Heavy on the Hoisting

Well. I got another vehicle stuck in the mud the other day. This time it was my Dad's F150. I was trying to do a fancy manuever and drive it around and behind the house in the pouring rain through the mud so that I could easily unload groceries and such. Went ahead and got it stuck the same exact place I got my Subaru stuck about 2 weeks ago.  Truck cockeyed, back tire deep in the mud and very close to the edge of a slippery drop off bank and a stack of firewood. I swallowed my pride and called up Neighbor Greg, Professional Hoister,  again and Todd because I had a feeling it would be helpful to have the use of Todd's big Dodge truck AND Greg's hoisting gear. Jeez. Talk about feeling sheepish. Who wants to call the neighbors on a cold wet morning and get hoisted out- again?
Well true to form, the gentlemen delivered, employing a series of strageties from their diverse bags of tricks to get the job done.

worse than it looks here

tying the trust sailor's hitch

1. First we tried the old 300 foot heavy duty rope looped through the front of the truck and then through a caribeaner attached to a tree up on the hill and fed down below to the towing truck (Todd's old Dodge). A piece of nylon webbing was tied around the tree on the hill and the the caribeaner was secured to that. The F150 being the chunky beast it is, incidentally caused the nylon webbing to snap and the caribeaner went shooting through the air at a high speed in the direction of one standing Greg. Luckily he didn't get hit and killed, and we moved on to plan b.

2. Todd pulled out his chains and a come along. He chained the rear end of the truck to the come along, which was attached to one of the foundation posts of the deck of the house. We dug out the mud from around the stuck tire and went for it. The idea was for me to make the tires spin while Todd quickly and vigorously cranked the come along, with the intention of sliding the back tires of the truck over and across the mud to even the vehicle and allow for easy backing up and out of there. It was a process. Greg would yell "OK- Spin em!" and Todd would crank hard. Then Todd would yell, "OK stop!" and he would crank to catch up. Then we would dig the mud out a little and repeat the process. After about 5 or 6 go-rounds, the truck was un-stuck!

digging out the tire with a hoe



a man and his chains

These guys just keep the good times coming. This process of hoisting me out (again) took a good while, and let me tell you. The conversation was good, the jokes were flowing, and yes, we found a way to talk about oysters throughout. Thanks, gentlemen, for a delighful morning of mud, ropes and chains.

Frustration Increases with Rainfall

Shelton Laurel resident Dana Nagle awoke this morning to the sound of rain pounding on the roof of her temporary home, a 1971 Tradewinds Land Yacht Airstream. Yawning and blinking herself into full consciousness, Nagle groaned. "It's so loud," she said in vain to the dog, who couldn't hear her due to the volumes of both the rain and the dog's snoring. She closed her eyes to try to block out the reality of yet another deluge. Even through her closed eyelids, she saw the electric flash of unseasonal lightening. A few moments later, the thunder roared ominously, a long threatening rumble, like a trumpeting warning to all of humanity. Nagle thought to herself, 'that sky is MAD.'
She reluctantly rose from the little bed in the kitchen and forced the dog to accompany her outside. Both bladders needed relief from a nighttime of slumbering containment. The rain poured on the leaky tin shed rood awning in front of the camper, dripping in here and splattering in there, allowing no true shelter from the downpour. In spite of the aching bladders, neither human nor beast had the slightest inkling of desire to step out into the water. They stood, dampening even under the cover, looking pathetic as they gazed out at the river which used to be the driveway. Muddy water flowed in a steady stream from both coves and the construction site and the garden, gathering momentum and volume as it approached and ultimately flowed into the branch just below the spring. Large puddles covered most other surfaces of the ground. It was a dictionary definition of supersaturation.
Dana Nagle felt an unsettling heat begin to churn in a deep part of her.
"Goddammit!" she said to no one, realizing the source of the heat was nothing other than a rain inspired Bad Mood.
Dog and woman stood miserably for a few minutes in the deafening deluge before the grumpy lady ushered them both back inside. The shelter of the aluminum camper, while warm and mostly dry, offered absolutely no refuge from the roar of the rain. "It's exactly 100% like being in a human sized tin can," Nagle sometimes tries to explain to others, a meager attempt to describe the "difficult to describe-" the experience of being in an Airstream in the Pouring Rain.
A half hour passed, and the rain finally let up enough for Dana and dog to step out and use nature's facilities. Dana decided to seize the moment to unload a large metal table from her truck, awkwardly hoisting its wet weight out into a puddle, all the while slipping and sliding on the earth's muddy surface. The internal heat of the Bad Mood rose again, and again she cursed, to no one in particular.
Stepping back into the camper, she felt like a wet rat. While attempting to dry off, she accidentally kicked over the dog's bowl of water, which flowed across the slightly unlevel floor. Again, Nagle cursed.
When the floor was mostly dried, the dog returned from her morning business. Nagle let her in, towel in hand, determined to wipe muddy paws and contain the uncontainable mud and mess. Dog shook and muddy watered splattered upon the surfaces of most belongings in the camper.

Nagle cursed.