Yesterday we were working on putting up fencing around the potager garden. This involves some fairly ridiculous steps because I want it to look pretty, One of those steps is using a hatchet to notch out cross beams made of pine trees.
While notching out one such tree, the hatchet hit a knot, slipped, and sunk itself into Ken’s left index finger. The same left index finger he lost the tip off of in a woodworking accident.
Like every other stubborn old man out there, he refused to go to the ER, insisting that liquid sutures and butterfly strips would do the trick.
However, just as he was going to bed, he made the grudging admission, “Yeah. I probably could have done with a stitch or two.”
Or three or four.
Anyway, he’s 90% certain his last tetanus shot is still covering him, and he’s back at work today. I’ve already warned him that if gangrene sets in and we have to amputate, I have no qualms about calling him Farmer Nine Fingers for the rest of this life.
But from here on out, I’ll be doing the hatchet work.