Pulling the Pump

Feb 18 2018

It took 3 strong men

to haul up the pump

from its cold dank well.

The dead weight

of a hundred feet of water

in stiff black pipe.

The seized device,

a dense stainless-steel torpedo

trailing rust, and dark mineral water

as it emerged from its hole.

A deep freeze

in late January

when the new year

seemed already old.

Could there be a worse time

for the taps to run dry   –

    –   a belch of air

a slow trickle

a final drip?

So they dug through 4 feet of frozen snow

to get at the well,

icy clouds of breath

hanging heavily

before dry winter air consumed them,

faces red

beards white with frost,

big calloused hands

exposed to the elements.

The thick hands

of men who work in the cold.

Were they born that way,

manly men

who self-select

for hard physical labour?

Or would my hands be as strong

if I felled trees

or raised food

or broke through frozen ground?

My grandfather

had the muscle memory of his trade

and the big hands

of manual labour.

To a little boy

they were magnificent,

enveloping him

in thick powerful warmth.

He was born in the 19^th century

and here I am in the 21^st

with my soft skin

and thin hands,

good for ballpoint pens

and tapping on a keyboard.

I watched how they worked,

oblivious

to penetrating cold,

joking

and cursing

and sure of themselves.

Three strong men

with big competent hands

inured to the elements,

answering the call

to replenish the water

on which all life depends.

I was tempted to mock myself by calling my hands “girly”. But, of course, in the early 21^st century this would be – quite correctly – unacceptably sexist. “Manly men”, OK; but not “girly”!

And on top of being a relatively small person with citified hands, I suffer from Reynaud's syndrome: the small arterioles in my hands (and feet) are hair-trigger even when it's above freezing, constricting down so that my extremities quickly turn blue (or white or both) and painfully cold, and then stubbornly stay that way. So I watch these guys work with incredulity, then envy. This happened years ago. Actually, a couple of times. One was just the pump. The other time, the well went dry, and had to be hydro-fracted. Not an easy thing to get done, in the middle of winter. Was there a third time? Anyway, I certainly recall them digging down into frozen clay-like soil to replace part of the housing as well.

More and more of us become less and less competent at the basic necessities of daily life. We don't make things, fix things, or work with tools. We're useless at taking care of ourselves when thing go wrong. Or worlds are increasingly virtual, not real. I'm impressed by the thick padded hands of working men (and wonder how they got that way!). But I'm even more impressed by their competence and self-sufficiency. Because when you're out of water, you're perilously out of luck!