Clearing the Septic Site.

So in our ongoing quest to get septic installed THIS year before the snow shows up and fucks us all we decided we should, you know, clear the tank site before the septic guys show up. Also because this is a class two system we can't have a drain field so we had to clear a line to the creek for the discharge pipe.

Which was an adventure.

First off my body was all like, I'm hungry and I was like okay. And then I ate a sandwich and then my body was all like, WTF why did you feed me I hate you blllllaarrrrggghhh. And then I was all like, really stomach? And it was all like really. So I just drank caffeine and gave it the finger and then we grabbed the chainsaw and some clippers and an axe and then we went outside to do some fucking damage.

Motherfuckers.

Now I have to explain that our woods looks like it has never been cleared. If you are wondering what exactly the difference between a cleared forest and a non-cleared forest looks like I'll tell you. A cleared forest looks like every pretty forest wallpaper you can download for your desktop. It looks like every fantasy forest ever conceived by man. It is the one with the great huge trees devoid of underbrush where all you can see between the trees is the dark bare earth from under a perfect layer of leaves that looks like someone was paid to rake it.

An uncleared forest looks like someones raw vacation footage of the jungle.

I know what you're thinking. It can't be that hard. I mean, all those movies, surely they didn't go and rake every bit of forest for all those shots, did they?

Yes. Yes they did. Narnia was made by putting freaking potted ferns on the forest floor, Lord of the Rings built fake trees, and Where the Wild Things Are was actually shot in a burned out forest because it was clear of undergrowth.

Those forest are lies is what I am saying.

Filthy filthy lies.

So guess which one my woods looks like? (Hint I haven't bought like, a thousand potted ferns.)

So Scott took the chain saw to every tree that was under like seven inches thick and I thought that things were going pretty well until I got close enough to see that these were the spiky trees of doom that hated our fucking guts. I would cut a limb off and then be all like, pffft I can carry more then one I'm not a fucking pussy which is how I got cut the shit up. Cause of course the spikes would lock the damn branches together like Satan's velcro and then I would go to drag them to the pile we were making that I had named Fire Danger #1 and Scott had named Free Hunting Blind and then the branches would snap free from whatever they were hooked on and cut me up or rip my hat off and fling it into the woods.

Basically it was like being challenged to a duel by a very pissed off Ent.

But finally we got the branches clear and then began looking at the tree trunks and decided which ones we should keep for that house thing we are building and then we went to cut up the sections we wanted and then the fucking chainsaw died.

So then we flipped it off and cut the motherfucking tree trucks apart with a hand saw and an axe like sweaty pissed off bad asses.

Then we cleared a bit more of the forest because it looks damn fine when you clean it up a little and we were like, right there, and we had to call it a day and then we went back inside and ate the bland pasta with cheese and garden tomatoes of poverty victory like the tree slaying champions we were.

So now I am dead tired and I look like I fell into a sarlacc pit before they went all CGI and added a beak to that motherfucker, but whatever I won.

And that's the important thing.

Well that and the lack of sarlaccs around these parts.

Installing the House Spigot

So today, or well yesterday by the time you read this, we installed a spigot in front of our second mobile home. Which I have only been meaning to do, for oh, over half a year now. See in order to have the septic for the house put in we need a source of water. Previously, we cut the line going into the trailer and removed the water pump. So now we had to install an outside spigot. Oh and septic permits are only good for one year because ha, ha, ha, who doesn't love a ticking clock?

I mean it's not like a hear the ticking of that terrible clock even in my sleep. You know, this is totally like the tale tell heart, except with septic systems instead of murder. And of course they would be passing a new law in 2014 that would super fuck us and make this the only year we can do this shit.

Because life is a bitch like that.

Anyway I woke up this morning and thought- for whatever reason- today is the day motherfuckers. So I drug my ass out of bed, fed the ungrateful hungry mouths, corralled the animals that needed medication, started the laundry, ate some food and then got my ass out the door.

First off was the exciting adventure of we didn't actually know where the fucking water line was. Oh don't get me wrong. We knew where it dead ended under the mobile home. We knew where it started at the holding tank. What we did not know was the route they used to get it there. Or how deep it was.

You know, the little things.

So at first we used the backhoe to gently dig out the top layer of soil with all that motherfucking grass on it. Because grass sucks to dig through. Like really, really sucks. Like super sucks. Of course when we did that we were then struck by the wide swath of dirt that may or may contain a water line. So then we started digging. And we didn't find anything. So we made the hole bigger with the backhoe. Which was not only the joy of having a bigger area to dig, but also undoing all of my former progress. Did I mention this entire thing had to be dug and installed in one day to prevent ground water from filling the hole and fucking us?

This whole thing had to be done in one day.

And then Scott got too hot and had to stop working so the second attempt was mostly me. Which involved me going inside the house drinking caffeinated tea like it was the nectar of life and then throwing myself back outside at the cold uncaring world that brought me to this point.

Which was when I discovered the pipe. Which is also when we discovered that none of the adapters we bought would fit that pipe because it was bigger then we thought. Which was when Scott went to town to buy more fittings and I dug out the entire area around the pipe in the shit clay soil that seemed to be, like, 90% rocks and sadness.

 This. I did this.

 

So then Scott got back and made some sort of crazy super adapter monstrosity and then we got the spigot and all the tools we would need and a sawzall and then we trooped over to the hole. Now, we figured, due to the length of the super adapter, that we would have to cut the pipe twice. Once at the far end and then again where we wanted to attach the damn thing.

What we did not expect was that, when we started cutting into the line, for the water to come blasting out of the pipe like a goddamned fire hose. Since you know, there is no incline or well pump on this, it just comes down from our holding tank with gravity.

And let me tell you gravity was really, Really, REALLY strong that day.

So we freak the fuck out because that magnificent hole I dug is filling up with water and if the end of the pipe goes underwater we are super fucked and not just regular fucked. Because at that point we would have no choice but to let it run until, we ah, ran out of water I guess. It would have been bad is what I am saying.

Of course we still have to make the second cut and Scott wastes no time slapping the sawzall down on the next part of the line but the water is still coming out super shitballs and at one point Scott was yelling at the saw and water was starting to come up over the blade and then the piece finally came loose and then I held the top end of the spigot pipe but couldn't line it up just right. Or at least not without doing that thing where you try to hold the top of the pipe with one hand and the bottom with your other hand and then you become too focused on the bottom and then the top ends up all crooked and then everyone yells at you that you weren't paying attention clearly, even though you were and it's just that this really takes two people. Dammit.

So then Scott had to dive in the hole and line it up even as water starts to spew and fly everywhere and then he dropped the mallet into the water and then he missed twice and then I thought we really were fucked and then he got it lined up and pounded in and water cut off as though by magic and then we realized that we both had been yelling and that we were both really, really wet. Then we had to get a bucket and bail the water out and then we filled the bottom of the hole with gravel and sand.

Then all we had to do was fill the hole back in.

Ha ha that was fun!

Kill me.

So anyway we got that done and we went inside where we had the ceremonial wiping that chore off the white board and we ate food and then I only got half of this written before I said fuck it and when to bed at super ridiculous early.

Because digging all day? Turns out that is hard as fuck.

I mean, I know right?

So now I think I am going to drink tea and get the cat off my lap and try to convince myself to do it all again today.

We Cleaned Out the Shed, also Timeline Happened

So yesterday, we cleaned out that bastard tool shed. It was an adventure. First off we went in pulled a whole bunch of shit out. Rotting cardboard boxes that were filled with mouse nests and pee. And mouse poop, and once or twice mummified mouse corpses. There were boxes of shit that defied explanation. The real problem was that my dad had filled the shed with everything ever. So knew we were going to have to pull out a set of shelves and rehome the Shopsmith.

The Shopsmith, for those of you that do not know, is a machine that through a few simple* changes becomes a table saw, a band saw, a drill press and a lathe. It's basically a transformer that you have to transform yourself. So it's not so much a robot in disguise as a power tool in disguise. Except that it can cut your hand off. Actually, I guess it's exactly like a Transformer.

Anyways, this thing was sitting in the middle of the floor. So getting to any of the worktables or rolling tool boxes along the walls was like playing a real life version of the game where you have to slide the little plastic squares around to make a picture. This was more like the crazy Japanese version though, because the floor was littered with shit, meaning to move the Shopsmith you had to clear a spot to put it, which meant that we had to put all the crap where the Shopsmith was, which meant that we parked the Shopsmith in front of the chest freezer and cabinet full of air compressor tools and just pretended those things were dead to us.

Of course we had made no plans to get rid of said Shopsmith before we started working because planning for things is hard. So Scott called my uncle and asked if he wanted the shop smith. Except my aunt answered and said that she wanted the Shopsmith for herself. Apparently she had been using my uncles drill press to make Christmas wreaths and had left foam bits all over his garage. He was less then thrilled. I would also like to think that she had yelled as a parting shot as he went off to work “I'll get my own drill press you'll see!”

Sometimes life just works out like that. So we made plans to visit them and have dinner and deliver one Shopsmith.

All I have to say about cleaning out the shed is that, holy hell sweet Jesus my dad was a hoarder. At one point I pulled what looked like a dinged up metal ingot off a shelf and Scott yelled “Put that down it's made of lead!”

And then I yelled “Why did my dad have a lead ingot in his shed!?”

An Scott's like “I don't know but go wash your hands right now!”

Among the other priceless treasures crap we found an old remote controlled car that I remembered having as a child that Scott wanted to play with but we couldn't find the controller, a peanut butter jar filled with bolts, two washers that went somewhere on the brake assembly of a car my dad hadn't owned since I was in middle school (I'm 27), along with instruction manuals for a VW bug, and a Volkswagen Rabbit with these psychedelic hand painted watercolor tie dyed pictures of the cars on the front.

Luckily we were able to make short work of organizing, due to my superior labeling abilities. I labeled everything, because if it's one thing I've learned it's that you will never, ever remember what you put in that box. Never. Ever, Never. Sure you know now, but three months later, not a fucking clue. I labeled one drawer Bunch O' Shit and another box Small Tubes of Crap. Let's just say I wasn't in the best of moods. Finally we were able to shut the doors on the shed and man and women handle the Shopsmith into the back of our truck.

We changed, locked the chickens up and headed off to my uncles house in the dark. Which brings me to my next point. Do you remember when we fixed the lights on the truck? The terrible struggle of replacing the whole wiring harness and fighting it into the dash and then getting it inspected literally the day before the cut off?

Well, guess what started flickering halfway through our journey?

Ha ha haaaa! The headlights. Of course we kept going, because we really wanted to get rid of that Shopsmith. So we show up at my uncles, to find that my dad's older brother is up visiting. My uncle has the look of a man that has been told he has to help unload a Shopsmith tonight. We have dinner, and my dad's older brother reveals he was the one that talked my dad into the buying the thing, which made me yell theatrically “it was you” while I pretended to poke him.

Then we all wrestled the Shopsmith out of the truck and into the pantry where my aunt had a space for it because she is actually prepared for unexpected arrivals of Shopsmiths.

Then we all had some of the beer I brought over to celebrate the shed cleaning sat down and watched the movie Timeline which I will talk about in my next post because that movie picked science up and shattered it all over the floor.

Then we got back in the truck and drove back home, where the headlights flickered on and off the whole time and thank god there was a full moon and there aren't any police officers in Buttfucknowheresville.

After that I took a shower and went to bed because it was like midnight and my day had been long enough thank you very much.

*That part is a lie.

Removing the Water Pump.

So, in order not to have to heat the second mobile home we are using for storage- because holy hell sweet Jesus motherfuckers have you seen the price of fuel oil this year- we had to cut the water off to it. Now considering the sewage is busted and the sinks don't drain this was an easy decision to make, except for one thing.

We were going to have to remove the water pump.

Which is located under the trailer.

You know. The like three foot crawl space under the place that is covered mold, ripped up fiberglass insulation (for all your itching needs), and seems to be permanently damp. That place. Yeah. We prepared to crawl under there the way some people prepare to detox crime scenes. We had head lamps and dust masks and flashlights and long sleeved shirts and pliers and mallets and safety glasses.So we carefully dressed ourselves and put on our masks and shared a look of grim determination. We looked like tacky space aliens that had come to earth to explore the hu-man things called tourist traps.

Which is of course when the UPS guy would show up.

Dignity, we has it.*

So with our proverbial loins girded, we gathered our tools and removed the skirting and stared into the gaping black maw of the beast. Now to make things even more fun, I had shut off the main water valve some time ago, except that we weren't completely sure that it had worked. Fully. So we were hoping that we wouldn't be hammering on the cut off valve while water spewed at us.

Crawling under the thing was an adventure. First off it's a damn good thing I don't appear to have a problem with tight spaces or haunted houses, because this was a combination of both.

And not in a good way.

First off you had to crawl. There was enough space between the floor beams that you could kneel in some spots, but for the most part, you had to crawl. Ripped up bright pink insulation hung down across out path like itchy spider webs and all of the other stuff we had covered the pump with like bubble wrap and insulated wrap was laying around in heaps. It also didn't help that the metal beams under the trailer kept grabbing my hair and pulling it. And everything was damp and covered in mold and it didn't pay to think about what you were laying on.

In short, it was the worst environment possible.

Anyway, we got under there and unwrapped the pump and unhooked the electric and then began to unhook the pipes leading to the tank. Except that we failed to realized that a pressurized tank has pressure and so when Scott loosened the top pipe water came shooting out motherfucking everywhere.

Yay.

Somehow I managed to back myself out of the crawlspace fast enough not to get wet, and then I started running because my brain apparently thought that the water monster was coming to kill us all. Of course Scott was soaked and had to go change his shirt while I went back under there and wrestled with the other connections on the pump. I would get a grip in the plastic pipe with the pliers and then hit them with the mallet trying to drive the pipe loose, except that everything was now soaking wet and dripping and I was laying in water, in the near darkness while my dust mask kept fogging up my glasses.

It was like all the worst bits of a horror movie, really.

So after cursing and swearing and grunting and having the pipe go absolutely nowhere Scott got pissed and hacksawed the damn pipe in two, shoved the valve into the hole by beating it in with a mallet. Meanwhile I grabbed the pump and began to pull that fucker out.

The last time we had done this, when we put in the new pump, I had remembered it being extremely difficult to pull the old pump out. But not this time. This time I flipped it onto it's side and drug it out of there before the pumping monster could show up and eat my fucking brains.

It seemed like no time at all before it was sitting calmly in the grass. The sky was as blue as I had ever remembered seeing it and the colors of the trees seemed so alive and fresh and wonderful. It was glorious. It was like being reborn after what seemed like years of being trapped in the wet darkness.

Then Scott followed me out and we resealed the hole so the pumping monster was once again contained in it's lair.

So now I have a spare water pump.

And it only cost me the memories of a life without terror!

I'll call that a win.

*Kill me.

The chicken coup foundation is finished.

We have just finished the foundation for the new chicken coup. I am ecstatic. We started this project all the way back in April, when we hand dug out the foundation. 

That was not fun, in case you were wondering. It is my policy to do all the digging I need to get done for the whole year in early spring because that is when the ground is soft and bare. Also since I hate the heat it allows me to work when it's colder outside. 

You might think that above statement is crazy, which means you have never had to dig anything in your entire life before. Also, you suck. Moving on, I am happy this damn thing is finally done.

It might not look like much, but what have you done today?

We sang a congratulatory round of 'We are the Champions' and then I yelled that we were getting shit done like mother fucking champions, which I can do because I really don't have neighbors. 

It might not look like much, now, but I assure you this was no small task. Now all we have to do is back fill the foundation, level the floor, get sand, put sand down, pour the concrete for the floor, build the walls, and then transfer the roof from the old coup to the new one and then we'll be done.*sigh*

 

Onward and upward.