the worst fence on the block. Now I don't worry about that at my home, but I sure do at our rental.

My tenants are fine folks. One of them used to work for me, so he knows I'm a fuss-budget about fiddly things. When their neighbors got a new fence, part of ours was so rotten (the ground there stays wet) that posts snapped off. The fencing company put up a 4' picket fence but I wanted all the fence to match the 6' privacy fence that we inherited when we bought the place a decade ago.

Treated wood ages like other wood, and soon enough, that fence looked like the set of a horror film. While I don't place advertising on this site or endorse products, I cannot speak highly enough about Behr Solid Deck Stain. We'd used it to preserve the house's deck, and it's a tough product. The company makes lighter-duty stains for siding, but the deck stain seemed a good, if slightly more expensive, option. I'd found that it made old wood look as good as the new replacement boards next to them.

So this post is short but clear: if you need to renew old wood, try this or its competitors. I found Valspar a little more expensive. But to hide the old dark weathered wood, go solid, not transparent.

Keep in mind that you cannot put stains over paint. They will peel. I never use paint on decking or fences, anyhow: I've found that on new or old unfinished wood, these heavy stains last a decade and best of all, clean up with water.

Happy repairs!

One Little Fix Made All the Difference

 I've written here before about diagnosing equipment problems, boiling matters down to a question of "Fire and Fuel," and I've discussed how critical our Kawasaki Mule 610 UTV is to our farm business.

The business goes well, with some income on a steady basis for egg sales from nearly 100 hens, but the poor Mule continued to give trouble until recently. I'd been haunting motorcycle and ATV forums for ideas, and after a long time pondering and replacing parts, at long last I hit on a solution for slow drain to our battery.

For you non-gearheads, apologies if I get a little wonky here. For you REAL wonks, I commend you to "History of the Humble Automotive Fuse," here.

Many Mule owners winge about the battery-drain issue. I did many things they too tried: replacing the ignition switch, putting in a new voltage regulator. I bought a new battery, but that drained after a while, too. It was maddening. I figured that rough usage or a mouse had led to a short in the wiring. Taking the Mule apart one panel at a time, I verified the integrity of every wire I could see.

Then I did the non-cheapass thing: I bought an original Kawasaki Mule Voltage Regulator, not a dubious Chinese-made aftermarket part (for 100 bucks versus 20). Suddenly the Mule ran like the proverbial scalded dog of Southern simile.  I also installed a battery shut-off switch, marking the "on" position with a yellow paint-pen. With it off, no current would trickle in the circuit after we ran the vehicle (thus avoiding any load on the battery from a short I could not see).

Oh, how I basked in my gearhead pride until the Mule would NOT start at all. 

At least I knew that came from the incredibly flimsy, easily jostled 30-amp glass fuse near the battery. You do need a fuse of that amperage, to avoid damage to the electrical system in the event of a power surge. Yet Kawasaki chose something so badly designed that I'd have figured they pulled 1980s General Motors accountants out of retirement to advise them on how to save 30 cents on each Mule.

Fuses come in two varieties these days, as shown here. A "bladed" fuse to me is much less prone to breakage from jostling, and it's less likely to slip loose from its holder.  

The price differences between the two types are negligible, but the fitting to hold the fuses probably costs more for the bladed design. Thanks to Amazon, I got an entire bag of bladed-fuse holders for 10 dollars, putting one holding a bladed fuse in place of the crappy glass fuse.

And yes, it worked. No pride this time, just a wary, sideways look at the Mule now and then to see if anything else breaks. At least I now feel that I can fix it, when (not if) that happens.

Asleep yet? A blog can work better than Valium. But seriously, if you own a UTV and have intermittent problems with your battery going down, try that I tried.

Occam's Razor, 2023

Once again, I applied the idea that given competing solutions to a problem, start with the simplest. I live by that rule. It's logical, elegant, and usually a cheapass solution to expensive issues.

As I wrote here before, most problems with any machine involve fuel or fire. 

We own many used vehicles, not including tractors. I work on almost all of them. The use of Occam's Razor never failed me yet, but William of Occam never met a modern electrical system's ground fault or short circuit. For those without coursework in electrical science, I'm talking about the way any charged circuit "goes to ground," with current going to the frame of a vehicle because of a chafed or broken wire. This slowly discharges the battery. It's not dangerous (generally) in a 12-volt DC system like the Mule has; once the current of 20-40v from the engine reaches the voltage regulator, it steps down to trickle-recharge (rather than blow up) the battery. Thus arranged, a new battery can last a decade in a car; in a farm vehicle, fewer years because of all the moisture and hard use they encounter.

Still, that recharging battery is magic! That's all fine and good until one has a short from corrosion in a connector or a mouse-chewed wire somewhere, leading the battery to slowly discharge over time.

Of all our vehicles, the most thrashed, and most useful, is a Kawasaki Mule 610 we got when Nan broke her leg in 2015. It makes getting tools and supplies a snap on a large property, not to mention moving 50 lb bags of feed for chickens, bed-loads of mulch or gravel, and more. At our age, we could not get by easily without the Mule.

Until we had to do so. Something was draining the UTV's battery.

The Internet forums for these vehicles abound with complex and often contradictory advice. I've come to the conclusion they these light-duty UTVs all have a weak-spot in their electrical systems.

So I began with the cheapest, easiest fixes. After testing and ruling out expensive stuff, I replaced the $12 ignition switch (trivial), $20 voltage regulator (a bit fiddly). Still, the machine continued blowing a 30 amp fuse and the battery would not hold a charge. The battery was fairly new, so it was either 1) damaged by all the jump starts and draw-downs or 2) not the culprit.

Eventually, I came to the conclusion that a parking-brake "idiot light" had a short. I simply eliminated it from the circuit and bought a new $60 battery. Now the Mule runs like new. I then spruced it up with new tail-gate and hood-release cables, cleaned the frame and engine compartment, did an oil change, cleaned the air-filter, and repaired a tire with a slow leak. I have a few more things to do before the 500-hour service, none of them major work. 

If the fuse blows again, I'll shell out $150 for a new electronic control module, a computerized device that regulates where current goes in the Mule's innards.

I cannot say that I won't thrash the Mule again, but I plan to stick to the service intervals and check my electronics more. With 400 hours after 8 years, the Mule has been used heavily by us. We don't want to have to replace it.

So as 2023 closes shop, what else have we been thrashing, aside from our poor planet and our sense of community? What if we applied Occam's Razor to some of those problems?

Here's to hoping that 2024 is bright and full of hope.

A (Darn Straight) Right to Repair

 I have begun using the term "stealership" when referring to the automotive dealers' service centers.

Granted, I know some dudes at Mini, and they have given me sweetheart deals over the years. They knew I'd be coming in to buy another car, eventually. Granted, I used to know a tech or two at Honda, before I got the chops to fix on my own the two CR-Vs I've had. But, still.

 With my wife's 2019 Toyota Tacoma due for its first non-free service at 30K miles, I asked her to get a price on the work: oil change, filters, checking differentials and transfer case, lubing the few points on the chassis that are not sealed. Price? Nearly 300 bucks.

"Get out," said I, looking at the owner's manual. I knew that I could do the same work for a lot less. I made a list, because modern companies still give you a maintenance schedule in your owner's manual. Use it.

This post is not a "tsk tsk" for those of you who don't have tools or time to DIY maintain your rides. I have been blessed with an inherited lift we got back in service last year, time to learn how to use tools, plus a decent collection of same. I write for an automotive publication. I should be able to turn a wrench by now.

My family was famous for its mantra "call some guy!" I've written recently about this philosophy. My mom's brother-in-law, Carlyle Rourke, resisted it. He had a 1964 Mercury Comet 4-door that he kept into the late 1980s. He did everything on that car, and when my first Buick Apollo needed an oil change, he showed me how. My old man told me "get a real mechanic to check your work, boy." I told Pop that if the car was not puking oil into the street, and the dip-stick was right, I'd just take my damn chances.

Today's vehicles are a long way from that Comet, but there are many things one can do on modern vehicles, and thank you, YouTube mechanics, for showing us how. For Nan's truck I soon had torque-specs for all the bolts I'd need to tighten, techniques for doing things without spilling oil on myself (here I failed. Toyotas are odd that way), and so much more that would put you to sleep if I listed them.

Like the OCD person I am, I wrote it ALL down in order of service, with numbers for torque specs beside each item on the 30K list.

With three hours of backache-inducing work, it all was done. I did have to order sockets from Amazon in sizes I didn't have. I tried local businesses but they either put me on endless holds or told me I'd have to buy a set.

Pffft. I got next-day delivery from Bezos' company and a good price. At the end, for $76 including the half-case of Amsoil 0w20 plus filter and Toyo-specific filter-wrench I needed for the oil change, I handily came in at 1/4 the price of the dealership.

Now that many states are pressing for right-to-repair laws, may I humbly suggest you go to Harbor Freight or Northern Tool, buy a cheapass set of wrenches, and watch some YouTube videos? See a few how-to examples at other sites? Some of them have wonderful senses of humor.

It's the 21st Century version of sticking it to the Man. Come bust a knuckle or two with em.

Call Some Guy? When Do You Do That?

After the remnants of a tropical storm brought 5 inches of rain to us in two days, our well-water again grew cloudy. Our well-house, below ground level, had flooded. 

Living with a well is always an adventure. 

Was it time to call some guy? My old man, whose tool-kit consisted of a claw-hammer and 16D nail, would say that if those two items did not fix something. "Boy, we better call some guy!"

I have done this thing myself, DIYer that I am. We have had this water issue before, after an earthquake (!) knocked a huge chunk of concrete out of the well's casing. Silt would pour into the well with heavy rain. I called some guy.

That time we spent thousands of dollars to get the casing repaired. Those repairs included a pallet-load of cement to fill a void as large as a closet and a UV filter installed for the water line. 

This time, we rode it out. Here's why.

Rural life involves lots of trade-offs, not least of which involves the expense of getting work done by others. Most of the time, to save money and remain as self-reliant as possible, we "make do or do without," so we have filtered water for a week as the ground-water level dropped. 

The well was, after all, undamaged. To have a firm come out and pump out the well house would cost a lot of money. I have a jet-pump, but I also have a day job that has gotten very busy of late. So out came the water filters for camping. 

No amount of self-reliance equates to self-sufficiency, a pernicious American myth I've critiqued here before. I put down my test of tests to this: is the cost of the repair vs. the time I'd need to do it myself so high that I am willing to surrender X hours of my time, bust knuckles, maybe risk an injury?

When the answer is "yes," I get out the tool box. If "no," I call some guy. That is not a defeat, but it's also not an invitation to be helpless and not learn skills.

No offense, but when something minor goes wrong at the rental property, my tenants never fix things that I can fix in ten minutes. First, they have me and I work just up the street. Second, there is fear of making something worse. My current tenants have some "skills" and can at least diagnose problems. I've had others without even a screwdriver or pair of pliers in the house. It's a form of learned helplessness I simply do not understand, but at least the rent gets paid by these good folks.

So learn some skills, but learn your limitations, too.

If you are an entrepreneur, I strongly recommend setting up a handy-man firm called "Some Guy" with the motto "Got a home problem? Call Some Guy!” That’s 1-800-Some Guy or  callsomeguy.com." 

That URL is not taken, so get busy. There's a fortune to be made.

Figs, Figs, Everywhere

My grandfather Sam spent most of his life trying to grow figs, before climate change made it ridiculously easy in our bioregion.

That is the one good thing I will ever say about global warming.

This time of year, my nephew Mike Ryan (as big a madman as I am) will text me with a "hey, Uncle Cheapass! I want them damn figs!" and I deliver, delighted that one person in my extended family at least loves fresh figs as much as my grandfather and dad did. Or as much as my wife and I do now.

Growing fig trees is not that hard, once they get established. Chicago Hardy is a variety that works well here. Further south Brown Turkey is a good bet.

But what to do with the thousands--and I am not kidding--of figs that even four trees can produce in a year? Here's the plan, Stan.

 And where do we go for ideas about how to deal with lots of excess fruit or veg? Why the National Center for Home Food Preservation, of course!

They feature the best canning recipe ever for fig jam. Even non-canners could make this one work. It cans in a boiling-water bath in 5-10 minutes, depending upon the size jar.

We have not bought jam in years, in consequence. Plant some fig trees and give it a try. Sam would be so happy to know that folks are growing figs. Once you get in the habit, you'll never let it go.

Applesauce! Yes, You Too Can Can This

You need not be a can-can dancer, though that might be fun, to put up applesauce.

Our trees produced about a bushel this year, a record. We were proactive with copper-sulfate spray to thwart blight, and I will try it again next year, 

We also head to Fruit Hill Orchard in Palmyra VA a few times in September and October, as their harvest comes in. We end up with lots of apples.

I found this recipe, perfect for the novice canner, at The National Center for Home Food Preservation, my go-to for safe canning advice. You can can applesauce in either a boiling-water or pressure canner. It cans fast and, in my pressure canner, with only 5 lbs pressure. How fast? I wrote this post while the sauce sat in the canner.

Nothing from the store tastes as good.

Doesn’t that sound like more fun than looking at a screen? So print the recipe, go pick a bushel, and make some sauce. Now.

The Joy Begins When the Wrench Stops Turning

Yesterday, while changing spark plugs on our 2006 Honda, I said to no one in particular, “I hate this!” I had dropped a magnetic tool that lifts plugs out of the deep wells in the engine’s head. The tool clattered into the inky depths of the engine compartment, to lodge itself about 1" beyond my reach. Even with the car on the lift, it took me 30 minutes to get the magnet as well as the tool that tried to retrieve it, after I dropped that too. 

Yet would I do it again? Or call some guy?

I would do it again myself in a heartbeat. Here’s why.

I look forward to reading Matthew Crawford’s book Why We Drive. I met him a few times and talked mechanic-talk when his wife Beth worked at my university. Our philosophy about being gearheads and DIYers is similar. I think he has a Distributist bent, as I do. We seem to both disdain US corporate capitalism, where billionaires own most things and pay the least, as well as communist ideals of "workers controlling the means of production," which so often means a different elite concentrates ownership of capital while duping those workers. As I currently understand Distributism, we all ARE the means of production. In an ideal world of this economic model, we'd all build our own cars or have 100 co-ops doing this to achieve an economy of scale. We'd grow our own food and build our own houses. We'd do a lot by barter.

Think Amish with more tech, though the Amish I've met are very savvy capitalists.

But back to DIY work. Matt enjoys working on vehicles more than I do. That said, we share a passion for knowing our machines. Modern vehicles are fiendishly complex, designed to force us back to the dealership’s overpriced service department. Yet there exists a sweet spot between the Model A Ford's knuckle-busting simplicity, with its concurrent lack of safety and environmental features, and today's computers on wheels. For most of these vehicles from the 1940s-early 2000s, most wrench-turners can do routine repairs and service at home with the help of the parts store and YouTube.  

When I'm done and things work well, I then enjoy the result. My passion to do more gets rekindled.

Yes, I have the enormous advantage of a full tool kit and an automotive lift. But I didn't start that way, when Uncle Carlyle and I first changed the oil on my original 1974 Buick Apollo: we used ramps, a catch pan, shop rags, and a small set of wrenches.  Today, oil-changes are easy for me and often I have them finished in 15 minutes. I feel great satisfaction, too, knowing I used the best components for less than a quick-lube shop would charge me for hasty work and bargain-grade lubricant.

You may have a vehicle that is very complex; these are modern vehicles that I've yet to have break on me, though my wife's 2017 Mini has a control panel that terrifies me. It's a $9500 fix, but for now, it is under warranty. For these complex cars and trucks, feature-creep that means every system on a vehicle gets monitored by sensors and subject to proprietary software that costs thousands of dollars, if a company will even share it (not all states have right-to-repair laws). In consequence, a clerk at Advance Auto, while selling me a battery for a car, told me they no longer can help with most vehicles after the 2013 or 14 model year; they have to be taken to a dealership to have the computer reset.

That's far beyond my skills, though I can read and reset Check-Engine codes with a 20-buck OBD II scanner and my smart phone. We do what we can, but overall, I'd still purchase the most minimalist technology I can to avoid the expenses of dealer-mandated service.

I want to invite each of you reading to this fix something instead of saying "call some guy!" My old man, whose tool kit consisted of a claw hammer and a 16D nail, would say that constantly when his two tools could not fix something. I refused to comply with his orders regarding repairs. After my Uncle showed me how to change my own oil, dad told me to have "some guy" at an auto shop check after me. I told him "hell no."

Now I want to start a handyman service called "Some Guy Repairs." Our motto: Call Some Guy Right Now!

You may well break the item you try to fix the first time. You might get it half-way right. You may lose parts. But as a colleague at work always reminds me, "don't let perfect be the enemy of good."

Start with a simple item; I don't recommend you trying to repair a home HVAC system or your car's brakes, but you might fix the cord on an electric fan or figure out how to change your own tire, so you can take the flat to the shop instead of having the vehicle towed.

You will end up with dirty hands but a sense of accomplishment.

The New Planned Obsolescence

Obsolescence is such a nice word. I like how it rolls off my tongue. In practice, however, I despise the idea of obsolescence.  Today we associate it with phones that can no longer be updated (I miss my iPhone 4, thank you very much). It still functions and I use it as a camera for eBay listings. But it cannot connect to Verizon's network. It cannot be updated by Apple.

Phones are not refrigerators, however. The simpler ones are the only ones I will buy, and they do not require software updates. No smart appliances, ever, for me.

Once upon a time, Maytag had the reputation for simple, indestructible appliances. Hence their repairman, "the loneliest guy in the world," an ad-campaign worthy of Don Draper of Sterling-Cooper.

Whirlpool, a company whose appliances I have found cheaply made in recent years, bought Maytag and just last month, we paid the price for this acquisition. We'd done our homework after a lightning-strike burned up a high-tech Samsung refrigerator we owned. 

Maytag had high ratings, and I found a floor-model at a locally owned appliance dealer at a nice discount. It had a warranty. Yet in fewer than five years, our simple top-freezer model began to die a slow death. First, the drains would not work in the freezer, so water began to drip into the lower compartment. Then the cooling in the lower compartment stopped working, despite a service call from a locally owned and well-regarded repair shop.  

As the repairman told me, nothing save a Subzero may last more than a decade. Nothing. Companies build their appliances that way, using cheaper parts than they once did, to keep prices stable while getting us to buy replacements more often.

It was not always that way. My GE circulating fan has been in action since before I was born, and the 1940s Frigidaire in my parent's kitchen endured 30 years, until we moved out of the house. Yes, it had to be defrosted. Yes, it did not make ice save in those hard-to-employ metal trays.

Luddite I can be, I wonder what we have gained except a costly convenience and, on a more positive note, energy efficiency. I yearn for government action to punish firms for this wasteful practice, but that seems such a 20th-Century idea in our Cyberpunk present.

So we purchased a simple GE "ice box," a term I still like to use, for under $1000. No ice-maker, either. I am using plastic trays. I did purchase a countertop Frigidaire ice-maker from Amazon that does not require a water-line. It recycles ice that does not get used, melting and re-freezing it. So far we have yet to plug it in, because the GE fridge works well enough for Spring weather. Come Summer we'll need more ice.

I doubt that our new GE will last 30 years, which would also be about my own expiration date. We'll see.

Meanwhile, I am going to try...mightily...to only buy things that have a reputation for longevity.

The dumber the tool, the longer it lasts. Dumb as a hammer. Ever broken one of them?