Chris...
The Farm Wife, didn't expect most of this, and wondering how I got here?
Keep coming back, page four follows......soon.
Morning dawned bright and early. I know this because the light persists in shining through the blinds no matter how tightly I close them, and because morning always dawns early, too early. Duh! It dawned, however, without the accompaniment of rushing water or, indeed, even trickling water. I waited a while until the rising sun warmed the back of the house, which means, until it quit steaming. Then back to the old routine of donning Sonny's clothes in preparation for an early morning's spelunking.
Everyone who knows me knows that I am not a morning person. They admonish me that mornings wouldn't seem so early if I went to bed earlier. They rave about the beauty of sunrises. They moralize about the discipline of getting up early, which to me means that they don't like it any better than I do but since they have to do it regardless of their preference then they try to make it sound as if they walk a higher moral ground. They claim that I "sleep in" as though they themselves thrive on only five hours of sleep but that I, poor sluggard, must get ten hours of sleep or more. Ha! I think they're just jealous that I don't usually get up until after the sun rises, brightens the sky and warms the air. As a matter of fact, my natural body rhythm is to try and get between six and eight hours of sleep, just as those other people do. It's just that I prefer to sleep between the hours of two and ten in the morning. The point of this story, however, is not to enlist support for society reaching the logical conclusion that my hours are much more beneficial than those of the "early to bed, early to rise" mania, but rather simply to explain that I do not do my best thinking or planning in the wee light of morning. That being said, we shall return to the lessons learned the hard way.
The evening before, the prospect of crawling under the house in ill-fitting clothes hadn't seemed so bad. But in the cold light of day I found myself wondering, purely theoretically of course, how long Mom and I could manage without water. That thought was quickly followed by an equally enticing one: maybe if I accomplished this immediately, I could go back to bed!! Now I was motivated!
Lesson 1: Do not proceed hastily.
I hastily proceeded to get ready. I put my boots on so my feet wouldn't get cold. It was plenty cold outside and wet under the house so I wanted to start out warm and dry. I very neatly and efficiently taped the straps of the bib overalls to the proper length. I rolled up the pant legs so they wouldn't drag on the floor. I tried to put the bibs on. Did you know that if one securely tapes the straps of clothing which one is supposed to step into, that the opening is greatly reduced in size? I didn't know that, but I found out the very minute that I tried to pull the bibs up from my ankles. Ha! As if! This necessitated removing all the tape from one strap, but after stepping in and pulling them part way up, I stopped to neatly retape the strap while I could see what I was doing. Success! I pulled the strap up over my shoulder, grabbed the pants at the knees and started pulling them up over my boots. Except for one thing. The pant legs didn't fit over my boots.
Lesson 2: Do not attempt to jump right into a situation. Think it through before taping.
I slowly proceeded to take off the strap, untape the strap, remove the bibs, remove the boots, step into the bibs, pull them all the way up to my chest, retape the strap, pull it up over my shoulder, roll the pant legs back up (for very stiff duck material does not stay rolled up very well or very long), and sat down on the steps to put my boots back on.
Lesson 3: Work alone. No witnesses.
At this point, my mother, stifling her laughter, subtly yet not so innocently asked me, "By the way, where's your camera?" Ha! As if! There would be no pictures of me dressed in these stiff, bulky bibs. No way. She begged. She cajoled. I wouldn't budge. As a matter of fact, I could barely move. Not only was the material stiff, so were my muscles. I was not accustomed to doing a belly crawl, even one that alternated with crawling on my hands and knees. Groaning now, nearly sweating, afraid to even glance in the direction of my camera bag, I looked around for the tools of the night before. Somehow the flashlight, screwdriver, flannel shirt, knit hat and gloves had mysteriously dissipated throughout the house. I grabbed the bibs at the waist, hiked them up and proceeded to clump along in my search.
Lesson 4: Maintain control over the media.
As I searched, I realized that Mom had come up with a very good idea. Some sort of documentation of the event was in order. When one goes spelunking, a camera can support one's veracity and lack of embellishment when later recounting one's farm spelunking adventures. So, hiding my actions behind the billowing bibs and flowing flannel shirt, I retrieved my camera and a large Ziploc® bag, all the while discussing the benefits of taking the telephone with me on this trip under the house.
From here, things progressed rather smoothly. I relocated the cardboard boxes, removed the access panel with the aid of the screwdriver, illuminated the interior briefly (still no critters—phew!), backed into the abyss, and flashlight in one hand, camera "bag" in the other, and commenced crawling to the water pressure tank. (Please excuse my ignorance in previously calling the water pressure tank the "water pump." I have been corrected. See Lesson #5 below.)
Some of you, who shall at least temporarily remain unnamed, have in the past accused me of exaggerating when retelling a story. You have doubted the accuracy or completeness of my tales. Just in case you find yourself wondering whether or not I truly crawled under the house (regardless of the method used) here is proof positive. Pictures. Unretouched photographs. Digital proof that I did indeed don the bibs, crawl through the gravel under the house, find the "button", and restore running water to the house.
Lesson #5: Learn the proper terminology via the internet or books. Do not expose yourself to the vagaries of extraneous informational sources.
See the blue water pressure tank off in the distance, across the gravel, behind the beam? (Anyone who wants the technicalities of the workings of and the differences between a "water pump" and a "pressure tank" or any other part of a farm's water supply system, can call or write to Sonny and he will be more than pleased to provide you with a long and detailed explanation, with gestures and diagrams if necessary.
I, however, couldn't concentrate on this particular lesson, even as amazing and thorough as it was. Be forewarned, however, the lesson (learned the hard way) contains words such as "valve", "bladder" and "gauge".)
Lesson 6: Learn the proper terminology before attempting to share information or procedures with anyone else.
Note the total lack of any buttons on the pressure tank or the electrical box? Note the itty bitty little ol' piece of bent metal behind the thick, wide wire? See the barely visible arc above the bent metal? See how the arc goes 90º? If you ever find yourself confronted by a similar tank or box, do not rotate the wire the entire 90º! Rotate it only about 10º, stopping before you get to whatever the letters are on the left of the arc. Feel free to squint if you have to. It won't help, but feel free to try. Feel better now? You won't if you can read that the top word is "off" even though the wire is not pointing there and the tank was off. The word on the left might say "start" but what kind of significance can that
have when "off" clearly doesn't mean "off"?
Lesson #7: Always know where your exits are located. (Hint: it's the little rectangle of light at the top...This is helpful in showing distances, as in distances crawled...It's farther than it looks, especially with your hands full, in case you wondered.)
Lesson #8: Always take a picture of yourself in the environment you are describing so no one can doubt the accuracy of your words. See the gravel? See the muddy boots? See the gloves, flashlight and camera baggie? See the folded cuffs of the bibs. Are they not just as I have described them? Ha!
Suffice it to say that I exited the crawl space safely and entered the house triumphantly. A moment later, Mom greeted me with smiles and congratulations as she emerged from the bathroom.
Stay tuned for Days 30 and 31, wherein the farm wife learns that "running water" has more than one definition and a popular saying is debunked, for it is not always true that "what goes in must come out".
Sincerely,
Farm wife
Spelunker
Documentary Photographer
General Nuisance
Man, are we happy out here?
