For years, my father has built things with his hands and made extraordinary things out of ordinary objects. He’s a self-taught woodworker, lumberjack, hunting guide, fishing guide, marksman, and chef. He is truly one of the greatest men I’ve ever met. One thing my father lacks, however, is patience with things that don’t have a pulse. It’s often comical and is followed by a string of expletives, and, if you’re lucky, he’ll sing them out twice.

A long time ago, when I was a wee lad, my dad decided to buy a brand new Central Pneumatic pancake compressor and a hose rated for 90 psi. He was so excited to get this new tool because we, as a family, had started to put new siding around the entirety of Pinnacle Lodge.

So, we fired up the generator and plugged in the compressor. The whirr of the little electric engine buzzed as it charged up the tank. Now, I was too young to help with this, as I would’ve probably just gotten in the way. I asked my mom if she wanted to go out fishing with me. She said yes, probably thinking something similar to what I was. We grabbed our fishing poles and started walking outside.

We got about half-way across the lawn when it seemed like someone was shooting at us! All around us were explosions and grass popping up like someone was hitting the lawn around us. I think every one of us hit the deck except my dad, who knew exactly what happened. That string of profanity that I mentioned? Yeah, I learned some new words that day. Not only did I hear them one time through, but he went on a refrain and a few new verses. He was not happy. The rest of us, however, had a very hard time keeping a straight face.

Another time, my dad and I were alone at camp and had enough scrap wood to put a small boatshed together down by the docks to keep our propane tanks and gas tanks. We ran a few extension cords and brought our tools down by the water in a wheelbarrow. Let’s just say this project had many wrenches thrown into it, onto it, in it’s general direction, through it, you get the point. It was rough. My dad got so livid at one point, that as he was walking by the wheelbarrow, he slipped into it, looked at it with a scowl, and flipped it the bird. He looked at me, saw me start to laugh, and just grinned.

My personal favorite, and the most recent was involving a new water pump we got to fill a small reservoir on the back of the Lodge with water so we could rinse dishes via a gravity fed system. He was excited because he got this new pump that was electric, so we wouldn’t have to fire up the antiquated, loud, gas pump that worked half the time. He thought that this one would make it easy, all we had to do was crank the generator.

Well, he primed it, plugged it in, and nothing happened. Again and again, this just kept happening. I was on the back of camp on a ladder holding the hose in the top of the reservoir and he was down next to our well working with the pump. He was relentless. I just kept shaking my head because nothing was happening. He’d look at me hopefully, I’d frown and shake my head, and the routine just kept happening.

For years, my father has told us to never throw tools. No matter what. Well… He finally got so fed up with this poor pump that he took the channel locks in his hand and threw them into the ground, plier end first. Out of his mouth, at a volume loud enough to raise the dead and summon the God of Rage, he yelled “F*** F*** F*** F***ITY F*** F***!” Needless to say, I almost pissed my pants on the ladder and had all I could do to hold it together.

It's often this behavior that makes tedious projects incredibly more enjoyable.