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The Living Without Series

This is a series of posts that I wrote back in 2006 on living with less stuff. Check them out: liv011Living #2liv031liv04

Coal Creek Farm on Facebook

The Chicken Doctor

April

The Architect

Clay

Take out the papers and the trash…..

We hall our trash cans to a dumpster in our subdivision. It’s not a big deal, until the cans are over flowing and we all start chucking trash bags out the door to land near the cans in the garage. The chucking of trash bags really gets my husband into “lecture mood”, which he rarely does. I have to remind him that the barrels do have to be emptied in order for the “chucking” culprits to obey his demand of stuffing and compacting the trash in the barrels to the point that no air pockets remain and never leaving the lid ajar or trash in the garage for the raccoons, chickens and whatever other woodland creatures that invade the garage to rip to shreds. We attain maximum capacity of trash about every four days. However, my husband only halls the trash when our garage resembles a land fill.

Last night I calmly stated, “Hon, the trash cans are full, so don’t lecture anyone about the bags out there.”

The next thing I see is my husband preparing to head out the door in the freezing cold to take the trash. Moments later my daughter peered out the window and asked what her dad was doing. I explained with exasperation that he was taking the trash,. Why do they have to ask me so many questions about obvious things? Then she said,”I think he’s stuck. The back of his truck is in the creek.”

I looked out and sure enough there was the truck with one back wheel in the creek. My reaction was subdued. This is the third time this has happened. I took the old van for a couple swims that amounted to an ungodly amount of repair that left the oil pan jammed back into the nether regions of the undercarriage. I was relieved it wasn’t me this time.

I put the kids to bed and then stepped out in the cold to yell if he was okay…..no answer. What was he doing? I put on my coat, gloves, cowboy boots and headed out in the snowy night to see if he was still alive. I stepped carefully off the driveway and into the icy creek to see him jacking up the truck and shoving logs under the tire, to raise it up enough to get the differential of the driveway. Our conversation was reminiscent of an old Clint Eastwood western. We spoke in quiet monotone without any facial expressions.

Me- Did you back off or slide off?
Him- Slid off. Couldn’t get any traction.
Me- *#! driveway. Need more logs?
Him- Yeah.

I hauled logs while he hammered them under the tire with the blunt end of his ax. I poured salt across the creek so the truck would get some traction and held the jack while he drove the truck a couple feet closer to the driveway and then had to start the process all over.

He eventually got the truck back on the driveway and we sat in front of the space heater watching David Letterman.

Him- I need a four wheel drive.
Me- No you don’t.
Him- We need a normal driveway.
Me- Yep. So, did you get the trash taken out?
Him- Funny.

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