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desperanceTo be honest, I don't have a common garden fork. I did have. Twice.
I bought one in the spring; and fetched it home, and began to dig out a flower bed, and it broke. The handle snapped. I cursed, and hauled both pieces down to El Camino, to Orchard Supply Hardware; dumped them on the counter at Customer Services and the clerk barely glanced, she just nodded and said "Help yourself to another one."
So I did that, and brought it home and dug out the bed more carefully; and I've used it on and off all summer, and resumed my former confidence; and this afternoon I was digging over one of the vegetable beds and snap!
Not the handle this time, the forged head itself has snapped in twain. Just at the point of most pressure, but none the less: I am less than impressed. And really, really wishing that Mountain Feed in Ben Lomond hadn't been sold out of good English Clarington Forge forks when we were there, because I would have bought one sure as mustard, and had none of this trouble for the rest of my life...
Anyway. The garden goes undug; instead I am digging through Kipling on Mars, rewriting at the front even while I unreel more adventure at the back. It feels very odd to be working at both ends simultaneously, but hey. Here we are.
I bought one in the spring; and fetched it home, and began to dig out a flower bed, and it broke. The handle snapped. I cursed, and hauled both pieces down to El Camino, to Orchard Supply Hardware; dumped them on the counter at Customer Services and the clerk barely glanced, she just nodded and said "Help yourself to another one."
So I did that, and brought it home and dug out the bed more carefully; and I've used it on and off all summer, and resumed my former confidence; and this afternoon I was digging over one of the vegetable beds and snap!
Not the handle this time, the forged head itself has snapped in twain. Just at the point of most pressure, but none the less: I am less than impressed. And really, really wishing that Mountain Feed in Ben Lomond hadn't been sold out of good English Clarington Forge forks when we were there, because I would have bought one sure as mustard, and had none of this trouble for the rest of my life...
Anyway. The garden goes undug; instead I am digging through Kipling on Mars, rewriting at the front even while I unreel more adventure at the back. It feels very odd to be working at both ends simultaneously, but hey. Here we are.