Mother Wall’s Wheels

Mother Wall keeps a 1-acre vegetable garden and a large flock of chickens.  She pours her heart and soul into these things; nowhere in Elgin County will you find neater or bushier rows of carrots, potatoes, green beans and parsley.  And nowhere (except my house) will you find such beautiful brown eggs from healthy free-range hens.

But Mother Wall is getting on in years and is finding it hard to keep with her chores, so Father Wall hatched a plan.  He drove her to London a week ago Saturday to look at an EZ-go golf cart that a man had for sale.  Mother Wall approved the golf cart, so Father Wall paid the man $1500 and they took it home.  Now instead of trudging about the farm on arthritic legs, Mother Wall slides into her new ride and motors from house to garden and from chicken coop to house with no effort at all.

I think the golf cart was shocked by the initiation into its new role:  one of its first tasks was to cart two beheaded chickens from chopping block to house where Mother Wall plucked and cleaned them for noodle soup.  Albert and I dropped by last week to check out Mother Wall’s new wheels.  They do haul an impressive machine.


The EZ-go is a sporty two-seater with twelve-inch slicks wrapped around shiny five-spoke mags.  She’ll cruise uncorked for seven days a charge on the 36-volt system that powers her hopped-up electric motor.  She’s clocked 16 miles per hour around the garden without breaking a sweat and handles two passengers with a basket of eggs and various garden implements with ease.  The only disadvantage for Mother Wall is that her short arms have difficulty reaching the ignition, which affords Albert a good laugh at her expense.


She bade me climb in.   I’d barely sat down before she sidestepped the brake and squawked the tires past the gawking neighbours in our flight toward the house.  That is to say, if it were possible for twelve-inch wheels to squawk on a spongy lawn, these would have.

“Reverse took some getting used to”, she explained as we sped up the lane.  “I’ve learned to step lightly on the gas because it really takes off.”

To demonstrate she took her foot off the pedal and pulled a lever beneath the steering wheel.  When the wheels rolled back a loud steady beep – beep – beep sounded behind us.  I looked around.  Then I realized the noise was coming from the golf cart itself – loafers loitering behind our hot rod had no excuse not to get out of the way.


Mother Wall put the golf cart back in drive and steered us past the house into the widest part of the driveway to show off the cart’s sharp turning capabilities.  I clung to the grab rail as she cranked the whip and we flew by the house again, past the gawking neighbours and back to the garden.  I doubt that anyone’s been more proud of their new wheels than Mother Wall is of her golf cart, not an eighteen-year-old in his souped-up Honda Civic nor a CEO in his Mercedes, not even the incurably cool, guitar-twangin’, hair flipping Steve Earle in his sweet little 66.  Speaking of which, there’s never a bad time for a little Steve Earle.  Y’all turn it up real loud.

Mother Wall pulled up at the chicken coop and said, “It’s your turn.”

So I took the wheel and drove up the lane to the cornfield and back.  Jokes aside, I was impressed with how well she handled the dips and ruts in our path.  I know now what I’ll be driving when I’m too old and feeble to tote a basket of eggs from the barn to the egg shop and it won’t be the tractor or an all terrain vehicle.  Imma pimp an EZ-go golf cart with # 74 on the bumper and a cup holder full of Whiskas Temptations to share with furry hitchhikers I pick up on my way to the barn.  I know Mother Wall will be proud.


One response to this post.

  1. I love it!! Shame on Albert for laughing at him mom. Tsk, tsk. 😉


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