To, or Not To

Somebody lost the crank handle for their tarp along twelve road.

Right after you come out of the swale where the drain water from town runs. Right after you hit the bad section of road.

It must have happened shortly before I came through; I could still see the divot where it hit the road and the slide mark where it lost momentum. 

Evidently someone else must have seen it also and must have been there just a bit before me, because I could see where they backed up, picked the handle up, and propped it against the power line pole that is situated on the corner of our ground.

Neither of us were there soon enough to see whose truck it fell off from, or I’m sure we would have picked it up and chased the truck down to return it to its rightful owner.

It’s one of those old-style cranks. Remember them?  They have a sort of u-joint fastened to a piece of square tubing that you slide into your tarp tube to crank it back.  And, you always have to watch for the tarp straps (I guess their name has changed to bungee cords today) that are permanently attached to the tarp as you started rolling it back, because they often hook on anything possible and stop the whole process. 

Then, once you have it rolled all the way back, which often seems to involve climbing up either the front or the back of the truck bed to finish rolling it by hand, you disengage the tarp crank handle and stow it in some hooks on the side of the bed.   I’m guessing whoever lost it must not have mounted it quite right into the hooks and it bounced out when they hit that section of road. 

The other day, I was out mowing the fence rows and, as I came up to that corner, noticed it wasn’t there anymore. 

Surely, I thought, someone must have seen it and claimed it.  But then I saw it was still there, lying in the ditch.  Evidently the county had knocked it over when they had been by a few days earlier, mowing the ditches. 

I wonder what I should do with it. 

It’s leaned against the pole, out there, for over twenty-five years now.

It’s stood its ground in hurricane force winds, mini twisters, and horrific ice storms.

I noticed, after one of those terrible blows, the pole it was leaning against had snapped. 

That was a few years ago now.  When the power company came out to repair damages, they leaned it back up against the new pole they had set.

But now, it got knocked over.

And, I’m suspicious that the owner of the truck it belonged to may not pick it up.

Mainly, because I don’t think the truck is still in the community, and the owner died a number of years ago.

I could lean it back up against the pole and leave it there.

It isn’t doing any harm, apparently, leaning there like it has.

And, I would guess if I leaned it back up against the pole, it may make it another 25 years in the same location.

I wonder, if my life isn’t a little like that tarp handle.  I’m thinking it has some relics that have kept their place, leaning where they have for last the last 25 years, that really serve no purpose whatsoever. 

And, I’m thinking the reason they are still there is the same reason that crank handle is still there. 

Simply put, no one has cared enough to take care of what needs taking care of. 

30 Odd

I’m standing in the side hallway of our church after the evening service when my friend Jared walks up to me and asks, without any preamble, if I’d be interested in joining the fire department with him.

I’m barely 18 years old, and it is almost 30 odd years ago now.

His request catches me by surprise; I have never considered such a thought up to this point in my life.

After a quick non thinking pause, I say, “Sure, what do we do next?”

He tells me we need to meet with the fire chief.  He knows we will be accepted because there aren’t enough personnel in the department as it is.

We meet the chief a few evenings later to go over things.

He’s an interesting type of guy; seems a little insecure.  Always clearing his throat and every little bit breaks into an overly done guffaw.

We sign a few forms that are rather meaningless and then we are escorted with great fanfare out to the equipment bay and shown around. 

The chief hops into the country truck and starts it up, kicking on the lights and revving it to a scream in a matter of seconds.  I wonder what such revs are doing to a cold start like that.  He shuts it down and shows us to the back where an antiquated 20 hp Kohler pump motor is mounted to the left side atop a large stand on platform.  On either side of the platform are hoses that can be manned by the person riding there.

He starts the pump motor, or, tries to.  It doesn’t start for some time, which is a habit we soon learn can be very frustrating.  With an embarrassed guffaw, the chief tinkers around with it and eventually gets it running.  I wonder, to myself, how the ramifications of this time lapse are to be explained to someone in a desperate situation.  I don’t think I can master the guffaw that seems to be the catch all by now, neither do I think it proper communication for such situations, although I am to see it used precisely as such very often.

Next, we are shown to the front platform where another hose, strung along the left side of the truck and draped across the top of the cab finally terminates on the platform.  There is railing across the front of the platform, but not on either side to facilitate a quick entry or exit, or, in some cases of very bumpy rides, an extreme hazard.

We are told the country truck carries around 300 gallons of water, and, we are told that water disappears alarmingly fast when all three hoses are being manned by hyperventilating, overly stoked firefighters. We are given sober and stern instructions about water conservation. 

It’s just five steps out from the truck into the dark night and a turn to the right.  He shows us the water tower, and, I see for the first time a round red iron plate affixed to a track where it can slide up and down.  The chief tells us this is the float indicator and explains how when the tank is completely full, the red plate will be at the bottom of the track, completely empty, at the top.  Again, we are given dutiful instruction of the possibility of sucking the tower dry, should a big event happen and both country and city truck are pumping at full capacity.

The tanker is next to the country truck.  The chief jumps up to start it.  All the equipment needs to be warmed up, he says.  But it doesn’t start.  The battery is dead.  We smile politely at the guffaw relegated in the tanker’s direction, and retire back to the old city office, now turned fire department meeting room, to discuss what comes next.

Got Your Back

I got a bill in the mail today that I’ve been looking for.

It’s an expensive one, but that’s okay.

In fact, I’m quite glad I got it.

Family owned and operated businesses have unique challenges.

Ours isn’t large enough to have a lot of specific dos and don’ts, still, there a few things that I personally have learned over the years.

One is, don’t look at what has happened with any right or wrong judgement until it is a day old. 

I partially failed in this, not so long ago, and what I learned once my head cleared is something I’m still humbled by.

*****

It was sort of a normal day for me.  I was making an inventory run to town, had an appointment or two to make while I was in town, and needed to keep the boys running as efficiently as possible at the jobs they were on.

But I was carrying extra stress.  I knew we were running short on time for the job that we were on, and there were a couple of calls that were waiting until we were done on this job.  Since it was taking longer than I thought, I needed to call those customers and reschedule, something I’m not overly fond of doing.

The pressure intensified as we neared Dodge; my phone was ringing or pinging every half mile, the way it seemed, and from what I gathered, the boys weren’t running at top speed. 

In fact, it seemed to me they were at one of their slower paces. 

I started complaining to Mama Jan.

Poor her. 

She so often has to take the middle position between the boys and their dad. 

I gave all the facts out, assuring her of how I knew about how much work was going to get done, and how short we were going to fall at the end of the day, both time-wise and money-wise.

As the day progressed, I got a phone call from one of the guys, saying, rather apologetically, how he really hadn’t gotten much done in the morning, he had people calling him that he couldn’t disregard.

Which made me mad.

They are supposed to call me, so I can keep the pressure off the guys, so they can keep working.

And I figured the reason they were calling him was because they didn’t like their calls going to voicemail on my phone while I was in at my appointments.

Noon came and went, and I should have had at least four hours of nonjudgmental time already racked up where I had let things remain neutral in my mind as per the aforementioned guideline.

But instead, I had four hours of stress racked up and it was building even as I drove the inventory out to where the guys were working.

When I got there, I met three guys who seemed clueless about what needed to happen next.

So, I piously, patiently, and somewhat self righteously explained what needed to be done.

And those three immediately took issue with it.

Because it violated code.

Okay.  I knew that. 

But. 

Code can sometimes be reached only partially, due to existing structure or, a compromise between a customer who maybe can’t afford code but needs their emergency fixed, nonetheless.

I could feel myself losing it.

The customer was waiting.  We needed wire in the walls, not voices in the air.

And, it was three against one, and I knew it. 

I knew they were more than likely right, just as I knew, due to experience, I was more than likely right.

So, I finally told them, not so quietly, that they could have at it, do it their way, and I left.

*****

I got home and blew my top to Mama Jan.

I went on and on about my frustrations of our different views on code and customer satisfaction.

And then, Mama Jan started crying.

So, I asked her why.

And she told me.

*****

The day before, we had been trenching in a main service and hit a water line. 

Which happens occasionally.  It just means we must stop and fix it before we go on. 

But this was a big water line, and it flowed massively. 

The customer didn’t know it was there, and told us, that barring any other reason, we should cap it and go on.  Which we did.

But, a day after we hit it, which was the current day I am talking about, Mama Jan told me the city guys showed up on the front doorstep of the house we were wiring. 

And they were upset.

Because the water line we capped fed a large gas booster station.

They admitted they didn’t know where it was and more than likely we would have hit it regardless.

They asked if I had done a onecall to mark all the underground lines.  Upon which, the son they were ranting at called his mother to see if I had.  She asked me, and I said no. 

Well, maybe I almost screamed no. 

Because it was out in the middle of a field, and one service had already trenched right through where we were going to trench, had marked their line, and there were no other lines marked. 

So, I saw no need to do the onecall.

Still, we were clearly at fault for not calling it in.

So, it turns out that while I was going on and on in the morning about my frustrations, my boys were taking the heat for me, and arranging a repair to be made (the bill I got today) on the city water main.

And, to top it off, I spoke rather unkindly to them in the afternoon of the same day they took all the heat for me in the morning, and they never once mentioned what had happened to me. 

I suppose another guideline of a family-owned business is that each has the other’s back. 

Thanks boys. 

You were better men than I was that day.

Thankful

We worked together, easily, as a team that day. 

He was 16, maybe 17.  I was 21 years older.

The conduit was trenched in, and the wire was laid out on the ground, ready to be pulled in.

Two runs of 2/0 copper, 120 feet long.

One run of 1/0 copper, 120 feet long.

One run of #1 copper, 120 feet long.

We set the shop vac by the pole, used a temporary plug spliced into the main for power, and vacuumed a length of twine through the conduit.

Next, we attached our pull rope to the twine and pulled it through.

Finally, we set the tugger up at the pole, taped the four runs of wire together, slid the grip over them and fastened it to the rope.

He had the hard job, dragging the runs of wire along the ground and feeding them into the conduit.

I had the easy part, winding the rope around the capstan, making sure it didn’t double on itself and keeping a close eye on the progress at the other end, watching for any tangle or hiccup, upon which I would immediately loosen the rope to stop the inward pull.

All went well, and in a few minutes, the grip appeared at my end, and I pulled several feet of wire through, enough to hook up to the service main.

I asked him which side he wanted to hook up, house or pole, and he chose pole.

He grabbed the ratchet and put an allen wrench attachment on.

With a final word of caution to make sure the power was off before he started hooking up, I went to the house to start my side of the hook up. 

Somewhere, one of us cut the power before I cautioned him to cut power, and neither of us remembered it.

When he went to hook up his side to the pole, he threw the lever the opposite way, thinking it was on and he was switching it off.

But it was off, and he switched it on.

For some reason, he didn’t verify power that day.  Today, I see him do it every time, sometimes even twice.

I finished my side and came out to see him finishing his side.

He told me, “This ratchet wrench keeps getting so hot, I can’t figure out what’s going on.”

Horrified, I saw the lever in the ‘on’ position.

Tonight, when I read Ephesians 1:8, I thought back to that day, and believed what I read.

Monkey See, Monkey Do

Admittedly, I fall into the category of Monkey See, Monkey Do.

Undoubtedly, there is another category called Monkey Do, so other Monkeys can See.

Certainly, my friends Taylor and Emery fall into the latter category, because what I am about to write next wouldn’t be possible if they hadn’t shown me how to do.

And, I suppose what I am about to write about could also be skewered into the minimalist category, by those not of that category.

Put it where you want.  I don’t care.  I know what I’m doing makes me happy.  That’s enough.

*****

I started yesterday morning. 

I scraped all the dried mud off the floor of the garage and swept it out.

Next, I got my faithful, basic green weber grill that I bought at Home Depot several years ago.

(Even though I have a nice, fairly state of the art Treager pellet grill sitting right beside it)

I cleaned all the ash out, and, following Taylor’s instructions from a while back, I started laying in the charcoal briquettes, one at a time, in a single row around the edge until I got back to the start.  I left a six-inch gap between the start and end.

A second line of briquettes followed, right up against the first line.

And then, a third line, against the second.

On top of the three across snake, I started a fourth row, spanning the first two briquettes.

Lastly, a fifth row on top, against the previous fourth row. 

I sprinkled apple wood chips over the entire snake. 

*****

This morning, I sprayed lighter fluid on the first 8 briquettes and lit them.

I got the pie pan I always use cleaned up and nestled just inside the ring. 

I heated water to boiling while I started trimming the Boston butts.

My fingers found the seam that Emery told me about one day.  I never knew it was there. 

I sliced down with the seam and pulled at all the ‘garnuckle’ as Emery calls it, while using my knife to pare it away from the meat it clung to. 

Next, I flipped the butt over, and sliced almost all of the backfat off, because, as he says, most of that stuff is still there when you are completely done with your meat anyway.

I liberally covered both butts with seasonings, patting it into all the surface areas, including down into the seam that I cut the garnuckle out of.

I filled the pie pan with boiling water, and placed the butts above it on the meat rack.

*****

I got the meat on at 10 this morning.  A little later than normal, but a certain cinnamon roll needed special time and attention, amidst other things.

I will make repeated and many trips out to my grill today, insuring that the ambient temperature inside the grill doesn’t exceed 240, rather hoping to hold it around the 225 mark.

In six or seven hours, when the internal meat temperature reaches 160 (an Emery suggestion), I’ll pull the meat off and wrap it tightly in tin foil. 

I’ll put it in the oven and set that temperature at 225, carefully monitoring the internal temperature until it reaches 205 degrees.

If I hear any crackling or boiling sounds from the tin foil, I’ll reduce my temperature immediately.

Once it hits 205, I’ll pull it out and let it sit for an hour or two, before opening the packets.

If it’s like other times, it will be so tender I won’t be able to lift it out of the foil in one piece.  It will fall apart while I transfer it.

Since I cut out all the garnuckle this morning, there will be very little waste this evening, and most of the fat that is left will have vaporized into the meat, allowing me to squeeze it with my fingers to break it apart. 

I’ll weigh it, and put it into vacuum seal bags in 1-pound amounts.  These bags will go into the freezer and later, they can be thawed and put into a pan of water in an oven that is heated to 245 and then served.

My personal favorite is toasting the buns and making up some Carolina sauce.  This pairs very well, (in my opinion) with Swiss cheese and the meat.

If you are interested in trying this, I highly recommend splurging a bit of your hard earned (or easy, depending on which type of monkey you are) money on a temperature device that has several probes and remote access.

Writer’s Block

There’s no writer’s block.  What’s going on is going on deep below the surface of your consciousness. 

You’re trying to make a seed break through the crust of the soil and have a leaf. 

But it’s not ready; it’s doing whatever the seed is doing way down there, getting ready to do it, and that’s what’s going on.

Writer’s block is essentially the critic in your head saying, ‘That’s no good,’ before it even gets anywhere. 

This voice that’s so critical, that you believe, cause it’s your voice, gets in the way of problem solving on a real level.

That voice doesn’t have any more insight than some people who have the opposite who have a voice who tells them they’re a genius.

~Paul Simons—American singer/songwriter

Shaded Communication

I could have known he was a curious customer when he called me and expressly chewed me out because the UPS driver ran over and killed his dog.

Yeah.  It didn’t make sense to me either.

Because I have no affiliations with UPS as far as I know of.

Well, I did get the brunt of it about the UPS driver.   But what he really wanted to give me thunder about was that I hadn’t called him with the exact time when I planned to have my boys on his yard.

Even though I had called him and told him the boys would be there sometime that day.

After his dog was killed that morning, he was antsy.  He didn’t want anyone driving in unexpectedly and running over his other dog, he said. 

I commiserated with him about dogs dying and listened as he told me at length all about this dog so recently killed.

It became a tedious conversation, and I began to wonder if his emotions were as wrought up as it seemed or if he was a bit sloshed and that was making them act that way.

At any rate, we got the go ahead to install the generator he was thinking about.

And then, when it was all set and running, he says, “I can’t pay it all at once. (Even though we had discussed this earlier, and he said he could) do you accept payments?”

So, we set up a payment schedule. 

And I didn’t hear from him for about a year.

Until the other day.

He called to say his generator sounded like a sick pig when it ran.  Admittedly, I had a hard time conceptualizing the two sounds as anything synonymous.

He was big on the warranty issue; said we needed to get out there and do the work under warranty.

Evidently, his curious traits hadn’t been lost on him in the past year.

He had piled some powdery manure almost up against his generator, and with any small gust, and all of the larger ones, it packed itself in and around the unit, stifling off any way it could run at all.

He had blown most of it out by the time we got there, the air filter was plugged solid, and after blowing that out, it ran fine.

But he insists our time be covered under warranty.

New #3

I asked Bryce to help me fetch the little guy back to our place so we could start bottle feeding it.

But as we rolled up in my truck, it was obvious the little fellow was unnerved, probably because we were using the truck rather than the four-wheeler that he was used to.

I had just rested my hand on his neck before he was up and running away, straight into the water.

Bryce walked in after him, to try to turn him back towards us, but our game was up.  The little guy took off towards the other side of the water, maybe 300 feet away.  I didn’t think he would make it, being weakened, and, I knew it would get deep enough that he would have to swim part of the way. 

But he made it, and, once on the other side and with the rest, he tried to nurse a little on his mama, as long as she let him.

We knew it would be better for him if he could stay with Mom, and, I hoped that if he kept trying to nurse, her milk might come back in.

So, we left him there.

Until Sunday evening. 

My good wife and I rode out to try to find him.  We rode both pastures, found the rest of the group, but couldn’t find him.  The weeds had grown so tall that it was a given we would miss him somewhere.

We were just closing the gates, getting ready to leave, when Jan spotted him a little way away from us.

We eased up beside him; he made no move to get away.

And I saw the flies where terrible about his neck.

And I saw new fang marks that were bleeding. 

And I thought I might be sick.

We got the truck and before Jan brought it out there, I got up close and pinned him down so he couldn’t get away.

We brought him here, to the place.

But I couldn’t even get him unloaded before Taz, the sweet daughter’s Alaskan Malamute, was leaping up at the back of the truck. 

I wasn’t sure what he was going to do.  Those dogs definitely have a killer instinct. 

But I also remembered how he treated some of our sick calves, otherwise written about in a post called ‘Taz’, and I wondered.

We got the little tyke unloaded, and into the pen.  We penned Taz for the night, just in case. 

The next morning, I let Taz out.  There was a white and black blur as he streaked towards the pen, whining and sobbing all the way.

And, we haven’t been able to get him away from there since.  He dug himself a little space to lay in, where he could keep his eyes on his little friend at all times on one side of the pen.

On the other side, he lays himself down right against the fence, as close as possible.

And, last night, it rained.  But that didn’t matter.  This morning, Taz met me, wet, but joyful at having shepherded his little charge through yet another night. 

He could have spent his night in the garage, warm and dry.  Because he hates getting wet or being in water of any sort.

And, then, I realized that life is like this.

That there are those, and sometimes a very unlikely those, who come to us in our darkest, most vulnerable times.  They see we need help in the worst sort of way, and they stand by, through the night, and in the rain, until we can get up and face life again on our own. 

I have hopes for the little fellow, between Taz looking after, and the sweet daughter bottle feeding him, it seems he has every chance to make it. 

The sweet daughter has named him Chuck, by the way. 

New #2

I suppose I drove a lot slower after feeling those scars.

And, I didn’t handle the little guy nearly so roughly, when he tried to leap off the four-wheeler.

Not that he did so often.  He seemed to feel safe where he was, and every once in a while would turn his head to look back at me, as we idled along towards the group of Mama’s and their babies.

I found the group belly deep in runoff water from the last few rains. 

I had heard about what happened next, but never experienced it or seen it firsthand.

But hearing about it doesn’t come close to seeing it, and, feeling it.

Almost as soon as we were within calling distance of the Mama’s, my little one perked up and looked their way. 

He was home; he knew these folks.

He scrambled off the four-wheeler, once we stopped, and looked out across the water to his Mama.

He called out to her.

Almost as one, the group and their babies answered.

They were a couple hundred feet out and they turned and churned the water as they made a McArthur style landing straight towards us.

But two Mama’s stayed where they were.

And one of them was his Mama.

He called, at first imperatively, then winsomely, and, finally, hopelessly.

He ran over to the group that was now ashore, hoping maybe his Mama was there. 

But the group didn’t know him.  They butted him out and away.

There was a kayak nearby, so I launched it and headed the two still out in the water towards the rest. 

Once they got there, my little guy smelled his Mama, and called again. 

But she didn’t acknowledge; she didn’t even look his way.

He ran to her, but she stayed within the group, and each time he got close, the group butted him out.

At last, he wandered off to the side, to a little depression with tall weeds, and, facing in the direction of the group so as not to miss anything, he lay down and curled up into a sad, hungry, and dejected tight little ball.

*****

I looked on, stunned, my heart sobbing, instead of throbbing.

And, then, I realized, we humans aren’t so very different.

New

He’s still a newborn.

He’s only been here ten days so far.

I happened by within minutes of his birth.

I was impressed with where his Mama had him, tucked in the leeside of a dirt embankment.

He was still wet, and shaky, and as I came by, he tried to get to his feet, but he fell down, like they always do.

His Mama was a first timer.  But in spite of that, she did very well.  She stayed right by him, and, when after two days, she needed a drink, she hid him well, and knew right where to find him when she came back.

The way this was going, I figured I wouldn’t need to be around much longer.  Things seemed to be taking care of themselves.

But then it rained.

Bucketfulls at first, then creekfulls, and, finally, gullywashers. 

Something must have happened during that time.

I wonder if the little fella got dismayed, a little, with the challenge of life.

He’d follow his Mom, for a way, and then it was like he gave out, found a little place to curl up in and that was that.

And, then, somewhere during that time, something vicious found him, all curled up, and at least a half mile away from his Mama.

The next time I saw him, he was a sad, wet little ball of black, lying in the fence row, with just a stub where his tail had been.

I picked him up, soon after, he didn’t run or panic.  He seemed to know I was there to help.

I draped him across the four-wheeler seat in front of me, and we found his Mom. 

And I almost got frustrated with him, then, in the days since.  Because he hardly ever is with his mom, and her milk is drying up. 

By this time, all his cronies were stuck to their Mama’s sides, no matter how far they walked in a day.

I got weary of lifting him up, dangling across the ditches or up the hill to the four-wheeler.

I thought bad thoughts about him, as he lay draped across in front of me.  Thoughts of, Pull yourself up and be a man, o,r do you expect me to be your conveyance for the rest of your life?

Until today.

I picked him up again. 

I draped him across the seat in front of me again.

We drove to find his Mama again.

And then I felt something.

On his neck.

Fang marks. 

On both sides and down by his throat.

And I slowed to a stop.

And we sat there.

Quietly.

And I realized, again, that the story isn’t always how it seems like it will be at the start.