Pardon my French.
The time has come on this blog to discuss something which City Folks never talk about. Are we ready? If you’re not prepared to discuss…natural functions…please click over to another blog as quickly as you can. (You can come back here tomorrow when we’ll talk about more civilized subjects.)
When you live in the town or city or suburbs, one flushes the toilet and wa-la! The daily “eliminations” flush down the drain, never to be thought about again.
When you live in the country or the woods, one can not completely forget one’s toilet.
“Why?” you ponder.
I shall tell you.
It’s the Secret of the Septic Tank.
Here comes an explanation for you city folks. A septic tank is a huge underground tank into which descends one’s eliminations. The natural products mix with water, breaking down. The water filters out of the tank and the excrement (excuse me) settles.
As the years pass by merrily, the septic tank continues to fill. Every few years, one must telephone the septic guy and request pumping of the build-up. Sometimes too many years pass, as one attempts to forget one’s daily…pardon me again…shit.
Perhaps ten years has passed without a second thought! Suddenly one Remembers. One can’t call the septic tank guy in the middle of winter. He has to shut down as soon as freezing weather arrives. If the tank plugged up in the winter that would be an unimaginable horror. Because one must then dig beneath several feet of snow and frozen earth, attempting to locate the elusive hole and bucket out 750 gallons by hand! So one attempts to remember in autumn. Except THIS autumn it’s been raining raining raining, making it almost impossible for the septic guy to back in toward the tank and begin his pumping chores.
The septic tank guy arrived at 7 p.m. last night. It was already dark. The husband placed planks to help the truck back up without getting stuck. He shined lights and flashlights to help the operation. The wife (me) stood around with a camera, flashing the septic tank guy with photographic illumination as he worked. “It’s for my blog,” I explained smoothly. “Any one ever take pictures of you cleaning the septic tank before?” Surprisingly, he said Yes. Although perhaps he looked at me a little oddly.
Surprisingly also, this was not a smelly job. I thought it might be more polite to title this blog, “This is a smelly blog” but that simply would not be true. It was a clean job, a fairly simple job. Except, of course, if you ask my husband who had to dig down four or five feet to reach the elusive hole. He probably thinks this was a pain in the… well, anyway. I didn’t have to dig.
The motor on the truck whirred as the juices were sucked upward. Barry and the septic tank fellow chatted, catching up on everything that has happened in the last ten years since our previous pumping. We all decided to remember to pump again sooner. Maybe in four or five years. We must write it on the calendar! Someone has to remember these things.
I quickly grew bored with the pumping festivities and began to play with flash photography. Hey, look at those branches! Hey, look at that shadow of the moon!
So there you have it. A perfectly shitty blog. I will try to be more polite for the rest of the year. But couldn’t avoid telling you about this outdoor adventure. Hope you all…enjoyed it…