Anchor Struck

It’s been an eventful few days since I last posted.  At last contact, I was cheer-

fully signing off to watch the LSU/Arkansas football game, which at the time

was the Most Important Game Ever Until The BCS Championship.  I turned on

the upstairs TV two minutes before kick-off and got the same “Please stand by

while we recover your satellite signal” message that has bedeviled the big TV

downstairs.

Fortunately, it only took about 30 seconds for the signal to be recovered, an

eternity in which I nearly soiled myself.  I was able to abandon frantic plans

to find the closest neighbour with (a) a TV, (b) satellite service and (c) a love

of SEC football.  Then the Hogs gave me another scare by jumping out to a

quick 14 – 0 lead before LSU got in gear and whupped ’em somethin’ solid.  

Saturday was devoted to a fine Thanksgiving dinner with great food, terrific

friends and a sing-a-long of “The Sound of Music” parodies.  I know we had a 

classic time, because the empty beer cans and bottles filled a grocery sack.

As our guests were leaving, a warm front was pushing even more rain our

way.  Overnight we got two more inches to add to the six we’d had in the

previous five days.  Because of the bump in temperature, Jude and I let the

fire in the woodstove burn out so we could clean it and the chimney in the

morning.

But when we got up, the pond by the house was flooding, giving us the rare

opportunity to move this cedar log —

— from its usual spot 50 feet from the pond to the middle of it.   It’s about 30 feet

long with a diameter of about two feet.  Cut in two, with the halves side-by-side,

it could make a skookum base for a dock.  We’ve had two unsuccessful attempts

at docks, both involving huge blocks of styrofoam.  We’re going low tech this

time.

So off we set to a corner of the property we usually can’t get to without much

gnashing of teeth.  This is the view from the log.

After we determined that the log was floating, Jude went back for some 2 x 4’s,

rope and a chain saw.  Here Slinkee is signalling a landing spot for her.

For three hours we stood in knee to hip deep water and tried to dislodge the log

from the brush and grass clumps that held it in place.  We strained mightily,

using the boards as pry bars.  At times the boards almost broke, at times our

muscles screamed.  We tried to cut it in half, but couldn’t rotate it enough to

get to the area below the water line.

We ran out of energy and daylight.  Our feet were numbing.  But what actually

made us quit was the realization that the water level was dropping.  It just got

too heavy and unwieldy for us.  We headed home, exhausted but exhilirated

that we made our next attempt easier.  And that may not happen for another

year.  We’ll need another storm with two to three inches of rain.

As we got to the house, we remembered that we still had the woodstove and

chimney to clean.  My muscles were stiffening even as I climbed out on the

roof.  I was too tired to even bother with the safety harness.

As soon as I finished brushing out the chimney, I collapsed on our bed and

started watching the Grey Cup.  When Jude came upstairs, I said “I feel like

I’m 65.”  As gracious as ever, she didn’t remind me that I am.