Yesterday A. decided it was time to do something about the joists holding up the floor in the dining room. "Do something" as in entirely replace them because they had rotted away to nothing more than powder and there was essentially nothing keeping us from falling through the corner of the dining room and into the old cistern below.
Yes, it is of such exciting events that our lives are made.
So he started by crawling into the cistern in the Pit of Despair, a feat that takes no small amount of athleticism and strength, with a tape measure to see what kind of boards he needed. Except he didn't get any farther than sticking his head into the hole in the wall he was preparing to crawl through. He stopped short right there and announced ominously," Uh oh. There is a very bad smell."
I, being quick on the uptake, knew that meant something had died in the cistern. A long time ago. In fact, my brilliantly quick brain immediately deduced that it was probably the very same something I had been smelling a few weeks ago when I casually commented to A. that something in the dining room smelled.
It should be an indication of how common this is that I made no great effort to find the source of the smell. I figured it was one of the dogs or something. The smell went away after a couple of days and I didn't think about it again. Until yesterday, when A. discovered the decomposing rat in the cistern directly below the dining room. Then it all made sense.
So, step one in fixing the floor joists actually involved disposing of the rotting rat. GROSS.
And then A. climbed into the cistern, where he essentially stayed for about five hours, setting up all his tools in there and sawing, hammering, and nailing together a whole new framework. My job was to act as flunky, fetching all the tools and things he needed and handing them to him through the hole. I also brought his lunch to him down there, as he actually elected to eat his lunch in the cistern rather than try to crawl back out. That should tell you something about the difficulty of accessing the cistern.
Anyway, we can now rest easy knowing we will not plunge into the cistern and land on a dead rat if we step too firmly in the dining room. And really, that's all I need from life.
11 comments:
The adventures at Blackrock never cease to amaze me! I think A. is made of tough stuff (and you too). Dead rats, cisterns...shudder.
I've never understood why they didn't build the cisterns with some kind of access like a hatch in the floor above. But I'm just glad I don't have depend on the thing for my water...
http://ontwoacresintown.blogspot.com/2008/07/this-is-one-part-of-house-ive-never.html
It's the small things in life, right?
At least you aren't collecting these dead things. Have you seen that cable show called Hoarders? Talk about ewwwwwwwww. When they finally clean up these folks places, they never fail to find a few dead carcasses, usually cats, under the trash.
What it takes to make a blackrock woman happy..... a solid floor to plop her boots on. Hot dang, and we already know you're a cheap date. And now an heir....what more could a man want from his woman? oh ,yah, cooking..you can cook too.
word verification 'drabse'
oopsie, my wardrobe is a little drabse today.
You lost me at "dead rat." **shuddering** We had a cistern until we raised the house and put the basement under it all. I would not want to drink from it, but what a great idea for chilling food.
Designated gopher, as in you got to go fer all the materials. Gopher's also get to hold the dumb end of the tape measure.
Lest you think that disposing of dead rodents falls only to us country folk, my daughter (who lives in the wilds of Santa Ana, CA) had the same experience a few weeks ago and now lives in abject fear of sharing her couch with a relative of Mickey Mouse. Luckily when we visited her for Christmas, we didn't see or smell anyone untoward.
Sometimes being great with child must have its advantages - like not being able to fit through the hole into the cistern!
OK...ewwwww!
That is some real Man Stuff right there. Not only disposing of a rotting rat, but spending the better part of a day - including meals - in a cistern for the good of the household.
Props.
i have dreams about that cistern, i do
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