Every morning I step outside awash with gratitude for the fresh air on my face and the privilege of getting to work on this beautiful earth.
This morning I drove 40 minutes into the middle-of-nowhere ghost town of Middle Village, which sits eerily along pristine shoreline on a narrow dirt road. The driveway to the place I had to get to was long, and unplowed. Most of the snow has melted, but down at the water’s edge under the shade of the steep bluff there was still plenty of it.
I wedged my truck up onto the snowbank along the road to make enough room for someone to pass me, and I put on my vest- hat- gloves- and miner’s light- before getting out into the 35 degree rain. Popped the tail gate in back and emptied everything I wouldn’t need from my tool bag- added a few parts, and set off down the long drifted driveway. The snow was knee deep in the worst places, and had that thick wet granular feel to it. To the left side of the house was a small hill with a little tiny roof on top of it like a hat, which was my destination. I set my bag down, and flipped the roof over to reveal the narrow well-pit hatch.
The ladder down was wooden and already half disintegrated with rot. It was enough of ways down that I had to make sure I could come up with a way of getting out again if the ladder collapsed. I determined that I could probably use enough of the ladder to get myself back out, even if it did break- and after tossing my tool bag in, in front of me, I squeezed myself in and lowered myself to the bottom.
Just enough room to squat down, or if I really worked at it- get on a single knee to take some of the strain off of my lower back. On the floor of this pit were some ancient pipes half buried in dead animal carcasses and roaches, and far above me on the pit ceiling giant black cob spiders were hard at work. Occasionally I’d feel one plop down on my hat and I’d have to drop what I was doing, whip it off- shake it- and put it back on as fast as I could (before more dropped).
I had to remove two small drain spigots that were screwed into much larger pipe a million or so years ago. I needed my longest cheater bar for leverage, but got the first one broken loose without much incident. The second one was wedged in the corner at a funny angle though, so I was less optimistic.
There were a few failed attempts to start. Wrench kept slipping off with the odd angle. Or the position I was in wouldn’t let me pull on it as hard as I would like. But finally I got a really good bite on of it and was able to get some solid torque behind the effort. I had both hands on the cheater bar, almost hugging it- pulling as hard as I could, feet planted against the wall also, the force of my whole body going to work- and then two very bad things happened at once.
First, the spigot snapped off at the threads- leaving them lodged inside the giant pipe, at an angle I couldn’t even see without a mirror. And second, the sudden release of force sent my hands flying forward- and even though I was wearing (thin) gloves, I crushed and bludgeoned my middle finger to a degree I never have before. You remember that scene in “Cast Away” where Tom Hanks is trying to make fire- almost does, but instead just crushes his finger with a rock? That was me.
And like Tom Hanks in “Cast Away,” I was a million miles from civilization or even running water. AND I had a much more daunting task than I did when I climbed in there. I took my glove off and looked at my finger. The top of my middle finger, on the middle joint, had an almond sized hole with an M&M sized glob of flesh mostly removed from it- but still attached by three tiny strands of skin. The hole was shiny white at first, but eventually began filling with blood. I bit the glob of flesh off and spat it into the corner. Leaving my tools behind, I (carefully) climbed the wooden ladder out of the hole and started trudging back to my truck.
Fortunately my long-neglected first aid kit had plenty of bandaids and some saline wash, so I was able to clean and dress my finger without running water on the spot. I wrapped two bandages on it tightly, to arrest the bleeding with the pressure so I could keep working. Just me, the occasional sound of a light breeze through leafless branches, and my throbbing finger. No cell service.
I locked in and went back to the pit. More carefully than I started, I began taking the system apart where I could, until I was finally able to get to the Tee with the broken nub inside it, and remove it. Put a whole new Tee in its place, plus the new drain spigots I initially came there to do, and got everything reassembled and buttoned up.
Hell of a good feeling. I don’t even mind the finger.
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