When I left
home to attend a five week National Endowment for the Humanities Summer Teacher
Seminar I secured my husband’s devout promise he would water my flowers for
me. By the time I left for Fargo , North
Dakota
While in Fargo , I kept track of western Kansas weather through phone calls and
monitoring the Hays Daily News website.
Though some rain fell, I knew the only way my flowers would survive was
through frequently sprinklings from the garden hose. Imagine my pleasure when I arrived at 1:00
a.m. on a mid-August Friday morning and my flowerbeds still bloomed. Sure, the drying buffalo grass crunched under
foot, but the flowers blossomed vigorously.
What a sight! My husband knew how
I dreaded returning to find dried blooms.
For the
next day or so we caught up on each others’news, and I caught up on some
laundry and dishes. In short time, I
realized we had another problem. The
pipes had backed up in the house. We had a blockage. And the plumber was out of commission.
Adaptability
became the key word. I had so looked
forward to coming home to all our modern conveniences after weeks of dorm
living. Fortunately, we have a complete
stock of Cabela’s camping equipment, including camp shower and facilities. Even though I had to do dishes outside and
take a camp shower, we did not suffer as much as we could have. Briskly showering under the light of a full
prairie moon has its own merits. I have
to say it beats taking an outside shower in mid-January.
After a few
days of roughing it, my husband and a good friend decided to tackle the problem
on their own. I rented a rotor rooter
machine, and they went on a mission to solve the problem. Initially, they decided tree roots could not
be the problem because the new pipe was impervious to root attack.
After
several approaches to clearing the blockage, the guys dug out around the exit
pipe. What they found was a prime
example of prairie adaptability. We were
not the only ones adjusting to circumstances.
An old elm tree, which diligently
refuses to give up the ghost, grows on the west side of the house, not too far
from the plugged sewer line. It provides
hours of entertainment as we watch birds and squirrels scurry up and down its
trunk and twisted branches. In late
afternoon, it even offers a little shade.
For these reasons, I have encouraged its fight for survival.
This
summer’s dry conditions left the tree searching for moisture. Somehow a slender root finger had found the
one spot in the impervious pipe where it could enter and begin siphoning
nutrient rich moisture. Once the root
tapped into the pipe joint, it began a reproductive life of its own. Tiny hairs shot off the original root, and
each of those hairs then manufactured even tinier hairs by the thousands. We had a root wad the size of the exit pipe
plugging our sewer.
The guys
made quick work of putting everything back together while I did a long overdue
load of dishes. As I listened to the
water draining easily through the pipes, I also gazed out the window at that
determined tree. Elm trees have a hard life
on the prairie, and this one has done better than most.
Maybe I
should not begrudge it a drink in a dry season no matter where it has to go for
that drink. After all, life on the
prairie is challenging. We ought to
enjoy what pleasures we can. Maybe
that’s why I enjoy those flowers so, even though they have seen better days and
better blooms.
No comments:
Post a Comment