It’s early afternoon when I trundle to the basement with a basket of laundry on my hip, and see water on the cement floor near the washing machine. Oh oh. I give the sump pump a gentle nudge and it powers up and empties the hole it stands in. Maybe that’s all it is, I think, and now it’s going to run properly. But is there something else I should do?
Why yes. Call My Hero, who is working in town, and let him know, just in case he’ll need to bring home something from the hardware store.
“The pump-out’s probably froze up,” he says. “Go outside and separate the hoses on the south side of the house, and let it pump into the garden. ”
Five minutes of struggling-with-the-hose later, it’s done and Sadie Sue has been warned not to chew on it. (We turned down the offers of many a dog because we didn’t want a pup, and ended up with a pup anyway. Fooled by her size.)
Fifteen minutes later, My Hero pulls into the yard and stomps down the basement to find out what’s what. It’s not the sump pump after all, but the septic tank pump that isn’t working. Out he goes and gets a shovel to move snow off the tank’s lid, and the next thing I hear is that the pump mustn’t have been working for a while, as the tank’s full.
The pump-out truck is called and is here within an hour, and once that’s gone, Scott spends an hour or two in the basement, figuring out what’s wrong with the pump and then fixing it.
Acreage living. It can be a real pain in the ass, but when things are operating as they ought, there’s no beating it. It doesn’t hurt to have a farm boy around, either; most of them are extremely handy. This one sure is, and I thank my lucky stars.