There's a learning curve
By PAT WICK
© Another Day in the Country
There's a whole new set of information to be gleaned when you come to the country. My neighbor, Paul, was appalled — the pun's intended — at the thought of us actually eating wheat grass as I had mentioned in my column a few weeks ago, "Don't you know that stuff is loaded with chemicals?" he said and then began to list them. "Well, it crossed my mind," I answered, "but I thought it was winter and perhaps the farmers hadn't begun the chemical routine."
Truth was, it was time for me to be educated about life in the country 2003. These farms are no longer organic — as they were when I was a child! Lesson learned. I'll have to grow my wheat grass in a flat.
"Doesn't the truck look good?" I commented to our buddy Tool Time Tim as we admired its newly washed, clean and shining surface. He agreed. Later in the day, on our way to Herington, he pointed out the salt brine on the roads. "I usually don't wash the mud off the truck in the winter as much," he said, "seems to me it protects the finish from all this salt on the road."
"Salt?" I exclaimed, straining my eyes toward the road. "You've got to be kidding. This isn't Michigan — where they toss it on the road by the truck load. How is this getting on the truck? It isn't even thawed that much."
"You just look at the side of the truck," he answered. "It's white from the salt."
When we got back home I surreptitiously decided to check out the salt content of the truck finish. Sure enough there was something white by the door handles — that high! I touched my finger to the dry dust and to my tongue. Salt.
Tim was watching and chuckling in a self-satisfied way, "See," he said, "Was I right?" He loves for us to have to admit it, so I did. "I concede that there's enough salt on the road to get on the truck, BUT I still don't see any reason to leave the truck dirty," I retorted. And then my sister added her support, "It's such a sharp truck and it deserves to shine."
"Look," Tim said with a shake of his head as he counters two women, "I'm just a country boy. Dirt doesn't bother me."
I'm glad it doesn't! Because crawling around in the dirt seems to be a rather constant country thing at our old buildings. If Tim isn't under the bank shoring up the floor to bring it back up to the walls, he's under the porch at Jake's place leveling it so Mom's washing machine doesn't walk out the door.
Which reminds me that the hot water pipes froze again at the Ramona House in that cold snap and I had to call for help which meant Tool-time Tim under the house with the blow torch. The first thing he asked was "Did you leave a faucet dripping?" And the answer was "No, I didn't think it was THAT cold."
"Remember what I told you?" he said, "Hot water pipes freeze first." And I had to humbly admit, "You're right, again."
But deep down I still haven't come to terms with that bit of country wisdom that says, "Hot water pipes freeze first." "Why?" I asked. "They just do," he answered and I'm supposed to accept that pronouncement. "How could this be? The hot water is obviously warmer so it should take l-o-n-g-e-r to freeze," I insist.
Just this morning, pondering this country dilemma (of slipping up on the faucet dripping thing) I wondered if I'd found the answer. Now, tell me, could it be because the hot water pipes are narrower than cold water pipes?
It's another day in the country and I've still got a lot to learn — simple things, like letting the faucet drip, the truck staying dirty, and not to eat the grass!
