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The "P" word (that dreaded catch-all category for anything that involves movement of clean or dirty fluids) is a leading cause of insanity. I will explain why. The word 'plumbing' came to us from the Latin word for lead. We know that the Roman civilization existed slightly before the EPA Empire and so they piped all their water around via lead pipe and even made drinking cups from lead. Some have gone so far as to suggest that lead poisoning from their plumbing was a major contributor to the eventual decline of their Empire. I happen to agree that their plumbing was a major factor although I believe that dealing with any aspect of plumbing, be it in lead, copper, iron or plastic, will cause or encourage complete insanity. Please proceed with that premise in mind.
Somewhere in mid-January, Mark chipped away the ice and removed one of the Rat's skirting panels. The reason at the time was to allow the new warm air to infiltrate the underbelly of the Rat and hopefully thaw out the plumbing which had already left us without running water for the last two weeks. A glorious prospect indeed!
I made the fatal mistake of stooping down to survey the creepy-crawly space. I saw ... I heard .... dripping. At that point, I should have discreetly loaded my bags into the Dakota and left for parts yet to be determined. Perhaps the roads were impassible that day, I don't remember now. Perhaps I was simply in denial with a warped pioneer stubbornness and masochism. Whatever that was matters not; I felt compelled to crawl into that void beneath the Rat to find the cause of the dripping. The water piping had held its own against the subzero weather, it was the drain system which chose to let loose.
Since I am the far more compressible into three or for segments to work under the Rat and the only one still marginally able to see in the dark, I choose at that moment to retreat and declare the drains off-limits until further notice. I needed time to think and form some sort resolve, intestinal fortitude ... something, anything. In the meantime; no water in, no water out.
There was a time when I was an erect-walking Homo Sapiens of the full basement clan. No, I was not fond of plumbing duty even back then but I did not have the oppressive dread of it that I possess now. Folding, crawling, crouching and laying in the mud of disconnected drain discharge has somehow let my disdain bloom fully. Fergawdssake, I don't have much of an immune system on a good day.
A week after the discovery, I made one more exploratory, armed with a tube of silicon just in case some quick fix might present itself. I did locate part of the problem (which I optimistically presumed to be the entire problem, of course). After scrunching around into position, I grabbed hold of the culprit drain pipe. It, in turn, launched a splendid counter attack and squarely dumped a cup of filthy gray water directly into my ear which was invitingly sideways at the time. I will not include the dissertation which followed at great volume but it set every creature within 100 yards of the Rat on high alert. I retreated to the upper Rat, flooded my ear canal with hydrogen peroxide and hoped for the best.
Just like Red, I tend to ruminate and consider all the aspects and consequences of a project until just before Hell freezes over. While Mark loves us both dearly, this is not one of the traits which compels him to do so.
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And so we lived like this for several weeks until yesterday, my next big day of resolve. Mark performed the customary 'freeing of the panel' ritual and I laid out a large piece of plastic which I hoped would be my prophylactic shield against the scum of the earth.
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The sodden forest of mold to the outer edge of one central I-beam told me that I needed to remove the glorified cardboard insulator. I dug in a carpet knife and incised the soggy matting away. That, in turn, released putrid streams of standing water down upon me. The empty kitty litter bucket in the bottom of the photo above was able to capture most of the remaining stream. It also served as a good repository for the wet pink insulation and multi-colored slime that I grabbed down by the messy handful. Then I retreated to let everything drain further - by George, it was Miller time already.
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My target? Right beyond that blackened floor stud showing in the middle of this foul incision. This is where the drain took a right angle up into the Rat. I wasn't about to take a photo looking straight up and chance having that crud leak down on me.
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Above is the other end of my mission on the inner side of the I-beam (marked with a yellow arrow). Mark, in the interim, had removed the bathroom sink and performed considerable drain rearrangements which ultimately led to a little more reasonable length of pipe poking through the floor for me to work with down under. I still managed to drive a knee and elbow into the dodgy ooze and dust the cobwebs and other unidentified flotsam off with my hair but was able to avoid a good buzz from the plastic cement. Not that unholy benediction moments did not occur but with some charlie horse spasms and a little luck, the wayward drain found its mating ends and seemed to hold in place.
Close enough for one day! I scrambled out 'from unda' and declared Miller Time Two. So far, so good! (?) My advice is to avoid plumbing issues at all costs - it is a serious detriment to both physical and mental health. This is one case where you do not wish to 'Do as the Romans'.
Now make sure to come back tomorrow for your Valentines greetings from all of us out here at the ranch!
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Here's an update while I am up for it:
Just ask Brou or Daisy - it sure was chili dogs here last night! Mark saw a reading of ten degrees below zero when he got up at dawn to let the dogs out. We later thought about the out-of-state elk hunters up top with Slim. I was getting ready to form a rescue mission when Slim finally returned our call. Apparently all was in good order when we initially called but he had been in the middle of driving his newly arrived herd of a hundred or two head the remaining five miles up to his ranch. He admitted that he was quite contentedly off his horse and settled more comfortably into his pick-up truck for the duration.
We knew that he was picking up the hunters in Albuquerque yesterday and now Slim caught us up on the details. He had to stop and check his cows in the corn lot before heading to the big city. The plane was one hour late so he grabbed a bite to eat while waiting. The hunters hadn't been fed on the plane so they stopped on the way back to eat and fuel up. Notice that I used the term fuel. It was only after he had topped up his Dodge diesel that Slim noticed that he had pulled up to the wrong pump and filled up on gas. Ever had one of those days? Luckily, he noticed the smell of gas as he pulled out the nozzle and hadn't started up the engine. The hunters were a couple of easy-going guys and didn't complain as he secured a number of 5 gallon cans and a pump with adequate capacity to siphon out the half and half in order to start the process all over again.
What annoyed Slim the most was the onslaught of bums asking him for gas money as this embarrassing circus was taking place. "Hell, I offered them a whole five gallons and a can and they still walked away. Would you believe that!?" I guess a real can of fuel, pure or half and half, just won't buy a bottle of booze in the end. Who said beggars can't be choosers anyway? Maybe the ethanol lobby is missing a big offshoot market here.
With temperatures of ten below, our water pipes finally froze up at the Rat. I sighed and dropped my head in resignation as the faucet squeezed out one last drop late this morning. How long before it would eventually thaw out? We fired up the blast furnace in the addition to give the water tank and plumbing there a little heat. A little later we decided to pull up the hatch to the space beneath the addition to heat up the wellhead and other plumbing and fired up the heater again. Mark noted that it was foolhardy to pull up part of the floor in a room with no lighting of any sort.
So the predictable tale of two idjits continues. An hour later, I ask Mark if he would step out and fire up the generator. It wasn't 30 seconds later that I heard a thunderous crash and a stream of ultra-volume expletives. I burst into that kind of grasp-the-wall-for-support hysterics. If you are part of that perfect breed of rational humans, I still don't want to hear any 'tut-tuts' out of you. Having been in the same position previously as Mark was now, I was more than qualified to welcome him into the fraternity of trapdoor idjits. And I had paid my dues right then and there since Daisy's little dance with me earlier had left me in a further deteriorating state of extreme pain. Laughing now has its own torments as does coughing from this nicely timed chest cold. I paid for every laugh today dearly, especially when another stream of cursing arose as he hit his head on the generator room's low door immediately thereafter. We both ended up laughing hysterically in the end - what else can you do sometimes?
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Sorry, I just had to go back and add this Dore litho again. I can never get enough of it. You can see its first suitable blog use here: Don't ever wanna hear about YOUR potholes!.
The good news? The heat allowed into the crawl space freed up the pipes! The forecast calls for a slight warming trend - afternoon highs in the low forties for the next few days so we will hopefully dodge the big freeze bullet again.
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The cold weather is officially here! It got down to 1 degree above zero just the night before last. The good news is that we still had running water in the morning, unlike the nice surprise we had before we got the two doors finally hung on the Rat's official Water Department addition. Thing of it is, our plans keep changing as we go, mercurial at best. Accordingly, we have learned that postponing our wild hairs of the moment is a ultimately a good thing. We had put off installing an open flame gas heater in the new addition since it was also going to be our repository for solar-charged batteries. Having an open flame heater in the midst of charging batteries emitting hydrogen seemed like hosting a cigar bar in the balloon shell of the Hindenburg so we waited.
Now, with the advent of the new buildings, the battery closet will likely move over there in the Spring (or whenever the roads and weather accommodate us). In the interim, the solar hook-up is on hold but we can at least apply temporary open-flame heat in this addition. Everything might change again by then so we are not going through the aggravation of running permanent black iron piping anywhere until Spring.
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To keep the pipes and well head from freezing in the interim, we dragged out the blast furnace (above) that we used so judiciously last year and the year before to heat the Rat itself before our project to add reasonably safe and thermostatically controlled LP units. Yep, this unit will kill you in a fairly tight enclosure ... but we survived that phase. We would fire it up, get the place to the point that the walls were getting soft, shut it down, go to bed and then just hope that the temperatures wouldn't drop below freezing inside until morning. Oftentimes it worked. Hallelujah and good riddance to using it as a primary heat source however! We look upon it more kindly now as a quick heat builder in the addition (which does not share common air space with the Rat). We fire it up just before turning off the generator at night and get the temperature up to dry sauna quality and then turn it off.
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Now here is the part I really want to talk about. This photo above shows a new kerosene lamp, one of several that I bought on-line dirt cheap from Pennsylvania in the summer. Bruno's recent post about some old kerosene lamps got me to thinking about it again.
I had remembered friends talking about Lehman's Hardware YEARS ago as far as supplying the Amish and anyone going off-the-grid and found that they even had a website. They were clearing out these foreign made reproductions of old Dietz railroad lanterns for something like $7 each. I had lost all my antiques ones in the moving insanity to folks who wanted them badly. I thought about how many I wanted of the two different models available and gave the list to Mark the next day to order (he is the official on-line orderer) . I was heart-broken that the sale had ended between my finding it and the next day when Mark tried to order them. But never say never, at least not with decent folks; I sent them an e-mail and, would you believe it in this day and age, they said "Well, okay, close enough, just talk to so-and-so in the order department and she will let it go through." My faith in mankind (at least parts of it) surged up twelve points on a scale of one to ten when I heard that.
So here I am with my nice supply of new kerosene lamps thanks to a Mennonite hardware in Pennsylvania. I now have a very nice bias towards Mennonites, no doubt about it. In fact, it will be a Mennonite clan who will be constructing our new buildings and we have been met with the same trust and decency in dealing with them so far. It is a reinvigorating experience after dealing with the uniformly disappointing people of our last locale. And now you know why I don't refer to that last place (our long exile) by name. As Beautiful Dave the Cat would say "They sucked, they REALLY sucked!"
There, wasn't that a nice long-suppressed side rant. I needed that. Anywho, I took one of these lanterns, lit it and placed it near the 350 gallon water tank, pressure bladder tank and piping. It seemed to produce just enough heat through the long night to keep the temperatures above freezing point. I can't tell you what a sense of accomplishment it is to turn the kitchen faucet on in the morning and have water come out. We haven't hit the minus 15 below temps yet this year but this is a good start to getting things sorted out.
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Humor of the Day (from Ken) and don't tell me you can't relate to any of these
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What job ad lingo really means
Competitive salary:
We remain competitive by paying you less than our competition.
Join our fast-paced company:
We have no time to train you.
Casual work atmosphere:
We don't pay enough to expect that you will dress up; a couple of the real daring guys wear earrings.
Some overtime required:
Some every night and some every weekend.
Duties will vary:
Anyone in the office can boss you around.
Must have an eye for detail:
We have no quality assurance.
Career-minded:
Female applicants must be childless (and remain that way).
Apply in person:
If you're old, fat or ugly you'll be told that the position has been filled.
Seeking candidates with a wide variety of experience:
You'll need it to replace the three people who just quit.
Problem-solving skills a must:
You're walking into perpetual chaos.
Requires team leadership skills:
You'll have the responsibilities of a manager, without the pay or respect.
Good communication skills:
Management communicates, you listen, figure out what they want and do it.
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This is a tread-water offering while Mark and I fine tune the last elements of the Rat Water Works. 'Fine tune', in this case, is a euphemism for banging our heads against the wall and screeching as we solve one problem, only to have another appear, then another and another - like playing Whack-a-Mole. We'll have to take a few more whacks before showing you the final lay-out. It's starting to look good though!
Click on image for larger view
This photo shows one of our neighborhood red ant hills last Fall. I placed a gallon milk jug beside the mound to show how industrious these little fellows can be. They place a shingle-like layer of larger gravel and chico needles on top to slow down erosion and it's enjoyable to catch the glint of old colored glass fragments in the mix. I've heard that they occasionally dredge up lost Indian trade beads as well. These mounds and their forage trails are everywhere and I soon learned to pay attention as to where I was standing before stopping to sightsee during a hike. Willy the Well Driller noted that the 'old timers' used to observe the height of the mounds to forecast how much snow the coming winter would bring. Then, being in his 8Os, he stopped to laugh at himself for calling anyone an 'old timer'. But the ants and the old timers were right - we had a much needed higher level of precipitation last winter.
The ants showed up and introduced themselves like the Welcome Wagon as soon as we arrived. While they are not as aggressive and rude as fire ants, I still didn't like having them keep me company and crawl up my pants legs while I was working under the Rat. That crawling sensation caused me to hit my head on the undercarriage more than once. To their credit, however, they were more pleasant to deal with than the rotting rat that I stuck my hand in while trying to move around under there. Thankfully, I did not run into scorpions, rattlers, black widows or tarantulas that are also likely to move in if you don't have the space sealed up well. I have met all of them in other settings since arriving so it's probably just a matter of time before they show up under the Rat. Funny thing but I have since developed a dislike of having to work under there. Therefore, I will be ever grateful that Virgil bit the bullet and dove under to deal with the latest necessary plumbing reworks. I know for a fact that he is not particularly fond of creepy crawlies either so my only solace was that he was far more agile and likely to come shooting out of there at light speed if he ran into anything untoward. Without him, I guarantee you that this water project would have been on hold 'til slightly before Hell freezes over if it had required my participation.
Story time line: Late April to present
As promised on his last field visit, Virgil came through for us and returned on his own time to help us with the dreaded plumbing rework to correct that last numbing bit of craftsmanship left by the Handyman from Hell. Without his help, neither of us were going to get around the stroke-inducing memories of that fiasco. And so that day held exciting prospects beyond few others out here to date. I awaited anxiously for the check-in call saying "We're only a half hour away right now."
When they finally arrived (a half hour seeming like an eternity), they did not come to the door as expected but went right to the work site at the rat's rear. Wot!? Such serious intent? We'll have none of that here! I ran the inside length of the trailer and exited out the rear door to head them off. I grabbed the cordless drill on the way out and lay in wait behind the metal 'doghouse' which we had recently lowered into place with the skid steer. Virgil rounded the corner first and I mowed him down quite effectively with the drill ... Grishzzzzzzzzzzz!!!! Well, he was no fun at all and kept on walking even though I knew that I had scored a direct hit on this invader of Billy the Kid's secret hideout. But wait! There is one more invader to be dealt with! I hunkered down again and sprang up in full blaze as his wife rounded the corner. Grishzzzzzzzzzzz!!!! Grishzzz!!!! Grishzzz!!!! I wasn't about to take any chances this time, nosiree. It just had to be done.
Now maybe some would consider such things as "Ewwww, like so totally sophomoric, you know?" but then again, I never signed any contract saying that I would grow old gracefully either - or even sanely, for that matter. And there's something satisfying about making younger folks wonder if their own parents are like this when they are not around. My reward for all this foolishness was a sighing reprimand from Matty as she restrained a patient grin and said "Sigh ... oh, Lin, you-are-SUCH a little kid ...." Some moments just don't get any better than this, seeing that adorable ever-patient little face in chastise mode. I can see why Virgil is completely sold on her, I really can.
It wasn't long before Virgil, being the no B.S. kind of guy he is, surveyed the situation through the skirting panel we had just removed, donned his Carharts and disappeared under the rat for serious business. Matty remained content to browse through her school supply catalogs on the back steps nearby, soaking up a good sunburn in the process.
Soon we heard "Oh man, I can't believe he did this ... what a complete doofus!" issue forth from the dark under belly of the Rat. But there were no real surprises for us in his findings. It would figure that the Handyman from Hell had reduced the 3/4 inch supply line that he made such a dog and pony production over down to 1/2 inch well BEFORE the branch-offs to the kitchen bath and laundry occurred. But we knew deep down that more inane practices would be revealed in time.
The best we could do now was to hover by the opening in the skirting and toss him tools and supplies as he needed them. It was a sheer and envious pleasure to watch his lithe, young frame squeeze by UNDER the rat axles - something that neither of us could accomplish with our latter day bulges.
While the remainder of the system set-up was not ideal, by the end of that day, we had gen-you-wine running water in the rat. We celebrated over the lunch which THEY had brought and then with a Chez Rat supper. And Virgil reminded me that he got one of our private property mulie hunting passes for the effort. Now just hoping that he might share a backstrap or a round roast if he gets lucky this Fall.
With Virgil's absolutely crucial part in the scheme completed, we could now seal the skirting back up and proceed with the foundation for the proposed addition. This was a glorious step forward. The photo shows that momentous progression.
Click on photo for larger image
To be continued!
And so we lived like this for several weeks until yesterday, my next big day of resolve. Mark performed the customary 'freeing of the panel' ritual and I laid out a large piece of plastic which I hoped would be my prophylactic shield against the scum of the earth.
The sodden forest of mold to the outer edge of one central I-beam told me that I needed to remove the glorified cardboard insulator. I dug in a carpet knife and incised the soggy matting away. That, in turn, released putrid streams of standing water down upon me. The empty kitty litter bucket in the bottom of the photo above was able to capture most of the remaining stream. It also served as a good repository for the wet pink insulation and multi-colored slime that I grabbed down by the messy handful. Then I retreated to let everything drain further - by George, it was Miller time already.
My target? Right beyond that blackened floor stud showing in the middle of this foul incision. This is where the drain took a right angle up into the Rat. I wasn't about to take a photo looking straight up and chance having that crud leak down on me.
Above is the other end of my mission on the inner side of the I-beam (marked with a yellow arrow). Mark, in the interim, had removed the bathroom sink and performed considerable drain rearrangements which ultimately led to a little more reasonable length of pipe poking through the floor for me to work with down under. I still managed to drive a knee and elbow into the dodgy ooze and dust the cobwebs and other unidentified flotsam off with my hair but was able to avoid a good buzz from the plastic cement. Not that unholy benediction moments did not occur but with some charlie horse spasms and a little luck, the wayward drain found its mating ends and seemed to hold in place.
