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| Fortunately, the rope/noose didn't get used. |
Today I will keep it basic and talk about the title of my essay/also my post title. I had a very bad day yesterday, all day long.
It did not start well. It ended badly. In between, there was a lot of bad stuff too, including a lot of barnyard language usage.
Even though bad things kept happening several times an hour, I have found reasons for appreciation today. Well, maybe not with the last item of the day, but I'll get to that.
The cause of my bad day has a yellow exterior and a red top. It's name is Ritchie. Ritchie is located out in a shed which protects our horses from the elements and flies in the summer when they are grazing in the hay field.
We have several Ritchies on our place, two in the barn and five outside. They are automatic waterers for the animals.
Last summer when we discovered that Hayfield Ritchie was spewing water, we turned the waterer off, knowing that another bigger Ritchie was also available to the horses and that we did not want to pay a humongous water bill.
So, we never thought about Hayfield Ritchie again, until yesterday morning. We hadn't thought about Hayfield Ritchie the night before when we noticed that our water pressure was down.
Knowing that it's usually something associated with the rural water system, we checked with one neighbor Janice who thought her pressure may have been down in the afternoon but seemed okay at the time.
I also checked with the folks from the system. No reports of anything, Randy told me, but be on the lookout when you drive to town. There may be a leak.
I also checked with another neighbor and did not hear back from her until yesterday. And, of course, these days most folks out here who have Facebook check with Selle Valley Neighbors Facebook group for information or to learn about things that go amiss in the neighborhood.
One person posted that she had noticed her water pressure being down, while my neighbor Elton, who knows the water system suggested yesterday morning that the pressure problem might have something to do with some hydrant testing.
For about twenty minutes, I felt cautiously optimistic, still with with a tinge of concern. First thing on yesterday's schedule after breakfast and blog and chores was to get to the polls and cast our "YES" votes in the school levy.
Well, at the polls are workers who also know the local water system, in one case, a water system CFO and wife to Randy. With her customary straight-face she told me that if we had a leak, we would pay double for all the extra water we used.
She was kidding, of course, but at this very moment, my sense of humor had gone into remission.
We voted, then headed for town where Bill had a day-long meeting. Because of that day-long meeting and because of the winter storm which was going in full bore, I had cancelled plans for a visitor to come.
That meant I could have the day pretty much to myself, do my chores, plow a little, go watch ZAGS women's basketball and generally kick back for a while before picking up Bill at 4 p.m.
After voting and learning that it was very possible we might have a leak after all and that we were going to pay our life savings for all the water we used, my sense of humor remained in remission, and all the way to town, even past an accident, I sputtered and swore out loud to Bill.
Bill is used to my sputtering and swearing, so he kept deflecting the noise in the pickup with analyses of what possibly could be wrong with our Lovestead water system.
He was pretty sure that if we had a leak, it would be that Hay Field Ritchie because of its location in a shelter and because it had not been protected from the cold by snow.
I dropped him off, went straight home, armed myself with a shovel and checked each waterer. Because of all the plowing we've had to do over the past five week, the routes in to the waterers are blocked with about four feet of crusted, packed snow.
Usually, I don't mind Border Collies trying to eat the shovel each time I fling snow, but let's remember the sense of humor gone to remission. Dogs are not helpful when passageways through deep snow need to be opened.
Since I did not want to waste time taking them back to the house, I just dealt with it, eventually making my way into the second pasture and proceeding through four feet of snow toward the the Hay Field Ritchie.
Sure enough, Bill was right. Water was cascading all directions from the waterer's housing. A moment of barnyard English, and I was off through the field and back down the lane.
At this point, I remembered that the box near the barnyard fence which protects two valves. At first, I thought I'd need to use the tractor loader to find the box, but soon discovered that a shovel would do.
Dogs went to the house, and I began to shovel, soon discovering a thick coat of ice around the box lid. By the time it was pried open, I'd used the shovel, another ice breaker and a tea kettle full of boiling water.
Once the lid was opened, my next view was about three feet of dark cold water, hiding any view of said valves. So, I went to the barn, pulled out the key which opens the valves and began a braille approach to finding the valves.
Eventually, I found one and turned it. The hydrant at the barnyard tank still worked, so I thought I had solved my problem, feeling a brief sense of pride.
That ended after another trudge through unplowed snow down the lane and through the field of deep snow.
Water was still cascading from the Hayfield Ritchie. More barnyard language and a trudge back through deep snow and the unplowed lane.
I knew someone several years ago had told me there were two valves, usually visible when not covered with three feet of dark water.
So, I began the braille workout with the big metal key once again and again and again and . . . . no luck.
My coat and pretty much everything I was wearing was sopped by this time, so I decided to give it a break, go inside, change clothes, warm up, eat a bite of cheese and watch the ZAGS women's game.
Surely, my mood would improve along with my ability to search out that second valve.
I watched the game long enough to see that the women had gotten off to a good start in their matchup with BYU.
Back outside, back to the key. This time I also decided to start up the tractor and to finish my morning chores in between attempts to locate the valve.
It's all a blur, but the chores got done and the driveway and lane were cleaned out enough to be manageable.
Every return to that valve box intensified my feeling of total helplessness. What more could I do to solve this situation which, by the minute, in my frienzied mind, was literally draining our life savings?
Call Mark, I thought. Mark, our neighbor, had retired from his excavation business, but he knew enough from past experience at our place to maybe help me out-----mainly finding that second valve with the key.
Mark came, tried finding valve with no success, then walked out to analyze the situation in the field. He figured that if I could get someone to come and dig around the waterer, they could cap it off, and we'd at least have a band aid and still some of our life savings to fix the damn set-up in the spring.
He also suggested that maybe there wasn't a second valve, that maybe the turn-off to those waterers was in the house, down in the crawl space.
"I'll get down there and look," he said.
"Oh no," I thought, "all those bags of potato chips and recipe books and extra footgear . . . it's a mess."
Mark didn't seem to care about my mess, so we went inside, and I emptied all the stuff in my personal throw all room to the living room floor and Mark descended into the depths of our house. While he was descending, I heard the score to the women's game and turned off the TV. Fifteen points behind. Gonzaga was not gonna win this one.
Mark looked all around down in that hole, saw the sewer line, but no water stuff, so he carefully exited the hole, and we both agreed that his idea for someone to come and dig and tie off the waterer was the best idea.
When we walked outside, we saw a white pickup at the end of the driveway. It was Randy from the water system, deciding just where the meter box was cuz our water would have to be turned off to stop the leak.
Long story short, Randy and Mark talked over the situation, Randy looked at the situation both at the valve box and the cascading waterer and then climbed aboard our Kubota to clean out the area where the meter is located.
In the meantime, his son Garrett came with his pickup AND a pump. During this time, I had received information from Bill that his meeting was over an hour earlier than expected. No hurry, he said, I'll be waiting at the door.
Well, with Randy cleaning out the snow and Garrett assisting him, there was nothing I could do. When I left to get Bill, the plan was for all water to be turned off and for Garrett to go get his equipment, dig out the water surroundings and cap it off.
When Bill and I arrived back home, we saw a large blue message painted in the snow near the garage door. H2O off, and a phone number to call. Okay, I thought, he'll be here soon with his equipment, so I'll do my evening chores and get the horses inside the barn.
All that went well until it was time to close the barn door. The same door that opened without effort in the morning refused to budge, no matter how loud I cuzzed or how I tried to pry it and pull it and push it and then through the shovel in utter disgust.
I worked at that door for at least 15 minutes with no luck. Finally, feeling as weary as I've felt in year, I walked toward the house. A thought occurred to me: maybe Garrett found the second valve.
I pulled out my phone, called Garrett, and, sure enough, with all the water pumped out, he found the valve, turned off the field waterers and water was still working in the barn and barnyard.
He'll come in the spring (isn't it supposed to be spring now), and he'll fix the system so it works.
After thanking him profusely, I walked in the house, collapsed on the couch and just stayed there for about ten minutes talking over the situation with Bill (who felt much more helpless than I).
Maybe the day was going to end better than I thought, now that we still have our life savings and that the leak is not leaking and that the ZAGS men will soon play for their WCC championship.
Life is good, after all, I thought. Those wonderful neighbors came to my rescue when I was truly at my wits end, and now we can sit back and watch our No. 1 team play another beautiful game of basketball.
Later, when my daughter Annie texted and asked if the Gonzaga loss to St. Mary's was part of a strategy, I simply answered that it was exactly like my day and that possibly it just wasn't in the stars.
And, later when I saw someone post on Twitter that the game was a dud, I agreed.
Yup, I had a dud day yesterday. It was as bad as bad can get, but I also encountered some neighborhood angels who came to the rescue.
It's hard to make anything good out of the frustrations of yesterday, but there are some silver linings.
This morning I learned that the levy had passed rather resoundingly.
I walked 28,000-plus steps yesterday, according to my Fitbit.
The dogs and horses all behaved well, 'cept for that shovel biting, through the day's disasters.
I've gained even more appreciation for neighbors who have always been appreciated.
My sense of humor is no longer in remission.
The best part: I didn't need to open the barn door this morning.
As for the ZAGS, yes, it's hard to find anything redeeming about two lost championships and all the hardships that went along with them.
Still, brighter days lie ahead. The ZAGS will rebound AND maybe even shoot better, and I think the best is yet to come.
So, that's the end of my essay. My conclusion is going to be rather weak. All I've got to say: thanks and appreciation, and I hope it's a while before another such day comes along.
Happy Wednesday.
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