Day 17 addendum

Stay tuned for Day 18: Lessons Learned, following Day 17: Addendum (for days are very long on a farm) Day 17: Addendum, with pictures

(muddy bib overalls with taped straps)

(cardboard boxes formerly blocking the access door, gloves and screwdriver)

(access door on right, note the metal frame in the perimeter of the access hole)

Sighing in disappointment, with the path back seeming longer every second, I returned to the crawling position and made my way to the exit. Still determined to refuse a second rescue, I went back into the house and called Ray—no answer. I called Duane—no answer. "Hi, Duane. This is Chris again. The water went out about 8:00 so I went out to push the reset button, but I couldn't find a button to push. There's a yellow lever, a blue faucet handle, and an 1/8th inch piece of metal, but no button. If you could just call me back and tell me what to do, I don't mind doing it. Please give me a call back when you can." I waited, still bundled up in the heavy-duty bib overalls and flannel shirt, for almost an hour. Mom and I had plenty of time to discuss our options, we even considered going to a hotel for the night, but it was so much more adventuresome to think of ourselves as pioneer women alone on the frontier, wind whistling outside, no indoor plumbing (or more specifically, no running water indoors, since the plumbing was still in place and workable, but lacked any actual liquid to run through it). We had one bottle of water for drinking and for brushing our teeth, what was the big deal? We determined not to worry Ray with the new developments (or lack thereof) and to stay at home. But it had been an hour, and I was getting hot and uncomfortable, so I took off the gloves and the hat, followed quickly by the flannel. After a few minutes, I un taped the straps and took off the overalls. "Well, I guess no one's going to call us back, so we might as well call it quits for tonight." No sooner had the words been said than the phone rang. It was Ray, not Duane, and the very first thing he asked was, "So is everything still okay?" My resolve swirled quickly down the drain even as my eyes filled with tears, and I found myself spurting out, "No, it's not okay! The water went out again and I put on your overalls and crawled under the house and there's no button to push! No button of any kind whatsoever! And I called Duane but he hasn't called back and I don't want you to have to drive all the way back down here and Mom and I might go to a hotel so don't worry about us and if I knew what button to push I'd just go push it but there's no button, nothing to push at all! I just took off all the spelunking clothes and I don't want to crawl under there again for nothing!" He took a moment to reflect, but I could hear him laughing. Yes, sirree, I could hear the laughter, as well as see Mom's startled face as she heard me contradict all my pioneering plans. Somehow unloading on Ray has a way of making me feel much better almost immediately. I am unsure of the effect it has on poor Ray. (Poor, poor Ray.) He agreed that it was pointless to go cave exploring without new information and hesitantly agreed to stay on schedule and in Akron till the next afternoon. I assured him that we'd either make do or do without and that if things appeared desperate, we'd drive into town and use the library's facilities. Ten minutes later, a confused Duane called back. "Your water went out again? Jim never had a problem with that well. And four hours sounds like enough to have waited for the pump....You went under the house?!" I could detect a note of admiration as well as a touch of astonishment in his voice. (I am very perceptive that way, you know.) Appreciating his appreciation of my endeavors, I tried not to sound accusing as I said, "There was no button to push. Where's the button to reset the pump? You don't have to come over and do it, just tell me what to do and I'll do it ...tomorrow." "Well, it's not really a button. It's the little piece of bent metal. You just push it up a little bit, gently, and listen for the water to start flowing." How in the world someone could describe rotating a piece of metal as pushing a button is beyond me. It is totally beyond me. It is beyond belief even. "Push a button." Ha! Push a button. As if. I thanked him politely. He wished me well, as he shook his head. I could hear it. He was shaking his head. (I am very perceptive. I know these things. He was shaking his head.) I called Ray, told him the proper terminology regarding the repair, and informed him that said repair would take place in the morning, after the air had warmed up a bit, for indeed it was very cold and windy. Audibly shaking his head, he wished me a good night. For some unknown reason, I then added, "And I put that access door back on as best as I could and propped the cement block against it, but I couldn't get it all the way back on." "Oh no!" he exclaimed. "You have to get that on all the way or all the pipes will freeze! You have to go back out and do that! Oh!" groaning now, "that would be worse than not having water. The pipes will burst and we'll have to replace everything!" "Fine," I grumbled. "I'll go back out and lift up the siding and put the stupid door back." This was not as easy as he made it sound. "Go back out and do that." Ha! Hadn't I tried to do that? Hadn't I cleaned cold mud and stones out of the edge of the frame? Hadn't I pushed and shoved that dumb door down into the frame? Hadn't it refused to slide back in? Why, yes, yes it had! And hadn't it been taller than the opening? Why, yes, yes it was. But I'd said I'd do it and I was determined to do it or freeze trying. I put the flannel jacket back on. I put on the hat. I put on the gloves. I got the flashlight and a screwdriver. I told Mom I might be a few minutes. I opened the door. I was met with an arctic blast of wind. I pushed on. I moved the cardboard boxes, again. I knelt on the cold, wet ground, again. I moved the cement block, again. I cleaned out the frame, again. (Do not ask me how more muck got in it. I do not know.) I placed the flashlight strategically on the ground so it would flood the area with light. I shoved the screwdriver under the siding and pried the siding and trim up carefully and gently as I pushed the door down and in. I shoved the screwdriver into the space at the top of the frame, where the door should go and pushed the door down as I lifted the siding and trim carefully. There was a rotating lever on top of the door which was to firmly attach a little protuberance to a slot in the frame after it was fully seated. Ha! There was no way that thing was ever going to be close enough to "slide" into a slot. All it did was add another quarter of an inch to try and get carefully past the trim! Ha! Who designed this stuff anyway? Let him (for I am certain it was a man) come and put this door back in properly. After much determined finessing on my part, and a total lack of cooperation on the part of the door and the frame, I finally managed to get the door flush with the frame, all except the stupid, uncooperative slot thing. It would have to do. I carefully crammed the cement block back against the door, re stacked the insulating cardboard boxes in front of it (hopefully in such a way as to prevent the wind from careening them across the yard, but that's another story), and went back inside. Mom and I prepared for bed with visions of running water dancing in our heads.

Stay tuned for Day 18: Lessons Learned the Hard Way, coming to your in box soon ...Please note the modified title for Day 18...

Man, are we happy out here?