Boys observing man working on the septic system
The genius who plumbed our house put the overflow for the septic system in the garage. Yesterday, the aging system belched and then threw up all over items stored in the garage. On my way out for William's baseball game, it had to wait with instructions to family members to not flush, not shower. This morning, I called for backup from a poo expert, who came just as I returned with three boys from a production of Mr. Stinky Feet. How appropriate.
A technology and science lessons ensued with the opening of the septic tank: everything flushed or flowing down drains ends up here, I explained. Boy Z asked, "Are my missing socks in there?" They are if you flushed them down our toilet, I said. The boys were full of questions for the older man who, after removing a large tangle of tree roots from the pipe, sent a "snake" up the line to find yet another root blockage.
Shooing the boys off, they returned when he, having cleared the line, started the process of pumping out the tank which starting with aeration which causes, shall we say, vapors to rise. The boys covered their noses. WHAT are you doing? Boy A had offered to help dig up the septic tank, but said he wasn't interested in helping anymore. The boys scampered off.
The older man seemed taciturn at first, perhaps not a fan of 20 questions, but he opened up when I began asking him questions after he stated that he'd lived in our county all his life. I find such people a treasure - they can tell me what it used to look like here, what changes they've observed, how they lived. A former dairy farmer, he'd found the life too difficult, "like being in prison" he said, and quit to go into the septic system business. He claimed it was an improvement.
The weed eater and my cell phone screen also broke. I'm afraid to touch anything. It's a breaking week.
A silver lining was that the mess in the garage compelled me to clean out the garage today and spend time outside watching the boys play.