To The Tinkerers

My father has a PhD in animal science, but on the farm that I grew up on in Southern Ontario, he was a master tinkerer. There was always something broken or on the verge of breaking down. Anything could go at any moment, especially if it had an engine. My father is a brilliant Scot and he would buy highly-used equipment: the David Brown tractor, the International Harvester hay bailer, or the anonymous manure spreader. 
 
Taking an anonymous broken manure spreader—filled with manure—anywhere to be fixed was not feasible. Getting someone to come out and tend to the thing was probably a violation of multiple labor laws and health codes. But without fail, everything on the farm broke down, and—if the show were to go on—it had to be fixed. 
 
My father was a master tinkerer, not a master mechanic. A mechanic is a licensed professional, and a tinkerer is a curious, resilient, perseverant amateur. He was self-taught. His classroom was a field full of dry hay waiting to be bailed, and a forecast that called for rain. 
 
The greatest advice Ricky Gervais ever received was: “Don’t worry, no one knows what they’re doing either.” If there were a League of Tinkerers, this would be their motto. I tip my hat to my old man for teaching me the art of tinkering, for inspiring me to have faith in the process, no matter what the forecast might be. Happy Father's Day to all the fathers, the tinkerers, and the curiosity seekers.