The right tool for the job

I tried to buy a pickaxe today from True Value in Bucksport--known to local's as "Jerry's"--but they didn't have any. (It took a five-minute phone call with a woman, whose day I seemed to have ruined by asking, to determine that there were no pickaxes in stock.) Pete's digging a big trench and it's rough going with only a spade. One of the things I don't like about living where I live is that you can't just go buy a pickaxe if 

you need one; one of the things that I do like about living where I live is that after I hung up with the store, I was able to have the following conversation via cell phone:

Me: Hi, Dad. I need to borrow a tool.
Dad: What do you need?
Me: A pickaxe. Do you have one?
Dad: Yeah! You know where I store my motorcycle?
Me: Yeah.
Dad: It's to the right of that. I was using it to [something I don't understand] ...Okay, then, Pumpkin.
Me: Okay. Thanks, Dad!
A few minutes later I return with a rusty old pickaxe. Pete's face lights up.
Pete: Oooh! It's a good, sturdy old-fashioned one.
Pete commences digging. I go to mow the lawn and weed my garden. Life in rural Maine carries on...

Me and my dad having a lawn tractor race. (He let me win.)