The Deadly Nature of the Creek Rising

Perhaps it is time to explain the significance of our blog name "If The Creek Don't Rise". As you can see from the photograph, it is a very significant matter and a situation that people living almost anywhere else cannot comprehend.

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The photo shows a semi-truck sized vehicle which tried to cross a running wash. This was one of the water haulers vital to the oil field and these contractors are under heavy pressure to perform their promised committments. It can be a lose/lose decision to press on if fate is not on your side that day. Then it is the rock and a hard place world. Maybe the driver didn't flip the coin just so that day and decided to cross waters which were probably running well less than a foot deep.

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Again, it is hard to comprehend the dynamics at work here. As one neighbor described it, the infrequently running waters out here in the desert become flowing 'liquid sand'. If you have ever spent any time at an ocean shoreline, try recalling standing in the near skirts of the ocean's waters and having the waves roll over your feet. You waited for their retreat and felt a vertigo as the retreating wave undermined your footing in the sand. Now picture a never-ending flow of sand and water. A vehicle caught in the run will find itself undermined by the fickle sands beneath as they join the stream of thick waters rushing by. I have seen many photos of nothing more than the very tops of four tires jutting out of what looks like a benign and shallow highway of sand remaining after a run. But there was always an entire truck or car inverted and lying in state beneath them. The insurance outcome is usually a complete write-off. So ... when the creek rises here, we pay attention.

The Rock of Damocles

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I will expand on one of my comment replies of a few days ago. The question was whether the mesa directly behind us offered any protection. I considered the matter and realized that it offers little protection. According to the top dwellers, the canyon bottom does offer some break from the incessant winds which often bring a biting dust with them. Unfortunately, our settlement of two lies against a north mesa face and in the direct path of the common westerly winds. The season of the winds is just coming upon us again after a fairly calm spring, summer and fall. The vanguard of this new wind time, of course, fell upon us just as we started our rat trailer skin project. The arrival of the first cold nights snapped us out of our pleasantly lolling summer stupor and then ensnared us between its chill and these rising winds. We will do what we can to finish the remantling of the entire trailer but realize that we might have to concede defeat and retreat to the interior for the winter. If that happens, we might rekindle these efforts with the first returning warm days of spring. But then again, we might not, still enjoying our newfound sense of irresponsibility. The insulation and tight new siding will definitely help deter the summer sun's long, hot fingers from reaching too far into the Rat's soul.

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The windows which I had to uncaulk and remove today to release the last of the aluminum siding are now whistling with the night's furious winds. I must remember to climb the ladder tomorrow and salve their gaping seams. If the overcast skies aid the winds in their marrow-frosting mission again tomorrow, we will have to have a pot of continually warm herbal tea on hand. We even dipped into my apothecary of sliced ginger root marinating in vodka. A small shot glass of this will drive away the deepest felt chills. It may also put the most saloon-hardened of cowboys to flight and one whiff sends the cats and dog into retreat but it works as intended! Try it!
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After writing off any meaningful protection from the mesa, I thought about the possible detriments. Geologically, these mesas are the children of unending erosion and, given enough time, will join the canyons below in a homogeneous plain. According to stories we've heard and from what we have seen, there are times when the process involves a more violent action than mere grains of sand sloughing away. Although rare, sometimes a large mass will crack and fall or sometimes an entire face will simply slump into the valley below. In our case, there is one rock directly above the trailer which looks like it could consider a gravity-driven career move. It wasn't something that we noticed when we had to do a hurried survey of suitable places for the Rat. On the other hand, now that we have noticed it, it's not like we stay up all night waiting for the other big rock shoe to drop either. Let's face it, if we were safety-obsessed, we would be holed up in some flat corn field subdivision, well away from haz-mat zones, high tension lines, fault lines, driving ranges or whatever else folks enjoy agonizing over. One of my favorite stories was by Brautigan wherein he describes their family moving to a house with natural gas. It was a new and sublime source of dread for his mother and he describes the effects of her infectious misery as they all sat around in anguish, waiting for the house to blow up at any minute. For me, it nailed life with our mother right on the head. None of us are immortal so why devote too much time to such things. We both feel more fully alive each day now than we have for years and, for us, that quality is everything.

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Next post: ... if the big rock don't fall ....

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Our second Thanksgiving in the boonies

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What a difference between this Thanksgiving and the last one. Last year's found me staring at a pack of mystery meat from the cooler and wondering if I could shape it into a drumstick, maybe singe it over the camp stove for better appeal.

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Today I am typing this entry while a ham burbles away in the propane oven. Stuffing, sweet potatoes, peas and roast potatoes will join it on the table - a REAL table, not the table saw! Tonight we are thankful for so many blessings. Next year will be even more of an occasion as more rudimentary comforts become reality. We may even find a turkey at a reasonable price then, too.

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Since we don't have TV and only have radio at night when the generator is on, we tackled the rat trailer siding project once the sun pushed the temps to 50 degrees. The aluminum siding had been removed and Mark had already cut Styrofoam panels to fit into each now exposed stud center. So, today would see the application of Tyvek (or 'house wrap' as some call it). It essentially envelopes the exterior of the walls to cut down drafts and moisture infiltration. The roll of material is 9' high and 150' long but we were only going to unroll enough to cover over our experimental area (about 8' high and 40' long). We installed the bottom flashing and were ready to grab the big roll. The wind had been non-existent for the last month but, you guessed it, whipped up just before we were ready to unfurl the material. The sheeting and its roll became potentially lethal at times and we each sprung two extra hands to keep ahead of the game. There were a couple of times when this ungainly sail threatened to hang glide us out across the valley but we managed to stay grounded. We were definitely beat by the time the last of the loose folds were secured and dinner seemed like a remote possibility. After an hour of recharge time, we decided to go for it.

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The photo at the top is of our little homestead in the canyon - the old barn, the rat trailer and the moving trailer as they appear from our mesa top on the far side of the creek. The mesa wall right behind the buildings is the one that we all scaled a couple of weeks ago.

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Albeit it a little late in the day, we extend our best wishes to all our friends and family for an equally peaceful Thanksgiving.

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Next post: a few days hence

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Pot of Gold in the back yard

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Since I am severely distracted with the new prospect of progress, the photo above is my main blog contribution for today. This view is one of the many reasons we have chosen to hang on even when things seem to get discouraging. Something like this always comes along to remind of us of why we are here. How often can you see both ends of a rainbow within your backyard? I haven't looked for the pot of gold at the ends yet but rumors abound about Spanish gold being lost in these parts. The legends have their loyal and determined following.

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Current news:

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Today was a great day for progress. The skies were clear and the sun brought the temperatures up to comfortable working conditions. We did an experimental foray into stripping off about fifteen feet of the rat trailer's original aluminum siding. It was encouraging! Mark was able to cut panels of Styrofoam to fit snugly in between the stud centers and the pre-formed flashing he brought home yesterday will accommodate the new siding panels that mimic weathered barnboard. Looks like a go for tomorrow to finish off the experiment. What the success of this project will mean is that we can start planning for an enclosed porch built out from it which will house the water tank and shelter the well. And that means that indoor plumbing is that much closer!

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Two celebrations today!

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Today is just cause for two celebrations.

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The first and foremost is the success of the brain tumor surgery on Mark's sister. It went as flawlessly as anyone could have expected or hoped for. Up for grand kudos is his other sister who has efficiently anticipated every possible detail at home for a comfortable convalescence. Also up for commendation is their brother who took time off of his busy schedule to be in attendance through the entire procedure and assistance where help and moral support was needed. You folks are one awesome, caring family.

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The second celebration marks our first full year out here in the boonies. It's hard to believe that one year is the interval; sometimes it seems that we have been here for only a few months, at other times it seems like a decade of comfortable familiarity. Either way, it is a noteworthy notch on our belts to be highlighted by at least a variation in menu. From the small freezer, I pulled out two filet mignons from a batch which I had cut out of a whole tenderloin and then seasoned and wrapped in bacon. Such meat cuts here are twice the price that we had been used to paying and our income has plummeted so the occasions in which we bring them out are now considerably less frequent. That's okay, those rare warranted occasions now bring extra appreciation with them as a result.

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I was going to post a synopsis of what we have and have not accomplished in our first year here but a wild hair project of installing the first of our 'safe' wall mounted gas heaters emerged late this afternoon and ran into 'the generator zone'. The first hours of generator time are normally when I compose the next blog entry but we are both left a little lagging after that fairly successful installation. The only glitch is that the pilot light goes out after a while and the manual does not address that particular situation. Accordingly, we turned the supply valve off and, for at least the immediate future, will only activate the unit as it is needed.

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Now that we have gained some familiarity with working with black iron and heater installation, we have a better idea of what materials we need to install at least one more of these heaters before the depth of winter sets in. Mark diagrammed out the next installation and will pick up the required materials tomorrow. I may start to cut Styrofoam to infill the stud centers that we exposed today on a small part of the trailer. This is an experimental run at additional insulative efforts and is subject to change on the fly. If this phase of the project goes well, we will do the whole trailer and sheath it over with a fairly reasonably priced new composite siding that mimics deeply weathered barn siding. So far, the days have still been bearable for working outdoors, as long as you are working where direct sunlight hits. There is already ice building up along the north face of the mesa where the lower sun no longer casts its daily smile. The height of the sun's influence is still bringing temperatures in the 50s but night has seen temperatures as low as 10 degrees so far. We need to kick the pace up a notch before the real cold sets in.

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Next post: Hmmm - might depend on how much outdoor progress we can make in the next few days, assuming the forecast holds.

The Handyman Showdown

Retrospect: December 2005

Finally came the powwow between Mark and I - that moment of reckoning that we had both dreaded - what to do about the half likeable leech on our fiscal well being. We never said anything when he would repeatedly disappear for a half hour at a time in search of some tool in his little trailer abode or the day John 'searched' for 3 hours one morning for a $3 part before mentioning this quest to us. Mark could have driven into town for a replacement and back again in that amount of time with John actually doing something productive in the interim. But three weeks into this 'one week' extravaganza, he would now not commit to any fixed estimate on cost or completion date because we were apparently changing the scope of work on him. It never occurred to us that eliminating whole tasks such as covering in the trailer bottom or eliminating one entire bathroom would extend this farce. If he was referring to my proposed room lay-out as opposed to the existing, he was correct except that he listened intently and then went ahead and plumbed according to the existing lay-out anyway. When we questioned him on his lack of attention to the sewer, he said that this was not considered part of the 'plumbing' system?!?! Were we supposed to drill outlet holes low in the walls for all the water and waste building up in the trailer? Beyond that bombshell, he now refused to guarantee that we would ever have a functioning system in the end - he was after all just a pipefitter. The thrill was gone and we were fast losing that loving feeling.

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Two things happened to bring this festering carbuncle to a head: We decided to now only pay John when he had completed the promised work, in hopes that this incentive would quicken up his pace. Secondly, I forced myself to drop a hint to Willy the well man about the rate of progress versus John's rate of compensation. Now, you can't really tell if Willy is listening since he mutters and goes off topic a lot but apparently my comments seeded into very fertile ground ... and would hit the proverbial fan in a big way as we would soon see.

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John did not show up from town as scheduled for the next milking. When he did show up with his chauffeur/assistant a couple of days later, it was apparent that he was here for an unpleasant confrontation. Their eyes were spider-webbed in red and it was obvious that they had been drinking heavily both before and during the long ride into the canyon. How lovely.

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From what I could piece together later from his snippets of drunken blather, Willy had indeed passed the word on. Willy's son who had been generously providing lodging for John plus a company cell phone had rescinded those courtesies in disgust. The terms which must have flown about became clear when John muttered "Hmpphh, a crook ... I'll show him ... I'm taking his generator back ... a crook indeed, hmphh!!!"

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Like me, Mark is not a normally aggressive person but he was in rare form that day in not backing down to John's drunken verbal bluster. I tried to interject some valid points into the debate and John told me "YOU ... stay out of this!" I obliged but began to feel

that ever dreaded anger of protectiveness building up. It was that same buried and personally loathed rage of PTSD that gave me abnormal physical strength when that literally blinding fury had been reached. This same incited wrath once had me counter attack four classic (but rare) Harley buttholes who had physically attacked me for no justifiable reason. On that occasion, I flung them off like rag dolls and attacked the head provocateur of the assault. They scattered and retreated with mouths agape. It was necessary for self-preservation but I was not proud of my accomplishment and now, with this drunken John, I was trying to keep that powerful anger under control. I hoped that he or his helper would not attempt any physical aggression with Mark for I knew that I would lose it with no holds barred.

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To his credit, John did not succumb to drunken bravado and escalate the confrontation beyond words. Instead, he gathered his borrowed tools with a concluding "Well then, you can kiss-my-butt" and they departed foot-to-the-floor, covering us in a rooster tail of dirt. I had still been hoping for some rational resolution of the matter up until they stopped just up the road and hopped out to unload some of the copious booze which they had been imbibing. Again, I will credit John for being reasonably discreet in this operation but his assistant turned to face the trailer and vigorously wagged his miserable member at us. From that point on, I lost any residual empathy for either of them.

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To this day, we are not comfortable completing his plumbing job due to the PEX system of piping that he insisted upon. We did go out and buy the outrageously priced set of tools to replace his borrowed ones (over $200 for 2 unimpressive pieces) but have not had the heart to rework this inherited disaster and still remain without indoor plumbing to date.

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The most unfortunate peripheral damage of this encounter was Willy's obvious embarrassment - I am sure he felt responsible for the whole affair even though he really wasn't. As much as we still adore him, he did not stop by again with the exception of replacing the faulty well pump and retrieving his tow-behind trailer. That, to us, was the biggest insult which John had laid upon us. Willy was a fine and rare soul, the type you may be lucky enough to encounter once or twice during an entire lifetime.

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Humor of the day: (from Jim, my buddy in upstate New York)

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ATTENTION!!

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ALIENS ARE COMING TO ABDUCT ALL THE GOOD LOOKING AND SEXY PEOPLE.

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YOU WILL BE SAFE, I'M JUST E-MAILING TO SAY GOODBYE.

The Handyman from Hell Arrives

Retrospect: December 2005

Since John the assistant would be helping us with skirting and plumbing, Willy had lent him his personal hunting/trapping trailer to live in. Willy was just that way and it was obvious that he was willing to help out a guy a little down on his luck in any way he could. Like Willy and his drilling rig, this trailer was another character study in itself; one of those tiny vintage jobbies that looks like a flat-bottomed watermelon after you flat cut its two flanks off. The duct tape over the holes in the windows had dried out and flown away on the journey in and Willy enjoyed telling us the story about how a bear had crashed its paw through that forward window. We reconnoitered a private and fairly level spot on the other side of the barn and they skirted and insulated it with whatever they had found on the road in and whatever else was lying uncommitted around the barn. If I wanted to achieve a certain desert funk, I was certainly on the fast track now.

The next day would see the beginning of our priority projects! Mark and I had stocked the 16 foot trailer with treated 4x4s, T-111 siding and Styrofoam in anticipation. Soon, the trailer would be skirted, depriving the bitter winds of their ability to chill the floor to sub-zero temperatures.

John showed up some time after 9AM and started in. Was this exciting or what?! By the end of that first 7 or 8 hour day, he had framed in one short end of the trailer and maybe a fifth up one side - not exactly the lightning pace for which we had hesitantly justified his hourly rate. I had known many speed of light carpenters over the years and the amount of quality work which they could hammer out in a day always left me breathless. I have always been slow and methodical in everything and, realizing it, never demanded so much as half the pay of the jack rabbit boys. So ... here we had John working at my pace (although without the finesse and drive for perfection) but consuming the pay of a fast and masterly tradesman. Our quiet concerns and angst would begin to mount from that first day forth.

When the second day did not see any acceleration in the reaching of his touted stride, Mark and I quietly conspired to set him to work on the plumbing of the water and gas. He was, after all, an old oil field roustabout so running pipe would be his true forte. Mark took over the skirting project and I thanked John for letting him do so, that Mark needed a productive task. Not apparent to us at the time, John took this as an infringement on his long term gravy train. I started to keep track of his actual on-the-job time but we paid according to his own records - even though it was somehow always ran about 15% higher than my 'benefit of the doubt' entries. As petty sheisters often do, he was mistaking quiet, compliant generosity for complete stupidity. We watched his further behaviors more carefully now.

When John did not show up one morning as planned, I gave it 2 hours and finally went over to the little trailer. No response from a knock on the door. I was uncomfortable about doing so but I finally peeked into an uncovered window, hoping that I wouldn't catch him in some embarrassing state of dress. What I saw was a totally inanimate body in the back bunk. I eventually tapped on the glass and waited. Tapped a little louder and waited. I finally convinced Mark to give it a try while I wondered about the protocol of dealing with a corpse in the middle of nowhere. While he didn't get a response form John, Mark did return with the observation that 'corpses don't snore'.

When John did show up towards late afternoon, he noted that he had contracted that pneumonia-threatening bug from Willy and his son. I dutifully made him a warm meal later and took it over. I stayed and listened to his 'larger than life' tales for a while. What I got in return was that miserable illness. In my case, as always, it would persist for many, many months to come, ever teetering on the verge of pneumonia in our frigid living quarters. As we both succumbed to this vile plague, our own progress ground to a standstill. When not sleeping, I spent most of that time hunched over the propane blast furnace to soothe the deep chills and trying to drive the excruciating concrete feel of my lungs out with chest contracting exercises, hoping to drive fluids out of the pleura. It must have worked - I'm still here.

To be continued

Next post: 2 or 3 days

The Junk Pile Surprise

Recent Retrospect: September 26, 2006

I got part way through writing about the handyman from Hell and realized that it remains an upsetting subject so I will write about a different kind of snake today.

There certainly wasn't much here when we arrived and what little there was had been picked over well in the last few decades by outsiders. One of my favorite treks early on was to poke around in the junk across the road. It was obvious that one of the previous owners did not believe in recycling and scrapping old metal. Bailing and barbed wire by the cubic yard, squashed oil drums, rustic fence posts and a curious mix of debris from old vehicles and a burnt trailer. I used the charred bathtub as a perch when I had to make calls since the cell phone would only pick up a signal if I walked out closer to the middle of the canyon. I nearly froze my butt off out there in the open last winter and it probably contributed to my current complete disdain of talking on the phone. But I digress slightly.

It was a little over a month ago when I revisited the junk pile in search of some rustic planking. The pup came with me and dashed and poked around frantically since 'across the road' is normally verboten territory. I wasn't having much success scrounging in the closer piles so I wandered a little deeper into the sage. Yes, here was a promising stash! Just before I reached for the uppermost boards, I happened to notice an unusual, undulated shape otherwise blending in with the weathered grays of the wood. I'll be darned - it had to be a rattlesnake. Just then, I heard Brou crashing his way back towards me. Not good timing so I enticed him into a game of tag and we ran back to the trailer. Once he was safely inside, I grabbed the camera and left instructions with Mark to not let the pup out again until I had returned.

The rattler, it seems, was as chilled as I and trying to soak up a little early morning sun. It seemed to be engrossed in this process and ignoring me so I got to within maybe four feet of it and took a couple of photos. I don't find the zoom quality on this camera to be particularly dependable but I wasn't about to get nose to nose with the sleeping dragon so the photo clarity is not the best. The head of the rattler is shown in the lower right hand corner, peeking out of a crack in a plank. Unfortunately, his rattle was hidden under another plank on the left side of the photo.

With my photo evidence now taken care of and me still not convinced that it really was a rattler, I had to be the bad kid and go get a LONG stick, not quite the proverbial ten foot pole but sensibly long for the occasion. Nudge. No response. Poke. A mildly discernible response. Poke, nudge, poke, poke, poke. It opened its eyes e-v-e-r so slowly, their slit black pupils giving me a very cold and inscrutable stare. After a moment more of staring, it slowly straightened itself out as it stretched away to the shelter of another board and vanished completely. The last I saw of this snake was its rattles, all stacked neatly one atop the other like increasingly smaller beads on a dowel. They rattled only lightly from the snake's exiting motion. With no more mischief to be had, yours truly returned home safely with a new tale to tell.

Next post: a couple or three days from now

Most recent visitor

Current news update:

While I have been busily, anxiously watching the skies of late for the two golden eagles which wouldn't hesitate to grab a quick kitty dinner on the fly, only Brou the pup kept a constant vigil on the entire spectrum from ground to the heavens.

On several occasions yesterday, he erupted into rounds of uncharacteristic growls and serious business barks. And on several occasions yesterday, we ignored him, thinking that he was crying wolf to get our attention. When clearly no abatement was in sight, we each took a turn in coaxing him to elaborate, each of us walking towards the direction in which he was aiming his guttural threats. As we suspected ... nothing.

After another half dozen similar noisy displays, I stomped back out the door again, determined to find the cause; these were simply not the usual puppy-foolish barks at errant newspapers playing with the wind. He gladly followed behind me again. Notice that I said 'behind me'. He's not a foolish pup in that one respect and is quite willing to point me into battle - from a safe distance. Once more, we trudged out to the base of the mesa, this time to the avocado green steel tub which had abdicated earlier from the rat trailer. (I briefly entertained an idea of having an 'al fresco' bathing/soaking spot with a better view of the taller eastern mesas but the technicalities have yet to be resolved.) Brou kept up his intensity this time and I was able to narrow down his target area to an area below a large boulder. It was not my failing eyesight but my hearing that finally pinpointed the culprit. There, within the small cavern beneath the boulder, was one very annoyed creature. With no desire to get too much closer, I leaned slightly over the tub and strained my eyes to define the intruder. The creature was familiar to my memory banks but not from personal experience. By George, this was a badger!

Now, with my presence and confirmation, Brou's bravado was ratcheting upwards and I had to sternly warn him to not pursue his instincts. He settled down remarkably well but the badger was clearly agitated by now. The badger emitted long-winded hisses like a leak in a bicycle tire while his whole body rocked in a slow rhythm. I ran to get the digi camera but, by the time I returned, he had already hidden his impressively long claws. While he seemed to be a fairly young creature, those sharp curling claws matched the length of my fingers. I wanted neither the pup or the cats to engage this fellow and hoped that he would remember this unpleasant encounter and move on in the night. Thankfully, he was indeed gone without a trace this morning, according to both Brou's and my own careful inspection.

Next post: 2 or 3 days

The First Week - No water yet but soon ... soon!!!

Retrospect: November 2005

What a disheartening non-event and what a grim sight; three grown men standing there, staring down into a hole in the ground like they had just interred the nicest boa constrictor they had ever known. After that respectful moment or ten of silence, the theories and debates began, this and that tried - mostly involving larger and larger hammers. Although the pump supply house said that our 3000-watt Honda should drive the pump without a problem, I could see the little red and black unit attracting furtive glances. In a couple more days, Willy showed up with his son's massive generator, the kind you can light a small casino with. Still no cigar.

Next theory; ice! Ya gotta thaw out them lines, you know. The assistant aimed a kerosene heater at the pipe works, melting part of the Styrofoam he had commandeered in making the butt ugliest doghouse cube for this whole contraption. He went to great lengths to wrap all the components with a pricey woven stainless sheathed heat tape. Considering that we only ran the generator from sunset to bedtime, I wasn't convinced that it would be all that effective. They piled old insulation, blankets and rugs around the pipes and tank like the stuff was running a fever and left. Okay, so no water today. Apparently tomorrow wouldn't look good either.

Mark called the pump supply house and they very generously offered to lend us their fancy line tester. He picked it up on the next week's trip into town. A couple of weeks later, Willy showed up and it became apparent that he didn't know how to use this schmancy meter either. So ... the pump supply house very generously offered to send another new pump out for a try. Well, you know how it goes, what with Thanksgiving, Christmas, New Years, trapping season, pneumonia, Groundhog Day, new moon, old moon, etc., it would be a while before we saw Willy again. There would be more than one party to suggest that we were being a little too laid back about the situation but he really was the sweetest man on earth. We could no more press the matter than mug someone's little British 'mum', just no way.

The following months without well water were fairly miserable. A kind neighbor let us fill up our two empty cat litter jugs when I was working there two or three times a week (yes, another story for another time). That came to between eight to twelve gallons a week to run a household on - roughly equivalent to one or two average toilet flushes. I remembered a comment from a water department employee that they planned for EACH household member using 100 gallons of water PER DAY. We were experiencing a crash course on severe water conservation. I found that cutting paper towels into many tiny squares and wetting each one with generic Listerine gave some solace. We also learned to stand downwind when socializing. Lighting the burn barrel just as company arrived also worked fairly well.

Next entry: 2–3 days (I really am a shameless creature of habit and ritual.)