How I came to call myself "LessDigits"

Online I go by LessDigits, it's a little play on words, making light
of the fact that I am actually missing most of my left ring finger.

I am 38 years old, and I grew up, and live in southwest lower Michigan.

Growing up poor, the way I did made me appreciate things more than my peers did.
My sister and I wore "hand-me-down" clothes given to us by cousins who had
outgrown them. Holidays and birthdays yielded new socks, underwear, and usually
a small toy or larger shared item, like the Atari game system we got one Christmas.

We always made do, and never went without, but not really having extra money in the budget for repairs we learned to do our own. I seemed to have a natural ability for being able to figure out how many things work, with our hands my father and I did what needed to be done around the property. I was myself still in school, and he wasn't educated past the 8th grade, but we did it all from the wiring, plumbing, carpentry to some car repair.

Upon leaving high school, after I had graduated I had gotten married
and found a job as a laborer on a residential building crew. After a couple years I found myself working at a small lumberyard. I really enjoyed it,and figured I would keep at it until I owned the place. In the next 15 years I worked my way up from a yard employee, to delivery driver, into the office as an inside sales person, and my duties ranged from the daily sales through inventory purchasing and account management. I wound up working at three different companies, the last one a large corperate owned company.

By then I was on my second marriage, I was now a father as well. Times were tight, just how they had always been, and like my father I was working as much as I could to make ends meet. This included doing side jobs, home repair and maintainance for people for extra cash. The job at the lumber company wasn't working out as I had hoped, I missed the feeling of the small town yards I had come from. This place was all about company policies, and didn't give me and opportunity to advance as I would have liked to.I made some bad choices, put myself in a bad spot, and had to quit that job, and found myself back in the construction field.

I worked for a local man, new to the industry, and like me seemed to work as much as posible. The trade in our area is almost always booming, this is the edge of Lake Michigan, a mostly resort type area, and it seems that those who live along it's shore always have the means to afford maintainence, repairs, etc. We worked together doing mostly remodeling work, some of the nastiest, most difficult jobs.

He and an investor had gone in together and purchased a total wreck of a place,a few blocks from the beach, one that needed everything from the foundation up, this place would be our ticket up a notch, instead of doing side work, I would spend evenings and weekends working on the place, looking ahead to a big payoff. We kept the pace for months, what seemed like endless hours, we did it all, new framing, new windows, doors, roof, siding drywall, wood and tiled floors. One of the last things we were doing was the siding.

On the west wall we had put in two very large bay windows,my boss had never dealt with the framing of one before, where as I had some experience. We had left the roof and soffit framing go until it was time to apply the siding, and that became my job.

It was the last Sunday in July, a real hot one with temperatures near 100 degrees and 90 percent humidity. Bay windows have roofs on them, but of obviously must smaller, with the lack of needing large framing material I set forth working with short 2x4's which I would rip and angle along the top edge to accept the roof sheeting from two directions, as I recall it was a 30 degree angle on the table saw.

My progress was moving along just fine. I had one window done and was working on the last rafter of the second one. As I was pushing the board through the machine, it began to bind on the blade, the blade quickly started to warp, which caused it to try to push the board back toward me. I was hot, and tired, it was the last hour of a long day, and not thinking, I reached over the blade to hold down the end of the board. In just a second, with no time to react, the board came back, with my hand still on the end of it.

With a 40 tooth blade, turning 3000 rpm. it tore into my fingers. It happened so fast, I hardly felt it. It took a few seconds to fully understand what had happened. I didn’t look, I didn’t have to, I could feel what was left of my ring finger dangling there. I shut the saw down, and started calling for my employer, who was on the other side of the building. I headed over to my truck, in which I kept a change of clothes. Still not looking, I reached inside and grabbed a t-shirt, made a fist around it, and wrapped the excess around the outside of my hand.

By this time my boss had made it over, he knew by the sound of my call, that something bad happened, and made sure to tell me that I shouldn’t try to drive anywhere. “No Shit!, Fucking call 911!” I snapped at him, he told someone else on the site to call 911, and tell them we would meet the ambulance at their garage a few miles away. As we got into the truck, he stopped and ran back to the saw and grabbed my finger, placed it in a bag of ice we had on the job, and we left.

I guess it was at that moment I realized I wasn’t going to get it back, of course I hoped I would, but I could some how just tell. I was surprisingly calm on the way, I was even working my cell phone, one handed, trying to contact my wife. I remember being able to get through to my step daughter, first asking if she may know where her mother was, “no, why?” she asked, and I responded, “ I cut my finger off” “WHAT?!” she shouted. We were just pulling in to the ambulance station, so I replied, “ I have to go, if you talk to her, tell her I’m on my way to the hospital in Michigan City” and hung up.

The EMT crew had the ambulance running, I remember how cool it was in there with the A/C running. They got me in, strapped me down and a tech told me he had to look at it, and I said that was fine. He winced as he opened the t-shirt, and I knew this wasn’t a good sign. They gave me a total of 6 cc’s of morphine, which didn’t make the pain go away, but made me not care, and as chatty as a Cathy Doll.

At the hospital, everyone was nice, they were also honest, they had called a plastic surgeon in, but felt he didn’t have enough to work with. Sure enough, he came, one look and he told me straight, there was no posible reattachment .
I had taken off the top of center knuckle on my pinky, cut most of the tip off my middle finger, and the blade had gone down the length of my ring finger. The saw’s blade must have grabbed my wedding ring, (my grandfather’s 18k white gold ring, it was mangled, but I still have it) which was still on my hand. Word had spread through the family,and my wife was by my side for what was next.

The surgeon prepared my finger for closure, first by cutting back the jagged edges of bone with a pair of side cutters, just below my first knuckle. He removed the extra skin, cleaned me up with peroxide, and stitched it closed. The remnants of my finger lay in that bag of melted ice, on the counter of exam room three, lifeless and gone forever. Within three hours of the accident I was walking out of the emergency room, less one digit.

My father's tiller, and the garden 09'

The harvest of 2009 is well under way in Three Oaks , Michigan.

The beans came off on my property almost two weeks ago,and as usual many farmers are working hard to get their crops out before the weather stops their progress.
It's the first week of November in southwest lower Michigan,and it's been unseasonably warm and dry.Since my garden has long been harvested , I took this
time to till under the remnents and reflect on the efforts made in my garden this year.

My father passed away just over a year ago,and as with anyone, losing a loved one is hard, and one cannot help but selfishly wanting more time to spend with that
person. Although my father and I had a great relationship,and I know he was very proud of me, I couldn't help but feel we had some unfinished business, things left
undone as life continued to move forward for us all.Things like projects started around the farm that were never finished, I had felt I let him down, as I had
never made the time to complete them as I had promised. One of those unfinished projects was my father's roto-tiller.

To the best of my recollection,in 1987 my folks had bought this massive Troybilt tiller to replace the used, broken, and worn out, tillers they had in the past.
It came in a giant packing crate, and needed assembly, I wish I had pictures of my dad while he was putting it together, I assume his grin was from ear to ear.
A new machine, state of the art at the time, with an 8 horse power, Kohler engine, electric start, oversized tires, push bar,safety handles, the works.
Like a kid at Christmas, he tore into it and in no time he had it running and busting up the sod, getting the soil ready for the year's planting.

My parents would always put in one of the biggest gardens one has ever seen, roughly twelve thousand square feet, it seemed to go on forever, three sections
containing just about anything you could think of, and in mass quantity. It's been said that when my folks looked at this property in consideration of it's purchase,
that my father walked out, picked up a handful of the dirt, ran it through his hands and flatly said "We're buying it." without even looking at the house, and
since buying the place they have always planted that huge garden, with great success. In those days my sister and I were labor, we weeded,watered,hoe'd and harvested,
then came hours of shelling, podding,cutting and canning. I say we were labor because although we were shown how to produce a fantasic crop in simple soil, we paid
no attention therefore not actually learning much about how, when and why it is done.

That tiller,was a vital tool in that garden, I was nearing the end of high school, and whether I went on to attend college,a trade school, or off to
work, the fact was that I wouldn't be around to help with the garden as I had for the years previous. Furthermore, in 1986 my dad was injured in a car wreck,
in which he sustained major, permanant damage to his hip,leaving him the ability to walk again,but painfully labored. This tremendous tilling machine was self
propelled and 20 inches wide, and it made tilling for just one man much easier.For the next sixteen years, my parents took care of that garden themselves,as my sister and
I had since moved on with our lives outside of our childhood home, leaving our parents no choice, but to do it alone.

I had always been good with my hands, I did most of the maintainence on the family cars, doing my best with what I had,which was with no great selection of tools,
nor a proper garage or barn to work in. It must have been around 1993 or 94 that the engine quit on that tiller. "What the hell? , That thing was three grand!"
My father had said, other Troybilt tillers we knew of lasted decades and ran fine. I finally got out to look at it, thinking it must be something simple. The
electric start had quit working, but that was no big deal,as it had always started with a few pulls on the rope. Not this time, the engine turned over way to easy,
almost free spinning, no compression, I noticed that the original spark plug had been replaced with an old car engine plug. Perhaps it had to "hot of a spark" and
burned a hole in the piston or something.

I was a carpenter at that point,and having a pencil behind my ear, I placed it down through the spark plug's hole and sat the eraser on top of the piston and pulled
the rope again. Nothing...Damn! I wasn't sure what happened,but the piston isn't goin up and down, it must have thrown a rod, or the top of the piston broke off.
I had to break the bad news, the engine was probally junk, or at least out of my league when it came to a repair of that magnatude. It was then I had promised that
someday when we could afford a new engine, or at least the needed parts, that I would fix it, and get it in the field again.

The farmer that rents the property from us was kind enough to plow , and disc the garden section from then on, but in these years the garden had shrunk greatly,
and with us kids not being around, and considering my parents were getting older, that would do for more than a decade to come.

In this past spring, the first since my father's passing, my mother was once again looking at the garden area, since my father first had gotten sick she was on her
own out there, left to do the work herself. The garden had shrunk even more, reduced to about sixteen hundred square feet, and with the increasing needs regarding
my father's care, it was overrun with weeds. It still produced, and my mother still enjoyed getting outside, getting her hands in the soil, and taking in the year's
harvest, this was needed less for food and sustinance, and more for personal theropy. It was at this time I once again vowed to repair that old machine, and give
her the help she needed to get her garden back as remembered.

I began to research the cost of a new engine, the results were the same in that it was out of the question, almost $900 for a replacement. These days I have better
tools and more knowledge and decided to see if i could repair the original engine. Once it was torn down, the parts list added up to over $400, it needed bearings,
a connecting rod, and a crankshaft for sure,and probally some other small parts that were damaged or lost in the past 14 years.

Spring had come at the shop I currently work at,my boss and I were talking about gardening,he has an old tiller, very simular to my father's, and he and I were
talking about it one day, he said it was his grandfathers,and was probally over fifty years old. Twenty years ago he was in a simular situation and bought a small
Brigg's and Stratton engine that bolted right on,and although his tiller was rusty and old, it ran fine and did the job for many years. This got me to thinking, this was my answer.
I hadn't even considered switching brands, of course, I could find something cheaper than the factory Kohler brand,and started looking for something to fit.

My search started in catalogs, I looked at Briggs,Teacomseh,and Hondas,all priced much cheaper than just the parts to fix the original Kohler would.
One evening I continued my search, but this time on the internet,agricultural supply companies, craigslist, and ebay. I had run across a brand of engine that I
had never heard of, some Honda clone,a cheap knock-off, but it's something I could afford. I researched it some, and had come to find out that it was a clone,
but proven to be relible,and even came with a warrantee simular to the name brands. This was it,I had found the answer, I found a local dealer and purchased a
5 1/2 horse model for $175, including tax, and within a few hours of the purchase I had reassembled the tiller,and had it running after it sat dorment for
nearly 16 years.

It was my turn,to feel like a kid, I was so proud, I took it out immediately and dug into the soil. I cannot describe how it felt,the smell of exhaust,the smell
of the freshly turned dirt, the rumble at the end of the long handle bar, I could have tilled 100 acres that day, and kept going. I spent hours laying out the
garden as best as I could remember and followed those lines back and forth until the soil was ready,and plenty deep to plant in.

I was so excited,the tiller ran great,the garden was ready, a hefty 40 x 200, my mother and I dug out her box of seeds, and started to lay out the plot. My mother
plants things as she goes, and again I read books and researched online,and we started planting. In the weeks to come we purchased seed potatoes,onion sets, and a
few flats of started, tomatoes, peppers, and kale, and proceeded to plant every row by hand in the giant expance of fresh earth the tiller prepared for us. At this
point a change had overcome me, this all started with me and that tiller,and I couldn't have cared less if anything grew, I had finally fulfilled my promise of
getting that tiller going again, but once I started planting I wanted to see this process through. My new obession.

First came the potatoes I had planted, seeing those plants slowly reaching for the sun filled me with pride that one gets from providing food for their family
in the most basic way. A pride that comes from accomplishing something yourself,something long awaited for. I was actually seeing the fruits of my labor and it
consumed me, I could be found out there most evenings, and every weekend. I used the tiller to cultivate the rows, and my mother and I would just have to
hand weed in between the plants themselves. The straight rows filled in as time went by,and the zuchinni plants were the first to produce,followed by kale,pickles,
and tomatillos.

The garden was producing fast,and because of the hard work put in to it, we needed to make use of our crops. My wife and daughter came and helped when they could,
as this was truely quite a task for someone employed full time,and a 73 year old woman.It seems that there was a couple weeks there where,we had zuchinni every day
in every way, in salads,casseroles,bread,cookies,and cake. We chopped and froze what we could,canning pickles,and tomatoes, but still had more than we needed.
We gave away some of the excess to friends and family,but still had things going to waste, so I built a small roadside stand from and little old table given to me,
and some old crate wood I had from a construction job I done done a year or so before.My daughter and I painted it up with paint that was in the basement for
years, and added a mason jar beneath the top to collect money.

Having a roadside stand on a seldom traveled road wasn't working to good and things were still getting wasted. Once again talking with my employer,he suggested
moving my stand to his property along Red Arrow Highway in Harbert, next to his furniture showroom. This proved to be a great idea, daily commuters,and weekend
tourists frequented my little stand, and soon I was running daily to the farm to harvest,then to Harbert to restock, and collect money from the stand. Slowly at
first, but soon I had strong demand,and I was doing a small but steady business from it,I lost track of the actual amount of money made,as I used it as needed for
normal expenses during these tough economic times, however I more than made the cost of the tiller engine,and the seed back, and have a freezer, and root
celler full of food for the winter. I sold bushels of tomatoes,squash,and corn, and lesser amounts of many other things like peppers and beans, I got many
compliments on the quaility of my vegetables.

A few weeks ago, I packed up the stand for the season, it was sad for me, because even though I was running myself ragged going back and forth till dark most
nights, my garden was done. I hated the thought that this would come to an end, I enjoyed so much the feeling I got seeing the baskets filled with vegatables I
grew myself. Our garden wasn't perfect, we made mistakes along the way, but no regrets, we learned alot,and I cannot wait to get started again in the spring,
that's why I took this day to till the earth under once again, it's good for the soil, it's good for my soul.
In my eyes that garden was in honor of my father,we know he would have been so proud.