0023

OK, here's that fresh new day; time to operate on the pump cylinder. Of course, I don't really know what I'm doing here. Maybe that galvanized thing I see in the 8-inch gap below the housing base is the cylinder, or maybe the cylinder is up inside the housing, and the galvanized thing is just a pipe. Anyway, it's time for me to do something.

I wedge a 2x4 between the spigot and pump house wall, get a good purchase on the cylinder/pipe with my 24-inch pipe wrench, and crank with all my strength. No movement; need more leverage. I find a 48-inch length of 2-inch pipe, slip it over the pipe wrench handle, and try again, easing my whole weight into it. There - the joint breaks free. Good. Take the extension off, now I can loosen more with just the pipe wrench. Excellent.

Now, of course, I don't want to drop the cylinder into the well, so I stop loosening. I find a U-bolt slightly larger than the cylinder, 1¾", I guess. I tighten that onto the cylinder, and, with 2x4 sleepers under the U-bolt, I jack the whole thing up and remove the blocks under the housing base. Now everything is resting on the U-bolt connection, which also provides resistance to prevent the cylinder from turning, as I simply rotate the pump housing until I can feel that it is completely loose. Standing up on blocks, I carefully lift the cast iron housing up and over the loose connection, and carry it off out of the way. As I do so, I'm thinking it's heavy, but not as heavy as I had anticipated. So, there's some serious weight in the cylinder/pipe portion, too. I look inside the housing as I put it down - nothing like a cylinder inside.

I turn back to the cylinder/pipe. Now that I can see it clearly, it doesn't look like anything special. It looks just like a galvanized pipe sticking up out of the well, with a threaded rod running down inside it. How far down does this pipe extend, and where is the cylinder that Willie was talking about? I don't really know how this well works.

As I stand there scratching my head, the U-bolt slips without warning, and the whole pipe vanishes down inside the casing with a sickeningly distant ploosh!

Other than a quick gasp, I am paralyzed, too numb to even curse. I stand there looking dumbly down at what used to be my well, and slowly realize that I feel very weary. I absentmindedly place a bucket upside-down over the open end of the casing (maybe I should write "R.I.P." on the bucket, and bid good-bye to my well), and go inside to lie down. Not to think, not to pray, just lie down, in the middle of the morning.

Eventually, I rouse myself enough to go back and assess the ruin. I look down into the casing. Total blackness. I run my 25-foot tape measure down. At 18 feet, it hits something solid - the top of the dropped pipe, I suppose. I jiggle it past and extend it further. At 20 feet, I hear it hit water. So the pipe is 18 feet from my reach, inside a 3-inch casing. It is irretrievable. And so, my well is no more. Maybe my short-lived adventure is no more, too. I certainly can't afford to have a new well drilled. And without my own water, how would I continue?

I listlessly putter in the garden for awhile. Mid-afternoon I walk down to the mailbox. Wayne is doing something out by his garage. I walk over.

"Hi, Wayne, how's everything?"

"Oh, hi, Jerry. Can't complain. How about you?"

"Oh, I could complain, if I thought it would do any good." I tell him about dropping my well pipe without hope of retrieval.

"You should talk to old Arnold S____. I hear he's pulled dropped pipes out of deeper wells than yours."

"Really? I don't see how that's possible."

Wayne shrugs. "All I'm saying is, that's what I've heard. Old Arnold has been around a lot longer than Willie, and he knows lots of tricks. I guess he's got some kind of gizmo that can grab that pipe and get it back up. Anyway, it's worth a shot, I'd say."

"Boy, that would be a life saver."

Wayne gives me directions to Arnold's place. It's right on the way to town. I thank Wayne, get my mail, and walk back, wondering if such a miracle might really be possible.

0022

I linger in bed, listening to the morning chirrup! of a nearby robin. I face two tasks today, neither of which is attractive, because in both cases I possess great ignorance of what I need to do.

The bees win. After breakfast, I drive the short distance to see Tom, the local bee expert. He tells me it's kinda late in the season to be starting, but not too late. He sells me a frame with a nuke of well established bees, and, back home, I set the colony up south of the garage, in an untilled area of the garden. Manage to do it with only one sting, and that was at Tom's place. They are soon busily at work, cleaning and fixing up their new home, and making pollen and nectar runs off into the woods. They are oblivious to my presence as I stand there watching, fascinated by their industry and organization.

I see now that my ignorance is not the barrier that I had imagined. These little creatures just know what to do, whether I do or not. I learned from Tom that the queen doesn't rule or control the other bees. A honey bee colony has no leader. Rather, the worker bees take collective responsibility over the running of the hive, with the queen being merely an egg producer. I think of Star Trek, and the Borg.

After lunch, I face the second chore. I stand for awhile staring at my broken pump, not in fascination, but consternation. How will I jack this thing up to get at the cylinder that Willie spoke of? And what will I do then?

I unbolt the pump from the flange at its base. Bending at the knees and hooking my arm under the spigot, I give a mighty heave. Did it move? Hard to say. Perhaps a fraction of an inch, for a fraction of a second. Clearly, there's some serious weight here, and I'll need leverage.

With my small flat bar I can get separation between the base and flange. Then a larger bar makes the gap wide enough to slip a bar in sideways, and I can jack against the bar with a bottle jack. Then get a 2 x 4 in there to jack against, blocking on one side and jacking on the other, until, after about 3 hours, the pump is blocked up about 8 inches above the flange. I suppose that round galvanized thing is the cylinder, extending up into the housing and down into the casing. How far down it goes, I cannot see.

I guess that the next step is to see if I can loosen the cylinder, and try to get the cast iron housing off. That's got to be most of the weight, I suppose. My instincts tell me that is a task to be begun at the start of a fresh day. I pack wads of plastic between the cylinder and casing to prevent bugs and debris from falling down the well.

Before going inside for supper, I'm drawn back to the bee colony. The hum of productive activity, the incessant departures and arrivals on the landing area, the remarkable division of labor, are balm to my human spirit. Keep doing what you're doing, little bees; it's what you were designed to do. I wish that I were as well equipped and capable.

0021

Lenore welcomes me affectionately, as always, when I drive up behind her house. I use her phone to call Willie, and get his answering machine. I hang up. While filling up several milk jugs with tap water, I relate yesterday's developments, and Lenore sympathizes.

"When can I come out and see your new place?," she asks.

"Not much to see, I'm afraid."

Does my reluctance to drive Lenore back and forth reflect an earnest reluctance to expend gasoline, or is it mere selfishness? I do still need to get those bee boxes out there and set up some time soon.

"How about today?"

"Oh, that would be nice. Right after lunch, OK?"

I call Willie again, this time leaving a message with Lenore's number as the callback. Then I load as many bee boxes as I can fit into the Tercel. Really could use a truck at times.

---

I was right; there really isn't much to see yet. The house is pretty much a wreck, and nothing much to look at yet in the garden, but Lenore acts duly impressed. Show her the strawberry patch; they seem to need watering. Wish I'd noticed that yesterday, when I had a well. We take buckets down to the creek, and carry creek water back for the thirsty strawberry plants.

---

Back at Lenore's place. Willie has left a message. He says I'll need to jack the pump housing up and disconnect the cylinder. Then he can come out and look at it, and advise me further. I don't really know what that means, but he's the doctor.

0020

Coming back from my morning garden rounds, I notice blossoms on the old apple tree east of the house. He who plants a tree proclaims hope for the future. I realize, with a note of humility, that I am someone else's future, the beneficiary of their foresight in planting this tree.

Good working weather today, a light breeze, blue sky with scattered fleecy clouds, and my energy level is high. I take advantage, planting a few more items - carrots, beets, and keeping ahead of the weeds, more or less. Mid-afternoon, I remember the well, and how it still produces sand. Perhaps it's time to call Willie, and ask what the next step is. Or maybe I should really give it all I've got a few more times.

So, I attach the gutter and start pumping. It soon becomes a workout, a test of my endurance. 50 strokes, starting to break a good sweat. Who needs a weight bench when you've got a well? Why pump iron when you can pump water? 100 strokes. This is where I usually stop for a breather. Pick it up a notch instead. 150 strokes, getting a second wind. Pump harder. I still see sand coming out. I try to envision the bottom of the well. Try to pump hard enough, fast enough, to suck all that sand out. 200 strokes. My heart is racing, my arms aching. Then it happens.

The handle suddenly goes slack, and my downstroke almost makes me fall down. I keep pumping a few more times, but there's no resistance. And there's no water coming out, either. Oh, wonderful. I've broken my pump.

I stand and look helplessly at my non-functioning well. Numbly, dumbly, I walk through the garden and down to the creek. Water. Pretty basic stuff. I vaguely wonder whether a well is all that necessary. The deer and rabbits and birds get by with the water in creeks and ditches and swamps. But - - no, I am a man, not an animal. A product of modern human society. I wouldn't trust my fragile system to swamp water. Even the Amish have wells.

Back in the house, I note with chagrin that, for all the water I've just pumped, I have only about 3 gallons at the ready. And no way to pump more. I'll have to drive to town tomorrow, get jugs of tap water again, and call Willie.

0019

I eventually recovered from my funk. Yesterday was dry and breezy, as I fired up the wringer washer and did some much-needed laundry. My hastily erected clothesline will have to be reinforced at the end post, but it held up OK in the breeze, and the clothes dried quickly. I even got a bunch of planting and weeding done, and carried the rest of the canning jars downstairs without further breakage. Found many of them full of green beans, applesauce, beets, etc. Some spoiled, but most appear to be well sealed and still good to eat! Slept well last night between clean sheets. It is good to be civilized.

Awoke this morning at first light, as usual. I know there's a Catholic church over on the other side of the state park. Don't have a phone to call about Mass times, and still don't have a timepiece, either. But I'm confident there must be a Sunday Mass, and that it wouldn't be at 6:00 am. So, I dig some semi-dress clothes out of the box, get on my bicycle, and hit the road. A brisk chill in the air - I could've worn a heavier jacket, and gloves. I kick it up a notch, pedal harder, generate some heat.

Same pattern as in the garden - I'm soon on automatic pilot, and am passing the 7 or 8 miles lost in my thoughts. This bike ride will settle something for me, too. Much less need for weekend commutes to town if I can bicycle to Sunday Mass.

It's a small church, of contemporary architecture. There are a few cars in the parking lot, and the doors are unlocked. I hear some distant voices as I enter, but see no one in the sanctuary. I settle into a pew halfway toward the back, and relax in the Lord's presence. Presently, three ladies come in, and rehearse some songs. I take this as a sign that, yes, there will be a Mass. At a break in their session, I approach the guitarist to ask.

"Oh, you've got almost an hour," she replies, "Mass is at 8:30."

I thank her, and am about to return to my pew when she adds "You might want to join the men in the kitchen. They're putting on a pancake breakfast after Mass, and they would probably appreciate another hand."

Sure enough, I am soon in an apron, wiping tables, and setting out plates and silverware and exchanging names and small talk and good-humored banter. I have to admit, this is an excellent way to break the ice with new acquaintances. And I get a free breakfast to boot!

0018

I suppose it was inevitable that fatigue would hit me sooner or later. We've had a couple of chilly, drizzly days with just enough periodic showers to be a nuisance. Besides that, the bugs are finding me - the little black flies that zoom into my ears and nose and, like miniature kamikaze planes, right into my smarting eyes. And wood ticks, whose bite leaves a lasting itch. I tried to spend some indoor time cleaning and organizing a bit, but with so much that needs fixing, I don't know where to start. I have taken to covering my cot (still close to the stove downstairs) with a small tarp during the day, so I can raise some dust without getting my bed too filthy.

Anyway, today is better weather, so I take to the garden again. I'm close to having my target area dug up, and I've got much of the early planting done. Just a morning walk through to see if anything is coming up, and to think about what to do today. And I do see plants coming up - a few little carrots and lettuce and radishes. But mostly, I see the grass coming back up from the overturned sod. All those grass roots are still alive, and will not be quelled by a simple spading. (Duh!!)

So, I drop to all fours, and begin hand weeding between carrot plants. What remains to be dug, I will double-dig, to bury the grass roots deeper. Meanwhile, where I now have garden plants emerging, I can't uproot the grass without completely redigging, so I guess I'll just be fighting grass all summer. (Sigh!)

Soon, it begins to grow hot and buggy. I'm weary, so I walk back to the house for a drink of water and a little break. Derek is buzzing around on the knoll with his 3-wheeler. I find the noise and the waste quite disgusting. I stop and look at the wet and disintegrating pile of junk still sitting where John's crew left it. This is disgusting, too. I suppose I could at least get some of those boxes of canning jars into the basement. I pick up a box of jars, careful to hold it from the bottom. At the top of the steps, I try to support one end with my upraised knee while struggling with the decrepit door. The wet cardboard fails, and the jars fall through, half of them breaking on the concrete steps. I curse my stupidity, and go get a broom to sweep up the mess. By the time I've swept up the broken glass and am carrying the unbroken jars to the basement, my weariness has grown much deeper. I hear Derek come into the yard and walk through the door, which I may have left ajar. He calls out my name. Climbing slowly back upstairs, I chew Derek out for coming into my house uninvited.

"Sorry!", he says, and shuffles back to his 3-wheeler.

"So am I," I say to myself, as I plop down on my tarp-covered cot.

0017

Necessity is the mother of invention. As I continue to dig and plant and think, I begin to realize that this is how I will have to proceed. I will have to draw a line like the Amish. Thus far, and no farther. This will become my self-imposed necessity, impelling me to invent things and discover techniques and figure out the concrete specific ways to live the non-consumerist life as best I can.

As a high priority, because of the fossil fuel involved, I have to stop commuting back and forth so much; this has to be my permanent base. Consequently, getting the well fixed is high on my to-do list. Being able to prepare good meals for myself is another. (A guy can go only so long on baloney sandwiches and fried eggs and potatoes.)

So, I've decided to compromise, at least for now, on a lesser point, and get set up with a freezer and refrigerator. The decision was made easier when I saw both of these items, plus a real bathtub all offered as give-aways in the local shopper. So, I called a local hauler and paid $50 to have this stuff, and my wringer washer, brought out here today. I also picked up some real groceries while in town, and some odds and ends dishes at a rummage sale.