The Hoarders



Three generations (one of which is no longer with us, but definitely contributed to the problem) of hoarders came together to clean out the old shop this weekend. The cleaning and sorting was like being in a giant dusty time capsule. Why we felt the need to save some of the things we did over the years will remain a mystery. It was hard work, with lots of manual labor, old memories, and tons of scrap metal.

The shop has served the Mack family well over the years. It was first Mack’s Marine, where they serviced boat engines. Then they progressed to Mack’s sales and sons when they begin repairing small engines, like chain saws and lawn mowers, and today thrives under the heading of Mack’s Drilling which seems to encompass the tons of things they do including my brothers new adventure

Two trash trailers, one utility trailer, one dump trailer full of scrap metal and we are still not done. There is still a garage sale pile, Wes’ keep pile, Bobs keep pile and of course more scrap metal. My pile came home in a utility trailer that I still owe for! (Hopefully I have a good interest rate!)

There are such pleasant memories associated with that old building. There were 4 separate rooms, the main machine shop, the parts room, the garage, and my grandmas office (which was located off the parts room, and apparently was also the old chicken coop before my time!) There were new chainsaws displayed in a tree (old log) that reached from floor to ceiling, in the center of the parts room.

My grandmas office with the navy maps on the wall, marking all the places in the world my dad’s submarine had sailed, when he was in the Navy. The old cash register that was on the end of the massive showcase, oh how we all loved to punch down the big buttons.

The back of the shop held my grandmas mint condition Rambler, and all her wood working tools. All the walls were lined with peg board, and every tool had its place, although in the machine shop, they were rarely in their places because they were strewn out next to some engine or other project on a parts table. I can remember my grandma making rags out of all kinds of material. The rag bin was there next to the degreaser, she always kept the bin filled, and laundered the nasty greased rags weekly.


20140408-195615.jpg My dad built our horse trailer in there. Patches had her puppies in there. The 8 track player was always playing good ole Johnny Paycheck, singing “take this job and shove it”, before I even knew what a job was. It is bittersweet, to have done a lot of work with my family to clean it up, however at the same time realizing that was the last time I will ever set foot in that space again. I wonder how much this family business grossed in the 40 years it used this make shift building?

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