At twelve I was catching a buzz with my cute neighbor in the barn.
My father yelled out the back door, “Stephen, get on the mower!”
Our tractor was a red 1948 Farmall Cub with a sickle bar, and it pulled three rotary mowers. Our five acres of grass also had trees, stumps, and groundhog holes.
Slightly miscalculating a turn, the sickle bar cut down Dad’s fruit-bearing cherry tree, and several small pine trees he had just planted.
I told him that, all at the same time, a ground hog crossed my path and a big horsefly bit me. I smacked my cheek a couple times to make it look red. The horsefly had caused the accident.
I waited until after he had his martini to tell him.