so how does one move a hot tub?
Last Saturday when Jude and I were walking with friends to our island’s May Day
celebration, we went past a house that had a hot tub leaning on its fence. When
something is put on display like that here, that usually means it’s there for the
taking. Typically, the owner will attach a “FREE” sign. To ensure its removal,
I’d put a “TEENAGERS: DO NOT REMOVE” sign on it.
After I’d verified that the tub was indeed available, we arranged to pick it up. We
have no plans to sip chablis and soak all summer, but there’s got to be a use for it
on a farm — a watering trough or rain catcher, maybe. At any rate, we’ll be keeping
it out of the landfill.
We were heading into town in the truck, anyway. We had to exchange a generator
for some neighbours. They needed a different size. So we packed it back in the ori-
ginal box, hoping the folks at the building suppliers would accept it. The machine
itself was unscratched, but the packaging looked like this:
The neighbours’ goats had snacked on it. Fortunately it was accepted, the exchange
was made, and we pressed on. Securing the tub was more daunting than I thought.
It took up more of the truck bed than I’d anticipated.
But Jude was on the job. She used the assessment skills she’d honed as a nurse and
figured out the best way to tie the tub down. Here she is doing just that.
Just look at the quality of these knots. And please bear in mind that she couldn’t
use a trucker’s hitch because she’s not a Teamster.
This one was her crowning touch, the reason we got the tub home without incident
or lawsuit. Jude calls it the bowline/double sheet bend/Alpine knot/buntline hitch
with monkey’s fist and nasal passages. I’m going to see if a Scoutmaster friend will
introduce it at Philmont Ranch next time he’s there.
