Saturdays

Here's what's happened today, and what might be a normal Saturday for me lately...
1. Sleep in until 8 or so (normally I do like to get up a little earlier).
2. Read (currently John Groberg's, "In the Eye of the Storm")
3. Run (4 mile loop- haven't gone that far in a while).
4. Vacuum
5. Breakfast (2 bowls of cereal and about an hour later, 2 awesome breakfast burritos made by yours truly).
6. Watch the rest of the Texas Longhorns game with roommate as they beat the currently #1-ranked Oklahoma Sooners.
7. Help roommate clean up kitchen because I feel guilty that much of the mess is mine.
8. Load 1,960 lbs. of junk in the old orange flatbed dumptruck (cement chunks, old beams, wood, pipe, and other miscellany). Added a new driveway a few weeks ago and the cement guy did his "cleanout" right in front of the leftover cement. Gratefully there was not too much.
9. Visit the dump as a very light rain turns so snow (that makes 3 weeks in a row). Last week's trip was almost 3 tons and great fun in the rain. The landfill was a muddy, stinky mess and after I dumped my load I felt like I was in one of those events you might see at a truck pull. I was peeling out and flipping mud everywhere. It was pretty fun. Good thing I had "duallies" in back or I may not have made it. :)
10. Hurry and answer a few e-mails that have been sitting in my inbox.
11. Check friends' blogs. Feel guilty about not posting anything. Create this post.
12. Get a little to eat (leftovers from Saturday breakfast last week [blueberry pancakes] and today).
13. Hope to work on finishing a few small rough framing things in the basement "studio" room I am finishing.
14. Get cleaned up.
15. Go dancing with friends at the Murray Arts Center (M.A.C.). Possibly visit IKEA beforehand to check on flooring that is $0.49 a square foot (probably pretty cheap stuff).
16. Bed.

What would I change? A few things- three, in fact. Love Saturdays. Next week I have a 4-day weekend. Awesome.

Diesel Mechanic

(written Saturday afternoon, June 20)

Today I feel more like a man. Why? I discovered the deeper meaning of a weighty, masculine word. There are a handful out there: lumber, football, etc.

Well, today it was "diesel."

No, not that one...

..not this one either...

...this one:

Main Entry: die·sel

Pronunciation: \ˈdē-zəl, -səl\

Function: noun

Etymology: Rudolf Diesel

Date: 1894

1 : diesel engine
2 : a vehicle driven by a diesel engine
3 : diesel fuel

I have been able to borrow my dad's old CASE 680 "Construction King" backhoe to do occasional work. Despite "construction" being part of its name, the yellow beast does a great job at demolition. Now, I am speaking of planned demolition, like when we tore out the old milk-house or pulled the silo over. It also does a great job of smashing things unintentionally- like when one of my brothers managed to mash the rain gutter into the side of the house. I was inside at the time and it felt like the whole house was going to come down. He is not alone- I did thump one of the post that holds up the deck a few weeks ago with the hoe (yes, it left mark).


Besides being a great help when I was in the demolition stages, it has come in handy recently to dig out the area where I am installing a retaining wall and to also bring in the retaining wall blocks. I've made a few temporary roads, haul gravel, rocks, and dirt- of course.

In the course of these events it has broken down at least three or four times. We've blown just about half of its hydraulic hoses, improved some of the electrical wiring, and most recently I had to replace the starter. Thus this blog entry.


It was my first ever "starter-ectomy" (I hadn't even done this on a car) and the old 60's backhoe didn't give it up willingly. Three bolts held it in. One was right out in front, one in back, and the last one underneath. I am embarrassed to admit that I mistakenly worked for at least 20-30 minutes trying to remove another bolt that was located just next to the REAL bolt (the third one) that I should have been removing. This impostor was so tight, and the space so small for my socket and wrench, that I could lot get any leverage. Of course it was when I finally got that darn bolt to budge and was removing it when I noticed that it played no role in holding the starter. Oh well- the fact that I got it loose made me feel good. Of course the real bolt came out lickety-split and I used a lever to heft the huge, greasy starter out. Finally! After over an hour victory was mine! I am guessing it weighed 60-70 pounds. This is a photo of me AFTER I cleaned myself up (I was black up to my elbows) and was preparing to drive to the rebuild shop in SLC.

It took them over a week to find the right parts to rebuild it, and it took me about 30 minutes to put it back in. The backhoe starts much easier now- and without starter fluid. I now have a great respect for diesel mechanics and know why they make about $40/hour. Let's just pray the backhoe lasts another month or two. I don't know how much of a man I am to handle much more than a starter.

The Farmer in Me...

A friend at work sent an e-mail to all of us bout a farmer, some puppies, and a little boy (see at the bottom of this post). When I read it I pictured the farmer standing at the fence with the little boy. I don't know what it is about farmers and farms- and maybe I am the only one that feels this way- but something inside me either IS or WANTS TO BE a farmer. Maybe it was growing up with cows and lots of other miscellaneous animals in 'Farmington' (of all places) that causes me to connect with farms and farmers. I must admit that when I "bought the farm" to build the house I am in now, that standing on the soil and looking over the old Rigby Edge-End Farm was probably what tempted me to do so. The farm feel and smell (I swore I smelled that sweet-manure-dairy smell) is what made me do it. It was my second visit to the lot- I had come with my brother, Kimball, to get his opinion. It was then that I made up my mind. I also must admit that I felt guilty demolishing and removing all that was left of the old farm (required by the city to get a building permit). I will not rest until I have written a short photo-history of the place.

We had a discussion some time ago as a family. It was started by my brother and sister-in-law, who asked if I considered myself as one who "grew up on a farm?" I'll let you decide...

I remember feeding our first five Hereford steers when I was in kindergarten and first grade. My dad had bought them to raise and sell for beef. Afterwards we had about four milk cows: Rose, Polly- who loved apples, Cocoa, and Susan. Susan, the biggest Holstein milk cow I have ever seen, gave us 10 gallons of milk each day- about 5 gallons each milking. In comparison, Rose gave my dad 5 quarts each milking (by hand). My oldest brother milked Susan using a milk machine and my brother Richard and I washed out the milk equipment.

We also raised several calves for beef. The first two were owned by my two oldest brothers- a Holstien and a Jersey. Then came Ralph (belonged to my brother & I) and Chester (my own) and two or three others that were born to some of our milk cows. In addition to the cows I estimate that over the years we had about 3 geese, several ducks and chickens, lots of cats, and a dog for a little while. If being a farmer meant selling your product- we produced milk, beef, and also sold hay from an alfalfa pasture purchased by my father in west Farmington. I think that the only purpose the eggs served was to feed the local varmints- skunks and raccoons that lived around. We even raised a litter of raccoons at one time. They were a lot of fun.

What do you think? Do these experiences in our growing-up years make our home a little farm and our family farmers? Farmers are unique- there is something pure and wonderful about them- making their living straight from the earth and nature itself. It is a great title- and I don't know that I would consider myself a farmer, but would consider myself lucky for the experience that my father gave us to work on fences, with animals, and to buck hay on to the old '66 red Dodge and then ride home on it (about 15 feet up) with Ribsy, our springer spaniel, next to us. I was on top of the world.

Thanks, Debbie, for sparking my thoughts!

This one you may of heard before I had but the lesson was a good reminder for me. - Debbie
A farmer had some puppies he needed to sell. He painted a sign advertising the 4 pups And set about nailing it to a post on the edge of his yard. As he was driving the last nail into the post, he felt a tug on his overalls. He looked down into the eyes of little boy.
'Mister,' he said, 'I want to buy one of your puppies.'
'Well,' said the farmer, as he rubbed the sweat off the back of his neck, 'These puppies come from fine parents and cost a good deal of money.'
The boy dropped his head for a moment. Then reaching deep into his pocket, he pulled out a handful of change and held it up to the farmer.
'I've got thirty-nine cents. Is that enough to take a look?'

'Sure,' said the farmer. And with that he let out a whistle. 'Here, Dolly!' he called. Out from the doghouse and down the ramp ran Dolly followed by four little balls of fur.
The little boy pressed his face against the chain link fence. His eyes danced with delight.
As the dogs made their way to the fence, the little boy noticed something else stirring inside the doghouse.
Slowly another little ball appeared, this one noticeably smaller. Down the ramp it slid. Then in a somewhat awkward manner, the little pup began hobbling toward the others, doing its best to catch up...
'I want that one,' the little boy said, pointing to the runt. The farmer knelt down at the boy's side and said, 'Son, you don't want that puppy. He will never be able to run and play with you like these other dogs would.'
With that the little boy stepped back from the fence, reached down, and began rolling up one leg of his trousers.
In doing so he revealed a steel brace running down both sides of his leg attaching itself to a specially made shoe.
Looking back up at the farmer, he said,
'You see sir, I don't run too well myself, and he will need someone who understands.'
With tears in his eyes, the farmer reached down and picked up the little pup.
Holding it carefully handed it to the little boy.
'How much?' asked the little boy. 'No charge,' answered the farmer, 'There's no charge for love.'
The world is full of people who need someone who understands.

Pictures courtesy of the National Archives website from the "Picturing the Century" galleries I and II. Check them out- some awesome photos. Click on the two above to see the large versions- they're even better full-size.

Demolition

July 8, 2003 was the big day. The silo was to come down. Cars slowed or stopped to watch when they realized what we were doing. The city said that both it and the corner building would have to be demolished and removed because they did not meet the city code. Shucks. We had a lot of ideas for the silo: Put a round roof on top and remodel it into a giant clubhouse or lighthouse, put in a staircase to access several levels inside, paint it to look like a giant peppermint stick during the Christmas season, or convert it into a giant dive tank for scuba practice. It was a local landmark and ever since tearing it down I've felt like I need to replace it with something significant, like a giant flagpole, or some other recognizable landmark. Next summer it will sport some type of flower bed, grass, and some new trees.

We started by tying a chain around a central support ring, then connecting that to a giant rope that was supposed to handle about 900 lbs. I had to tug it with the Subaru first, which I thought might be able to pull it over, but of course had to opt for Dad's old backhoe he had just purchased, which resembles a giant, yellow, steel, sand crab. After a few big tugs that only cracked the cement, Dad got brave, drove up next to it and started knocking out pieces of concrete from the west side of the base using the hoe extended from the north side. He was smart and stretched out to its full extent, knocking out few pieces at a time, and at an angle such that the silo would fall to the west- thus preserving his life. I prayed a lot that day and in the days previous. Ken Hardy, a local contractor and demolitions expert had told me a horror story of a guy who dropped a silo right on top of his front-end loader. He had lived because it had a steel reinforced cab.

We tried pulling the silo over about two times before we actually were able to make it drop. You'll not that we had to take out more than a third of the bottom before it would fall. What appeared to be an old, brittle, crumbling silo was actually very well built and supported. It fell in spiraling fashion and almost straight down on itself, not like a tree. My brother had the video camera almost ready, but we had pulled so many times before that we forgot to make sure that he had the camera ready.

We filled about two 30-cubic yard dumpsters with the debris over the next few weeks. Since then we have loaded out a total of 7 dumpsters full of concrete or debris and about 13 dump-truck loads as well. The trucks averaged about 12-13 tons each, and the largest dumpster load was 16 tons (10 tons is what it is supposed to hold). It is true that one man's garbage is another man's treasure because I spent a fortune in getting all of this junk hauled off. Thankfully, the 6-7 flatbed loads of recyclable steel and aluminum that I hauled to Bloom's Recycling in Ogden paid me between $20-$60 each time. I estimate that we hauled out over 200 tons in debris. I have about 2-3 more smaller loads that I will haul out with the flatbed dumper. Then it's on to bringing in topsoil, putting in a sprinkling system, more trees, flowers, and grass! Hurray!

On the corner... site of Rigby's Edge-End Farm

In the spring of 2003 I purchased what was left of an old dairy farm at the corner of Haight Creek Drive and Main Street in Kaysville, UT. The dairy was shut down in the early 70's and apparently was in operation for about 30-40 years. It was called the Rigby Edge-End Farm because it was on the edge or end of Farmington, but was zoned in later by Kaysville. What remained on the almost half-acre property when I bought it was the old concrete silo, the remains of the milk barn (the concrete floor, rock wall, stalls, and piles of wood), and the actual little house connected to the milking area that sat on the corner. This is where the milk was pumped, stored, and sold.

I purchased the land from Helen Rigby through her son, Clyde Rigby. Clyde and his wife are the salt of the earth- true neighbors and friends. Clyde knows the history of the area very well and can tell you great stories about his childhood, family, farm, railroad, and general history of the area. It was cool to uncover all of the many treasures found in earth and below that tell of the farm and its past. Some of the old signs, receipts, and farm implements/parts I have saved. I'd like to get old photographs and compile a short photo-history of the farm's history.

Future Posts: Demolition, building, and initial improvements