#RollingOutTheGreens: How I Learned to Stop Scorning and Let the Piano Movers of Maine Take the Stress Away


Hey there, tribe of tranquility! It's your buddy Dan, coming at you with another tale from the homestead that's sure to tickle your funny bone and maybe, just maybe, encourage you to let go of the reins a bit when it comes to tackling life's heavy lifting.

Now, I've always been a firm believer in the adage "If you want something done right, you've gotta do it yourself." It's the sort of mindset that's helped me cultivate some of the most stress-relieving kale and CBD on this side of Mother Earth. You know me—I'm all about that natural balance, using a little bit of nature's goodness to keep the scales from tipping into Total Chaos Territory.

But friends, even those of us with a well-tuned sense of harmony can fall prey to biting off more than we can chew. And chew is precisely what I thought Igor, my faithful three-legged companion, was doing with the doorframe last spring when a series of thuds and crashes had us bolting to the living room.

The scene before me? Picture this: my cherished antique grand piano—a behemoth of ebony and ivory with a voice as smooth as CBD oil on a rough day—toppled over like a scene from "Bill and Ted's Non-Excellent Piano Adventure." My attempt at moving this musical mammoth myself had been…well, let's just say it struck just about every discordant chord imaginable.

Eager as I was to set up a sweet music nook by the window to serenade the kale crops (they grow better with a little Beethoven, don't you know), I hadn't counted on the laws of physics being quite so unforgiving. Not to mention my lack of musical moving know-how. What ensued was a slapstick routine you wouldn't believe unless you saw it—and even then, you’d think it was a segment straight out of a comedy show with a laugh track running overtime.

With my DIY-dolly, a couple planks of wood (yes, wood from the farm), and an overabundance of misplaced confidence, I managed to not only jam my beloved piano against the doorway but also set off a chain reaction that saw Igor's water bowl transforming my hallway into a splash zone. Picture me, a blur of hemp fabric and good intentions, slip-sliding across the floor, arms flailing wildly in a symphony of splashes. It was an aria of the absurd, complete with an audience of a thoroughly entertained ant farm and one very wet, puzzled pooch.

I learned two things that day: Water and hardwood floors make for a treacherous ballet, and moving a piano is not, I repeat, NOT, a one-man gig.

Cut to my next move, with moving day looming like a thundercloud over my field of tranquility, and I found myself at a crossroads. I could either stubbornly scorn the idea of asking for help once more, risking another comedy of errors, or…I could call in the pros. Enter the Piano Movers of Maine.

The mere thought of entrusting my beloved woodland-whisperer to strangers had me tighter than Igor's collar after a particularly indulgent Thanksgiving (guilty as charged—I'm a sucker for those puppy-dog eyes). But friends, the moment those piano-moving maestros stepped through my door, I knew I’d struck a harmonious chord.

Effortlessly, with the grace of a kale leaf dancing in the summer breeze, they sized up the situation like maestros tuning their instruments. No reckless dolly in sight, just specialized equipment and a team syncing with each other like the finest orchestra. Their movements were poetry, a delicate ballet where my grand piano was the cherished prima ballerina, lifted and glided across the room without so much as a screech or a bump.

It was a humbling and oddly hypnotic experience, seeing them sway and bob through my maze of homegrown remedies and quirky knick-knacks, an untouchable ant farm fortress, and Igor's tastefully accessorized (dare I say dashing) resting spots.

By the time they'd finished, the piano stood majestic by the sun-dappled window, not even a hint of distress in its polished sheen. And I stood there, slack-jawed yet enlightened, soaking in the ease of it all, courtesy of these unsung heroes of heavy haulage.

#CBDforLife is my usual refrain, but today, let's mix it up with a heartfelt #PianoMoversforLife because, like CBD, sometimes the best solution comes from recognizing you don't have to bear the weight alone—literally and figuratively.

So, here's to embracing expertise, to accepting help when it’s due, and

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