Heart Stopping Five Minutes

This blog was started in August and was finished Dec. 31. Most days are hectic around the farm. There may even be some excitement or drama mixed in now and again, but last evening we had five minutes of life and death struggle that leaves you weak kneed, excited and drained. We had left the new goat kid and her mother in with the other does yesterday. We did chores around 5:30 in the evening and everyone was fine. We had just begun to start cooking for our supper when Kris heard the new goat kid blatting over and over in major distress. She started running to the barn and I dropped what I was doing and raced to catch up. When we arrived she was in the barn with her mother and Rosie the guardian dog was keeping the other goats out of the barn. She was still blatting and walking in circles. We could tell she was in pain from something and began checking for injuries. Kris ran her hands gently over the baby. No blood, no obvious broken bones. I was kind of expecting her to stop blatting and walk it off after a few soothing words. Instead she blatted more insistently and began to breath in a labored fashion. I am now thinking maybe a goat pounded her and broke a rib or gave her some internal injury. Goat kids cost around fifty to a hundred dollars. Vets calls cost in the hundreds. Dorie the new goat kid was born into the hard economic reality of farming. No vet was coming, she was dependent on our very limited veteranary skills. Kris was now holding Dorie and we took her outside where the light was better. Dorie was getting visibly weaker fast. As her blats weakened I happened to see in her mouth her tongue was turning blue. She wasn't getting enough oxygen for some reason. Maybe a broken rib punctured a lung. It wasn't looking good for Dorie. Bubbles began coming out of her nostrils and she snorted bursts of mucous trying to clear her nose. Her breathing was becoming more labored. At chores she had played while I milked her mother. A picture of what a healthy goat baby looks like. Kris said to me "feel her feet, the blood is pounding through them." We felt helpless. Was this going to be our third goat baby to die? She was slipping away fast. Then Kris noticed a bump forming on her face. It was swelling quickly and her eye began to swell shut. "I think she got stung and is having an allergic reaction" I said. We had never seen a severe allergic reaction, but we had prepared for it since we give the goats a lot shots. Allergic reaction is one of the rare but possible consequences and we didn't want to watch helplessly as one of the goats died from one of our shots. We had a syringe of Epiniphrine set up literally five feet away. I opened the door to the feed room and grabbed the syringe off the shelf. This shot has to go into a muscle and all the shots we had given so far were just under the skin. I fussed over finding a big enough muscle in her leg-- wasting precious seconds, but we had only set up one syringe. If I missed the muscle or came out the other side, there would be no second chance. Kris held Dorie still and I pushed the small needle into her tiny leg. Kris reminded me to pull back on the plunger and check for blood. If you hit a blood vessel with shot, in some cases it is fatal. I wasn't taking any chances. I pushed the small amount of fluid into her leg, pulled out the needle and checked for fluid on both sides of her leg--nothing. She had got the full shot. Immediately, she stopped blatting and snorting. Her breathing improved. In just a few short minutes, she was back to normal. It was miraculous. Actually, there were two miracles. We actually correctly diagnosed an allergic reaction that was killing Dori, and we had the epinephrine set up within a few feet when precious seconds counted. Most of our veterinarian adventures are floundering guesses that at best usually don't make it any worse. During kidding season, we lost two baby's after trying different things, doing our best to nurse them along, but finally cradling the kids in our arms and watching helplessly as they slipped away. Maybe there was nothing we could have done, but you don't feel that way. You feel criminally inept. Your learning curve is proving fatal. It is just an awful feeling, part grief and part anger directed at yourself. So, when I tell you we were relieved and ecstatic and very drained, it is an understatement because words are just not capable of conveying emotions that deep. This is a picture of Dorie four months later.

Spring Fever

Blogging, like all creative activities, is easier if you have a good attitude. I am refinishing another floor and it has me wallowing in self pity. Going off to work, has this effect on me now. It is hard to blog about the farm since it is dark when I leave and getting dark when I return. Kris is doing all the chores and taking care of the animals.
We are so impatient for spring that we saddled up the horses and just sat on them the other day. It is still icy and motion would be taking a chance. Well actually we rode around the outside of the paddock in sloooww motion. Still, it was good to be on the horses. We have had them long enough they are old friends. Each movement is recognized and appreciated. Their mannerisms and peculiarities are a familiar and comfortable for both horse and rider. When we first got the horses Kris kept asking if she was giving the right cues for this or that. My response was always that it made no difference. I'm not sure I do the correct cues for things. I have however ridden one horse long enough, that if I thought something, the mare did it. I wasn't really giving cues, she was just reading me. It is hard to explain to someone who hasn't experienced it, but you are riding and the two of you become one. If you spend enough time on your horse, it just happens. Training is good, but time spent riding your horse is the only way to achieve this. What cue I, is not something I think about when I am riding. I just ride. The horse goes. The more you ride, the better the results.

This one-ness is kind of a zen experience and it heals the soul. In less mystic terms, it makes you feel good. As a result, when you don't ride everyday, you miss it. We are ready for spring and ready to ride. Bring on the mud!

Five thirty AM, I gotta run. Work calls-- kind of a plaintive wail from a world I thought I had left behind. I can't believe people do this everyday. Some people actually enjoy going to work. I am guessing they don't own horses.

New Wood Splitter!

I ache, therefore, I am. Most days, I start out a little sore from yesterday's activities around the farm. Today, I'm really bound up tight. I can move, as long as I get plenty of notice and go real slow. Lifting my arms is particularly tough. Bending over is inconceivable this morning and steps are painful because my legs are stiff. All in all, I'm about as sore as I've been lately.

I didn't start out to test rigor mortis on myself, in fact, it started on a pleasant ride over to the caucuses in Sedgewick last Saturday. Kris begged off to go shopping with Nancy and left me without a vehicle. Walter had mentioned he was going to the caucuses and I thought it might be fun to ride over together. This brings up the whole issue of women's suffrage since shopping is a higher priority than what direction the country is heading in-- but I digress.

Anyway, I called Walter and asked if I could catch a ride over to the caucuses. "Sure, I'll be along about 8:30." It was around seven when I called and 8:30 would be cutting it close. We had chores to do and I had to try to find clothes, take a state of Maine, and shave. But, when Walter arrived, I was ready and hurried out to the truck. The dooryard is all ice and I didn't want Walter to makes us late by breaking a leg or something.

I got in the truck and Walter asked what Kris was up to.
"Shopping Walter. Evidently, you and I will have to save the Republic without her."
Walter smiled and off we went.

We talked about a lot of different things and by and by the subject of my wood pile came up. (Younger men talk about women, but as you become more seasoned wood piles become a more interesting and way safer topic.) "I have some birch I'm gonna need to split so I don't lose it. I think I'll listen for Gary's wood splitter and run it over when he's out splittin' his wood. There isn't half a cord so it isn't worth rentin' a splitter."

"Just split it with a maul. You don't need a splitter for a little dribble of wood like that. I'd just split it with a maul."

"I have no idea where any of the ten or so splittin' mauls I've bought over the years have ended up." In truth, every time I set one down, I hope to never pick it back up again and don't pay as much attention to just where I put them as I should. The subject changed to something less interesting than wood piles and pretty soon we were at the school where the caucuses were being held. Like most busy retiree's we had arrived less than an hour and a half early so despite the fact it would be cutting it even closer, we decided to go get a coffee.

Well, the caucuses came and went and I thought about what Walter had said about splitting the wood with a maul. Walter has an awful habit of being right. He is a decade older than I am and if he would split "that little dribble" by hand, then I reasoned, I could too and I resolved to take his advice. So that afternoon, when Kris, who probably came as close to saving the republic by going shopping as I did by going to the caucuses, arrived home, I informed her of my decision to get a splitting maul. She laughed.
"What are you laughing at? I can split wood." She laughed again, harder.
"Well, I harrumphed I am going into town to get a maul. You goin'?" "Sure, I don't want to miss this." Boy, she's irritating sometimes.

Next morning, Kris and I were out early with my new maul. I had purchased the $31 dollar one, as opposed to the $29 one, because it looked like it might actually split wood. It was lighter too and I reasoned lighter might be better for senior wood splitters.

I sat the first piece of birch up on the chopping block. It was a clear piece that looked straight grained and not too large. It should have split easily and I am sure it would have if I had actually hit it when I swung. Instead, I nicked it on the way down and it shot off ten or twelve feet to the side. Kris smiled broadly and giggled her way over to pick it up. A swing and a miss-- well maybe it was a foul log. Either way it hurt both body and delicate male ego. After picking up the stick of wood Kris got a grip on her mirth as she realized I still held the maul and she was going to be coming into range to set the stick back up on the chopping block. After moving away she smiled and said "try hitting it in the middle and see if that works better." I gave her my best withering look and asked if she shouldn't be doing something else. "Well," she giggled, "I was going to stack wood for you but I guess I could go do the dishes while you get ONE split."

Ha, ha, ha.

I took very careful aim this time. I needed to make contact or rest of my life would be very difficult. I could hear her in my mind, "Hey remember the time you bought that splitting maul and couldn't hit the log. Ha, Ha, Ha.
I lined up my swing and came down with less force and more accuracy and hit the log dead center, and to my surprise, the wood actually split under my assault. Well, it wasn't so much an assault as a mild wave in the air and then and equally mild swing at the wood. Still, it was doing the job.

The peanut gallery quieted down and I repeated this several more times with out a miss. Kris was amazed. I tried to act like it was no big deal and I might have got away with it, if I had quit reminding her the rest of day that I had split wood with a maul.

I split several wheel barrow loads in a half an hour and then stopped before I over did it. It was going to work! I could still split wood! Ha, ha, ha, Ha,... I could still split wood.

That was yesterday. Today, I think I'll give the splittin' maul a break. In a few days, when I can bend over and lift my arms above my head again, I'll split some more. There's no big hurry. I have until this summer to get it all split. Maybe I'll split for fifteen minutes instead of a full half hour-- try to build myself up. I'll think of it as my morning exercise. Say, maybe Kris could use morning exercise!

Worm Load?

Well, all you future farmers and farmer wannabe's, this will probably help you decide whether your current job is as bad as you thought. Today, we are ordering a microscope, beakers, test tubes, etc. so we can do our own fecal samples. As it turns out controlling worms in your animals is a large part of successful farming- even a very small farm like this one. Wormers, synthetic or natural, are poisons. The idea is to poison the animal enough to kill the worms without killing the animal.

If you can analyze the "Worm Load" of an animal, you can determine if it is time to administer worm medicine and what worm medicine will target your particular worm. Traditionally, you wormed an animal with a broad spectrum wormer every so often, but wormers are expensive and regular worming makes for worms that develop resistance to the wormer.

So, you can see the need for fecal samples, lots of them. We have twelve animals that we can check, not counting Kris and I. (If we have worms, neither one of us wants to know.) If we check the worm load every six weeks or so, multiplying by twelve and rounding to the nearest whole number, that would be a lot. As you can see, fecal samples will soon be our life. Conversations with us will be pretty interesting I am sure....

"Wanna see our new worm collection? It's right over there above the kitchen table on that shelf."

"Wow, you should have seen this liver fluke. It was huge! I took a picture and I posted it on facebook. Pretty cool, eh?

Anyway, doing our own fecals is going to be interesting. We want to compare herbal wormers to chemical wormers. The are cheaper and CLAIM to do a better job. Nothing eliminates worms and every animal has a certain amount of natural resistance to worms. The herbal wormers purport to keep the load low enough and enhance the natural resistance to a point that the worms don't bother the animal. More importantly they are cheaper. Some plants that the goats eat out in the pasture do the same thing. By doing fecals, we can greatly reduce and perhaps eliminate chemical wormers from our operation. Most of the herbs in the herbal wormer can be grown here and we may be able to stop buying wormer altogether.

So, you can see the need to do our own tests. If you are still thinking you might like to try farming, come on over. We could use the help. It is not that hard to collect samples. We'll give you a new sandwich bag and show you which animal to follow. Nothing could be easier. We look forward to seeing you!

The Haves....and the Have Nots

It seems the world is divided into the "haves... and the have nots." Those that have had a colonoscopy and those who have it darkening their future. Doctors love colonoscopies and recommend them every chance they get... for their patients. I want to see the stats on THEIR frequencies.

I had a physical this fall and once again Ol' Doc made his pitch.
"You should have a colonoscopy."
I remained silent and tried to think of a way to divert the conversation.
"You're at the age where it is starting to be important."
Yeah, I was thinking, I sure don't want to die without a colonoscopy.

Last Christmas, I had a bout of diverticulitis. It felt like I had swallowed small knives and they had fetched up and were trying to break through an intestinal wall. This diagnosis was an educated guess by Ol' not quite a doctor that worked in the same office with Ol' Doc. She had informed me sweetly that had I had a colonoscopy, we would know for certain.

Mmmm, well, I mumbled, "I probably should," and was about to add maybe "next year," when Doc interrupted and said "Good, I'll schedule it for after the Holidays."

I started to get dizzy and wobbly on my feet. "Doc, I'm starting to feel light headed. Maybe I need a cat scan instead."
He laughed, "that's just a reaction to your colonoscopy. It happens a lot, nothing to worry about... " he laughed again. Something funny must have come to mind because now he seemed to have lost his dour manner and was almost giddy.
It occurred to me maybe doctors got commissions off the patients they supply to the colonoscopists or whatever they call the lucky doctor who performs the colonoscopy.

I left in a daze. I had felt pretty good before the physical, now I wasn't feeling so hot.

Time whizzes by when you have a colonoscopy scheduled, so, it seemed like just a few days instead of months, and I was in the Shop N Save looking for laxatives. Unfortunately, they had just what the doctor ordered, and soon I was headed home, time racing, the world in a blur. I was supposed to start with four laxative pills at noon and it was 12:30 when I got out of the store so I took them in the parking lot, hoping I would make it home before they started to work. I drove directly home, cursing every delay, sure it might cause a disaster of epic proportions.

Walter was at the barn when I arrived. Kris and he were sitting at the table as I came in, smiling and laughing about something.
"Walter, how are you?"
"Good," he smiled, How are you?
There seemed to be extra emphasis on the question.
"I'm Okay."
"Ready for the big day?" he inquired.
"I got my laxative right here Walter and I already took the four pills."
He smiled broadly. "This, will be the worst part. Any urge to go yet?"
"No, not yet."
"You will" he laughed.
Kris seemed to think this was very witty and laughed too. They could tell I was not thrilled and found ways to make every turn of the conversation end in a joke about my soon to be experienced body purging. I scowled at most and this seemed to encourage them. Both laughed so hard they had tears and passed into that state where almost anything said becomes a reason to laugh.

Soon it was 2:00pm and time for the start of the second laxative. This one is a dry powder and you mix it with a little water. You have to keep mixing a capful every 30 minutes and drinking the resultant sludge until the contents are gone.

Walter has had several colonoscopies and remembered the powdered laxative with particular relish.

"You're gonna love that stuff," and he and Kris became hysterical over this witticism.

I looked into the glass after I mixed it up. It was clear but starting to get thicker.

"Just drink it fast as you can and don't think about it" Walter coached.

I swilled it down and looked over at Walter and Kris who were smiling expectantly.

"Nothing yet." I could see they were disappointed.
"You will. Won't be long now."

It looked like this purging was going to be done by "team Bart." What are friends for if not to come over and offer encouragement while your body loses all control over its bowels.

Trying to make me feel better, Walter mentioned a cute young nurse that had assisted in his last colonoscopy. She patted his backside and kept telling him it would be alright. "Takes your mind right off whats happening," he recalled nostalgically. Walter leaned back in his chair, his mind somewhere else.

"Well maybe, I'll get lucky too."
"No, you'll get an old battle axe that tells you shut up and quit whining," Kris offered. She and Walter resumed their hysterical laughter.

Walter stayed until the gurgling began and then left me to my misery. Kris was less fortunate and was in for the duration. It starts slow and doesn't seem too bad for a short time. After three or four slugs of laxative it becomes apparent that it is going to be a near thing which end is going to provide an exit for the increasingly nauseating liquid.

The bottle of laxative has 8.7 ounces of dry powder which never seems to decrease no matter how many times you take it. I was still at it at 8:00pm. I had been spewing clear yellow liquid with each session for the last couple of hours. I reasoned that enough was enough and went to bed. I was up every few hours all through the night and made my final purge at the hospital.

I arrived at the hospital at the appointed time and was taken to "out patient surgery" and put on a backless Johnny. The nurse buzzed in and out checking on me, mostly making sure I was still there. On one of these visits she said the surgeon would stop by and explain the procedure. I couldn't wait to hear this.

I hadn't eaten since the day before yesterday and was starved. Kris sat faithfully beside me and was reading the latest issue of Better Homes and Gardens.
"Hey, look at this recipe! Sinfully Chocolate Pudding Cake Surprise! Doesn't that sound good!" "Oh, wow, Cajun Curried Shrimp! Maybe I'll make that tonight." She'd get up and come over now and then to show me how good the picture of each dish looked. I was beginning to wish the surgeon would hurry up.

After a while an elderly gentleman with a bit of a tremor, came in and sat down. He didn't say anything for awhile, just smiled wryly. He started to speak and then smiled again instead and looked from me to Kris and back to me. After another pause he said "I'm your surgeon" and chuckled. "You ready for this?"

I looked over at Kris and she was laughing. Everyone, including the surgeon was amused by the thought of my colonoscopy. For some reason it was strangely reassuring that he still saw the humor in this after doing thousands of them. I hadn't been doped up yet but I lost some of my nervousness.
"I'm as ready as I'll ever be".
"Good" he said and with that, two male nurses came around the corner and hauled me down to the operating room. The doctor walked along beside the gurney.
"This is a very safe, simple procedure," he was saying. Well that's good I thought. Then he added conversationally, "the only thing that ever goes wrong is occasionally the intestine is punctured, but that's rare." Well, that's good. It is only rarely punctured.
I began to wonder what happens to you if your intestine is punctured?
We turned a corner and we were in the operating room. The male nurses began going through the surgery check off list. They asked my name and what procedure I was expecting, etc.
I was now wondering how these two male nurses came to be assigned to colonoscopies. Were they volunteers? And what happened to Walter's cute young nurse?
One began explaining the sedatives. "The first is for pain and the other is to make you forget."
Well, if there is no pain, what do I need to forget? I was now back on high alert.
"You'll probably just sleep through it. Most people do."
No way I was falling asleep or forgetting anything. I'll just stay awake and watch the procedure on the big screen which is located right there for your viewing pleasure. They began the procedure and it was painless. In fact there isn't much sensation at all thankfully. On the screen the camera appears to be going through a winding tunnel, about what you would expect. Pretty soon the camera stopped and examined a stalagmite. It move to one side and then the other. A metal probe with a gaping serpents mouth appeared on the screen and bit on to the stalagmite and pulled. It came free and the serpent disappeared. Evidently, this was a polyp. This was repeated a couple of more times in case you missed the first episode.

The procedure was soon over and I was wheeled back to the outpatient surgery room where I started. The nurse came back and had me lay on my left side. "Go ahead and fart all you want."
I had been waiting my whole life to hear those words.
"You have to get rid of the gas they pumped into you before you leave."

Well, if farting could get me out of here faster, I could certainly show the medical world a thing or two. Kris showed up at the height of my flatulence. She evidently didn't want to miss anything. After a particularly resonant note that went for a long time, both her eyebrows went up. "Just following the nurses orders-- all in the interest of medicine," I assured her.
"Well, at least they found something your good at."
"You think I enjoy this?"
"Yeah!"
"Well, okay, it was a pretty good one."

By ten o'clock, I was out of the hospital and it was over. I felt great. It was over! Words can not convey how good you feel after it is OVER. I am now a member of the HAVES and I can't wait until I can help Kris in her time of need, since she is still a HAVE NOT!

Trick Farm Animals

I came home yesterday and Kris was just bringing the goats back to the pen after taking them on their afternoon grazing walk. She marched into the pen and the goats followed obediently. In order to keep the goats from dawdling at the gate or just outside the pen, we feed them when they return. I followed Kris and the goats into the barn. She opened the pens one at a time and called the out the name of the goat she wanted and they came forward in turn and went in their pens.
"Pretty handy that the goats know their names and come when you call them." I observed. Kris smiled and kept sorting goats until everyone was in their proper pen for feeding, then went out and grabbed some hay and put in their feeders.

I was making over the dog and she jumped up on me. "Down," I said firmly, pleased that I remembered not to say her name when she does unwanted behavior and how I was firm without being scolding.
"Off, you mean," pointed out Kris to her somewhat deficient assistant trainer. "Down is the command to lie down."
"Oh, yeah, right." I mumbled, now chagrined by my lack of consistency.
As it turns out the slowest learner in the barnyard is the assistant trainer.

While the goats were eating, Kris filled the dog pan and brought it back to the pen. "Watch how well she is doing with WAIT," and she had Rosie sit and told her to "WAIT". She sat the pan a few feet from Rosie and the dog sat obediently until Kris told her to "TAKE IT" after which Rosie got up, tail wagging, and began to eat her food.
"She's doing awesome," I said.
We watched the dog eat and I enquired how Rosie had been out with the goats grazing. For the first few days, she had started out ranging quite a ways and just checking occasionally on the herd. We were bothered by the length of the absences. When she came back, we acted like we were pleased, gave her treats and told her what a good girl she was. After the longer absences Rosie always came back sheepishly. It was pretty obvious someone had gotten after Rosie for running off. We just kept praising her when she came back. Each day, both the quantity and duration of absences diminished. Hence my question on how she had been.

"She is doing wonderfully. She stays much closer. When I sit and let the goats graze, she lays at my feet sometimes."

Wow, this was a big improvement. I was afraid as Rosie became more comfortable, her walks might increase in duration and distance. As it turns out, she is very eager to please and has responded by staying closer.

Soon Rosie had finished her dog food and Kris let the goats out of their pens. The goats drifted out of the barn and Kris said "Hey watch this." Static was standing in front of her. "SHAKE Static" and Kris bent over and held out her hand. Static offered her front leg and Kris shook it. All smiles, Kris looked over at me and said "there's more." Quick Stop was off to the side and Kris looked at her and held her hand just over her head and said "Sit". After a couple of tries, Quick stop lowered her hind end. She didn't quite sit, but it won't be long.

"Wow, that's incredible."
"Oh, there's more!" Kris took a piece of corn out of her jacket pocket and went over to Zara and said "STAND Zara." Zara went up on her hind legs and reached way up and took the treat.
"Holy cow!" I was running out of amazed comments and would soon have to start repeating them if she came up with more tricks. Fortunately that was the last trick.
"How long have you been working on the goat tricks?"
"Just today."
"Wow, that's incredible." I reused my favorite amazed comment, what the heck.

I can almost envision a trick farm animal show for children's birthdays. I am sure Kris can teach the chickens something. They come when she calls now. We could have a thriving business on weekends doing amazing farm animal shows. I see it all clearly in my mind accept for the part where her assistant comes out in glittered spandex tights. I'm having trouble with that.

Bad Dream

Kris had a nightmare the other night so I am in hot water. In this nightmare I was driving some sort of buggy and ran into something. The dog and Kris shot out the front and into an endless mud hole which they were sliding down when I woke her up.

If you are a male and reading this, you might think I should get some credit for waking her up and stopping the nightmare. However, the female readers will understand that had I not crashed the buggy in her dream in the first place, I would not be in trouble now.

Originally, I didn't understand how seriously this nightmare affected Kris, but two things make this very clear. One, she is claustrophobic and the mud closing in around her made her think she was going to die, and two, her cell phone was ringing during her fall and she didn't answer it. Wow!

In my younger days, I would not have understood the gravity of my situation. Logic, I would reason, would finally take hold and I would be whisked out of the dog house and apologized to for irrational behavior and thanked for waking her up and ending the nightmare. Ha, ha, ha, boy was I dumb!

Older and wiser, I am trying to make up for my poor behavior in her dream, and until I can make amends, conversations will be mostly one sided with short pointed replies. So, I will tread lightly, do the dishes a few times in a row and try to make myself seem useful around here. That's not going to be easy since I've been gone all week and things tend to run smoothly when I am not helping.
I may have to kill an imaginary spider or two. "Oh wow, it was huge, you should have seen it!"

Having Fun Now!

"Bart, its David."
For twenty years our calls have started the same way. He's a great friend and has a good sense of humor. It was early September, and he mentioned a couple of floors that needed to be refinished. My guard went up. I swear off floors every time I finish one.
"You want to go look at these. You can do these at your leisure sometime this winter." The way he phrased it, my guard dropped a bit. It sounded pretty harmless. I am a sucker for work to be performed way out in the future. It seems less horrible than work which I would have to go do to immediately. So I agreed to go look at the floors. It would be good to see him and I could always say no, but after twenty years of this, David knew that he had me hooked and as certain as the sun rises, I would be doing these two floors.

If you have never refinished a floor, you really should. It will make whatever you're doing for work now seem wonderful. David's floors always have some additional points of interest that put them into the Extreme Floor Refinishing category. Two years ago, he had a floor for me on an island with only a steep path up to the top of the hill where the house was located. Trying to put a good face on it, David pointed out "its only a small kitchen and pantry and won't be that bad. Chuck is going to have a barge with a crane on it and he can boom the floor machine and equipement up to the house for you and back down. Well, there is linoleum on the floor" he admitted, "but, Chucks crew will pull that up. I don't think it will be too bad."

Well, I thought maybe it won't be. Optimism is a curse in the floor business. It was never clear whether David forgot to call Chuck in time to catch the barge with the crane or Chuck just forgot to boom up the floor machine, but when the time arrived for the floor, the floor machine and all the equipment still sat stubbornly under the stairs at David's shop. The dock which had been in good repair when last anyone had visited, was damaged by a storm and the ramp, which might have been used to get the floor machine onto the island, was structually unsound. At risk of life and limb, you could scamper over it, but no way two people and a floor machine would make it.

So, David put together an amphibious landing, with all the equipment on a boulder strewn stretch of rocky beach, as far from the house as he could find on a small island. Equipment was staged at the beachhead and lugged up the path to the top ot the hill, up the steps and into a kitchen that was covered in old black linoleum mastic which consisted mostly of tar. When this creme puff floor was done, it required a retreat from the same beach head. If you don't count the day we were lost in the fog out in the middle of the islands looking for the correct island and finally looking for any island, it really wasn't as bad as it could of been.

This year David has what he thinks of as two floors. One, is the third floor of a summer cottage that has more rooms in it than most small towns. Fortunately they have lots of closets and small spaces that I can barely fit into and will keep me out of trouble for most of the winter. The other floor actually is probably an old customer that he just couldn't refuse. It lacks the challenge that is characteristic of his jobs. It is just a monstrous couple of rooms without the usual tons of hand work or chance of cataclysmic failure. The only reason I can think of for David to take this floor, is he wants me to think of him in a good light, since I swear, absolutely and finally, THIS IS MY LAST FLOOR.