I’m waiting for the hot water to heat enough to do the odds and ends of dishes from the day. How do two people use so many glasses? It’s beyond me.
Our hot water tank is small; it holds only about 6 gallons, as opposed to a house hot water tank that usually holds between 30 and 40 gallons. We turn it off when we aren’t using it. On warm days, a tank will stay hot for several hours. On cold days, the tank cools off quickly when the gas is turned off. However, as it only takes 15 minutes or so to heat it, we keep it turned off when we aren’t using hot water.
I don’t have any deep thoughts tonight. It was a lovely, warm, actually summer day. I spent all morning, after Curves, washing clothes at the apartment. I took my Morning Prayer paraphernalia (sp?) with me, and a book. I made Costa Rican coffee there and enjoyed the quiet time.
DB showed up about 9:30 a.m. and worked in the yard, cutting down all the little trees that seed themselves. Some had gotten big enough that he had to use a borrowed chain saw.
He took the first two batches of washed, dried, and folded laundry back to the campground about 11:45, and I followed at 1:30 p.m. I got home in time for our campground friends to invite us to join them in the campground pool for a swim. It was a nice treat on a very warm and sunny day.
The campground pool is heated by the sun, and was quite warm today. I was reminded of my first swim in the village pool when we moved to New Hampshire. The pool was actually just a mountain stream that had been dammed up. The town had dug and cemented an area, and the resulting pool was fed constantly by the mountain stream, spilling over the far edge of the pool back into the stream.
Now, I was a hardy swimmer; I grew up only a few miles from the Atlantic Ocean, in RI, and was used to the early summer cold water temperatures. This was the beginning of July, and a very hot day. I drove the kids to the village. When we exited the car at the pool, I noticed no one was swimming; everyone was just sun-bathing. Well, that wasn’t good enough for me. I dropped my towel on the edge of the blanket and dove into the FRIGID WATER. I came up to the surface, gasping for breath, sure I was going to die. I couldn’t even move to the edge of the pool to heave myself out; I was literally frozen in place.
Everyone around the edge of the pool was sitting up, watching me in horror, as a tried to catch my breath. But no one was going to be foolish enough to get in that water to save me! I eventually was able to breathe, and I exited that pool as fast as I could. THEN I was told that it didn’t really warm up enough to swim in, and then only for the very hardy, until at least the middle of July. Of course I hadn’t given anyone the chance to tell me before I dove into that water. It was a very painful experience, mostly because of the embarrassment.
Another mountain stream fed the cistern in our old farm house. It came through about a ½ mile pipe, into the cistern. It then overflowed through another pipe across the yard into the huge horse trough. From there, it overflowed into another pipe, down into the ground floor of the barn, and into the cows’ water cups. From there it overflowed into yet another pipe and out into the stream behind the barn.
Even in high summer (and we had very hot summers those years), the water from our tap was ice cold and delicious. In the winter, the cistern in the house would get a very thin layer of ice on the top. If the temperature dropped below 10 or 15 degrees, I would have to thaw the pipes out in the kitchen in the morning, and then, when I came home from college in the late afternoon, thaw them out again.
As hot as the summers were, the winters were cold. It was not unusual for the temperatures to drop down to 25-27 below zero and stay there for two to three weeks. During those times, we would have to bring the car battery into the house at night so that the car would start in the morning.
In spite of the cold, I loved those early mornings. I’d jump into my clothes as fast as I could when the alarm went off at 5 a.m. Bundling up, stocking cap on my head, I’d carry the hot, soapy pail of water I used to clean Bambi, my Jersey cow, and the empty pail for the milk. Bambi and I would steam up the barn as I milked and sang and milked. On very cold nights, I piled bales of hay around the stancheons so that my two cows, one steer, and two calves would be warm. And it was toasty in that little barricade.
I’d leave the barn with my empty soapy water pail in one hand and the pail of hot milk in the other. When I stepped out of the barn, the stars would still be twinkling in the dark sky, and the smoke from the wood stove would be curling out of the chimney. It was a sight I will never forget.
Those New Hampshire days, and nights, on our little farm, winter or summer, or any season, are forever etched in my memory. I loved our life there, I loved my animals, and I even loved my funky old house. There are many more stories about our years there, but I think the water is hot enough for the dishes.
Life is good; especially with wonderful memories. Thanks be to God.
July 10, 2009, 8:29 p.m.
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