Rainy Day

It’s probably a good thing it rained this week.

No doubt, the grass needed a drink, but even more, my house desperately needed some attention.

Calving and lambing seasons combined to create a mountain of neglect inside those walls.

The dishwasher was not functioning correctly.

I could tell because streaks of soap dried on plates and bowls as I put them away.

Someone –probably me – stuck a peanut butter jar with the label still on it in the top rack. All of that steam dissolved the glue so the shreds of label found their way into the spray arms. I soaked each arm in vinegar to loosen general gunk and dug out the shreds of label with my Leatherman.

After all, I use peanut butter jars to hold ewe colostrum and I was getting low on jars.

Also, the bathroom sink had been clogged for a week.

Fifty-year-old galvanized pipes tend to collect gunk from the spring, my source of water for the house and barn.

I know galvanized pipes were the best option back then, but running the drain through three 90-degree angles, behind a ceramic tile wall and uphill at one point seems like poor planning.

I hauled the snake into the bathroom and hooked it up to my electric drill.

The drill spun. The snake did not.  

I found a wire coat hanger. I made progress, but not much.

Then Drano sat in the pipe for four days.

Meanwhile, we brushed our teeth in the kitchen and I hoped the gunk would dry to a powder.

Drano doesn’t dissolve sludge.

After the Drano experiment, I tried to snake the pipe again, from both of the bathrooms, upstairs and downstairs.

While I was shoving the snake through the pipe, the shower curtain rod fell to the floor.

At this point, I was covered in black sludge, along with all of the other liquids and solids that find their way to my jeans during lambing season.

A shower that night was high on my priority list, even higher than a functioning bathroom sink.

The shower rod fittings had been glued to the tile inside the shower.

Super Glue held the rod in the right position once again.

At least for now.

Just when I was mentally designing a rerouted drain system for the bathroom sink, my daughter, Abby, came back from the barn to report a skunk.

Typically, my live and let live philosophy allows nuisance mammals the choice to meander out of sight, but the barn is off limits to potential predators. Orphan lambs, chickens and eggs were among the vulnerable.

I took time from bashing my head against galvanized pipe to shoot the skunk in a corner of the barn as it slept.

It never knew what hit it, but as it relaxed, skunk spray permeated the barn.

Fortunately, thunderstorms moved through in the night to blow out most of the stench.

Hallelujah for thunderstorms!

Yet even when lambs are healthy and have full bellies, they get cold in the rain.

When Abby and I went out to gather the flock in the evening, we found groups of chilled lambs on one side of the rising creek while their ewes were on the other side. As rain poured, we dodged and dashed, caught lambs one by one and tossed them across the creek.

Abby trailed two while I herded three others who could not find their mothers.

Herding lambs without ewes is like herding calves without cows.

Or herding cats any time.

We were drenched by the time we reached the barn.

And so thankful for the rain.

I never liked housework anyway.