Long-time readers know that I'm building a house using mostly my own hands with long-suffering help from Miss Trixie. For the first time in my life, though, I hired someone else to do things like spray foam and roofing. This is highly unusual for Ol’ Dutch and his family as we always taken pride in doing it ourselves when it came to anything, except nuclear bombs. 

Having learned early on to at least “try,” Ol’ Dutch has come up with some skills that sure comes in handy when it's time to do just about anything. But in this new house, my old bones have appreciated the help. I am not sure if I have injured myself greatly or, perhaps, these aches and pains are just how I am now. Growing old ain't for sissies. 

My son Bubs does big flooring jobs across Dallas. Watching those installers work is a real sight. They can do so much work in such little time that even an old DIY’er like me is amazed. Miss Trixie’s dad was a contractor also in the Dallas area and he takes woodworking to a totally new level. I mean Ol’ Dutch can “get er done” but her dad, Shot – that's his name – does it with skill. 

My woodworking skills, while adequate, are more along the lines of a hacker and wallower. And that is an inherited trait, let me tell you what. This past weekend Grand #1 wanted to use the livestock trailer to haul her horse Old Pistol Pete to a barrel racing event. I delivered it to her beforehand, of course, for her to clean out the cow manure and get it ready for Pete's first ride in it. 

She dutifully cleaned it out and needed to drill a hole for a tie point. A girl she may be, but Bubs had made sure that both his daughters know their way around a toolbox and chores. She got a drill and bit, then proceeded to drill a hole, way too small. Bubs suggested she get a bigger bit, but she refused saying, “I'll just wallow it out.” That kid comes from a long line of wallowers. 

I'm not sure if she has ever heard that term before, but I'm sure she's seen me wallow out something here or there. Our family never had the adequate tool for the job, so we made do with what we had. A long line of wallowers, indeed, and now it's been passed down to another generation. Ol’ Dutch can usually get a job done but has been known to cut a board three times and still be too short. I may be bordering on blind luck when it comes to some projects getting done. Or maybe all projects. Who knows?  

Our family has never been much on mechanics, so we tend to steer clear of major projects of that nature. If YouTube University tells us it's possible, though, we'll try our hand at that, too. I was reminded of this the other day when I was looking for a bolt and nut for something and went through my stash of nuts and bolts in the barn. I have a large selection of new ones that I have purchased, of course, but also found a lot of old ones and got to thinking – a dangerous proposition according to Miss Trixie – where do old bolts come from? 

I can recall some that I have accumulated like one from a 1979 Ford Thunderbird. I replaced the starter and could not get the last bolt in, so it just had to do without for the rest of the time I owned the car. Real skill I believe is when a man works on a car or other mechanical beast and does not have bolts left over. 

I guess I am too old to change so Ol’ Dutch will continue stumbling along, wallowing and collecting bolts as I fix things. At least now I have one of those little magnetic bowls from the Harbor to hold my errant bolts.

Kevin Kirkpatrick spends his days fishing, hunting, ATVing, hiking or making people laugh. His email is Kevin@TroutRepublic.com. Additional news can be found at www.troutrepublic.com or on Twitter at TroutRepublic.