Alright, so today was the day I finally tackled the patio. It was looking pretty grim, I gotta say. You know how it gets – that green tinge, a bit of moss in the corners, just generally sad looking. Part of me, the lazy part, just wanted to throw a rug over it and call it a day. But nope, the power washer was calling my name. Or maybe it was the guilt.

Why I Even Own This Beast

Funny thing is, I wasn't always a power washer guy. For years, I was more of a "scrub brush and a bucket of soapy water" kind of person. Probably got that from my old man. He was suspicious of anything that made a job too easy. "Builds character," he'd say, while sweating over some task a machine could do in half the time.

I remember this one time, the north side of his house was just covered in this awful green mildew. Looked terrible. He spent an entire sweltering July weekend out there with a ladder, a stiff brush, and a bucket. Up and down, scrub, scrub, scrub. By Sunday evening, he was beat, his back was killing him, and the house? Well, it was maybe a shade lighter. Barely.

I’d mentioned maybe renting a power washer. He just scoffed. "Bah! Those things will strip the paint right off! Good old elbow grease, that's the ticket." Famous last words, right?

The next spring, I saw a decent power washer on sale. Didn't say a word to him. Just bought it. One Saturday morning, I went over, hooked it up, and just started blasting that siding. It was incredible. Years of grime just melting away. Took me maybe three hours, tops, for the whole side of the house he'd slaved over.

He came out, looked at the clean siding, looked at the power washer, then looked at me. Didn't say anything for a good minute. I was bracing for a lecture. Instead, he just kinda grunted, "Huh. Suppose those contraptions ain't entirely useless." Coming from him, that was like a glowing five-star review. He even borrowed it a few weeks later for his driveway. Never admitted it was better, but he didn't use the scrub brush for big jobs anymore.

Back to Today's Grind

So, yeah, thinking about that always gives me a bit of a push. I hauled the machine out of the shed. First things first, untangling the hose and the power cord. That’s always a fun little game, isn't it? Like wrestling a sleepy octopus. Got it all hooked up to the tap, plugged it in. Picked a medium fan nozzle to start – didn't want to get too aggressive on the paving stones right away.

Then, the moment of truth. Squeezed the trigger. Whirrrrr-PSSSSHHHH! Man, that first blast is always so satisfying. You see that stark line between the dirty and the clean, and you just know it's gonna be good. I started working in slow, steady sweeps, overlapping each pass a bit. It's kinda hypnotic, watching the dirt just lift and flow away. You get into a rhythm.

Of course, it's not all zen and clean lines. You get a fair bit of spray-back. My boots were soaked pretty quick, and I definitely got some muddy water splattered on my jeans. And there were a few stubborn spots, mostly in the shadier corners, that needed a bit more persuasion – had to bring the nozzle in closer, or switch to a slightly more focused jet for a second. You also realize pretty quickly if you didn't sweep well enough beforehand, because little bits of leaves and twigs get blasted all over the place.

But I kept at it. Section by section, the patio started to transform. It’s like watching one of those time-lapse videos, but in real time. The original color of the stones started showing through. It actually looked… nice! Who knew?

Took me a good hour, maybe a bit more, to do the whole thing. By the end, my arms were a bit tired from holding the wand, and I was definitely damp. But I stood back, looked at the patio, and felt pretty darn good. It’s a bit of effort, sure, setting it up and then packing it all away again. But the results? Night and day. Makes you feel like you actually accomplished something visible. And it sure beats a scrub brush and a bad back, that's for sure.