Anyhow, since we have a chunk of our herd down in Merrit at the moment, Partner spends a fair bit of time traveling back and forth checking on things down south. So he feels one of us needs to be able to handle things should the irrigation go postal and commit suicide while he is away. Circumstances surrounding the day he decided this, meant that I was the chosen one. I am the one he bequeaths the knowledge of the temperamental, finicky, (and might I mention, rather expensive!) irrigation system to. Really?! Me?! Did you not read the last blog post, Hun?
I honestly would like to understand, but like I said in my previous post, there are just somethings surrounding this ranch that I have given up trying to understand the inner workings of. I will in time, I'm sure, be adding the irrigation system to that list.
Step #1: A tour of the pipes and wheel thingys with the sprinklers on em.
If you did not know, grasshoppers enjoy dry grass. Imagine cruising through a couple hundred acres of dry grass with the windows open, because its hotter than Satan's toilette and this rust bucket ain't got no air conditioning, and thousands upon thousands of grasshoppers jumping to save their lives. Jumping in the windows and pelting you, and grasping on to your clothes with their sharp little pincers, and literally obstructing your view through the windshield, all so that you can go stand in the heat along side said grasshoppers and discuss why the water works some of the time.
Step #2: The pump house.
I can handle grasshoppers. In fact my little brother and I as kids used to collect buckets of them to see who could find the biggest one. Spiders on the other hand are a whole different story. Picture a hermit, living in a swamp. Picture what his shanty would look like, and you may have an idea of what the pump house here looks like. Its dark. Its moist because the pump leaks. It musty. And worst of all its crawling with spiders. Needless to say, I was not polite when I realized that partner was asking me to actually enter this torture chamber. I didn't, by the way. I learned everything I could by staying safely outside of the shanty, and nervously sweeping any twig, or stray hair, or dust mote, that landed on my persons.
When the pump stops working, apparently you need to "prime it"? This involves taking a wrench that could brain a a baby seal and unscrewing a giant bolt not too much!, but not too little! while simultaneously opening the shaky valve. Again, not too much! Because if you screw it right off, water will spew everywhere and, in a nut shell, you will ruin everything. Said valve by the way is shaky, as I said, so while water is running through it, it likes to vibrate its way shut again.... So step 1 is always check if that's the initial problem.
Some where towards the end of the multitude of steps (can you tell how closely I was listening?), once the pump is primed, you have to hit the power switch and start the pump up all over again. My partners advice? "This is a job you ONLY do with ONE hand. That way the electricity doesn't have a chance to travel across your chest". Ha haha ha? Oh your serious. Remember the moistness? The leaky pump in a small space? Pump house = death. On the plus side, if I did manage to electrocute myself, I'd probably take the whole works of spiders with me!
Step #3: Promptly forget everything.
Now, I really did try to listen and had you asked me 10 minutes afterwards how to do it, I probably could have regurgitated it back to you, but now? Likely, not. I honestly don't understand why he asks me to do these things? I guess he knows me well enough to never, ever (ever!) tell me I can't do something. He knows that I would go all defensive hell beast if he ever tried. I may tell you I can't do something, but don't you ever try to tell me I can't do it. He knows me so well, awe (Where's the cutesy heart emoticon on this thing?).
Moral of this story: If you electrocute yourself in a hermit's shanty, spiders will likely feast on your corpse....
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