Right, this ‘shovel and pick’ business. It always kicks off looking straightforward, doesn’t it? Someone gets a bright idea, and suddenly you’re the one nursing the blisters. It’s not just about digging some dirt; it’s more about how we still end up doing things the hard way, the old-fashioned way, even when you’d think we’d have figured out something better by now.
The Call to Arms… or Rather, Tools
So, the word came down. ‘We need to get that patch by the fence sorted.’ Vague, like always. You know how it goes. No fancy gear, no modern tricks. Just the ‘tried and true’ – which, let’s be honest, usually just means old and guaranteed to break your back. I dragged out the shovel, its edge probably hasn’t felt a sharpener since dinosaurs roamed the earth. And the pickaxe, that beast. Heavy, awkward. You’d think in this day and age, we’d have smarter ways, but nope. It’s always back to basics, the trusty shovel and pick. Almost like it’s some kind of punishment for wanting to get something done.
Down in the Dirt
I started swinging that shovel. At first, it just kind of scratched the surface. Ground packed hard, probably hadn’t been touched in years. This is where the real fun begins, folks. No delicate work here, just sheer grunt power. Then, bang, you hit the rocks. Not little pebbles, I’m talking about those big, stubborn ones buried deep, the kind that just mock your shovel. That’s when the pickaxe becomes your best mate, or your worst enemy, depending on how your spine is feeling. Every single swing, a jolt goes right through you. You’re out there, sweating like mad, thinking, ‘Is this really the best way to do this?’ You see other people around with their little diggers, their fancy power tools. But not us. Oh no. We stick to the classics. The shovel and the pick. It’s like a whole philosophy. A really bad one, if you ask me.
- Initial burst of hope: Yeah, that vanished pretty quick.
- The actual struggle: Earth, rocks, stubborn roots, the usual lovely bunch.
- The tools themselves: Loyal, sure, but dumb as rocks. They only do what you force them to do, nothing more, nothing less.
And the stuff you find buried down there! Bits of old rusty pipe, broken bottles. It’s like digging through a history of things nobody wanted to deal with properly. And there you are, with your basic shovel and pick, playing archaeologist for everyone else’s forgotten messes.
So, What Was the Point of All That?
Eventually, yeah, the job gets done. The hole is dug, or whatever needed fixing is fixed. You stand back, every muscle aching, looking at the mess of disturbed earth. And you can’t help but think, all that sweat and effort, for this. It really could have been so much easier, so much quicker. But we don’t really do ‘easy’ or ‘quick’ when the good old shovel and pick are involved. They stand for a certain way of thinking, I reckon. That ‘this is how we’ve always done it, so this is how we’ll keep doing it’ mentality. And you’re left wondering if anyone ever actually stops to ask if ‘how we’ve always done it’ is actually the ‘right way to do it’. Probably not. They just see the finished hole, not the sore back and the ancient methods it took to get there. Next time something needs doing, it’ll be the same old story. Shovel, pick, and a prayer for your back. That’s the tradition, I guess.
