RUDIMENTS, PT. 934
(the Finland experiment)
I've noticed one thing, about
myself, over the years of doing
assignments and the like - I
work better under pressure,
waiting for the last minute
and then gathering my brewed
thoughts and slamming them
all down. It's a curious trait,
and one very liable to be
influenced by side-tracks
and diversions along the
way, which then, by bringing
up new and late info, rattles
the whole of the collected
information and ending up
merely making MORE
work. I sometimes wish I
was an easier taskmaster
on myself, but I've gotten
it down fairly well and just
always deal with it. I tell
the others, the ones always
complaining about something,
'Just shut-up and get to work.
It could be a lot worse, you
could be changing lightbulbs
in Hell.' That always suits
the moment; seems so.
-
That first night in the house
in Pennsylvania just made me
feel as if I was out of time - just
like any old school assignment
from back whenever. But here
there was no frenetic feeling;
it was cool, and slow, and
operative and interesting (the
opposite of some dreary
enforced schoolwork about
'the percentage of serfs working
feudal fields under King
Mamadundu of Elyria versus
the domestication of the zebra').
You get the gist. I turned on
the basement light, having
absolutely no clue what I'd
be stumbling into. It was scary
stuff - even though it all later
became one of my favorite places.
In the corner, next to the stone
and concrete stairway, were
two Gould water pumps. Hmmm,
I wonder what they do? Turns
out they were the drawing-pump
system to bring water into the
house from the spring that ran
out back - into a holding basin
that also was home to some newts
and other watery creatures. But,
no bother; I didn't know any of
this yet the first night. The water
was always real cold, and for the
purposes we needed, for just us,
it was always fine and there.
And I never chewed on any
odd critter, that I knew of. I
got real good with the water
pumps eventually, because one
had some sort of pressure leak
that needed priming every
week or so, until I bought the
parts and managed to fix it.
Myself! If the pressure was
maintained, all was fine.
-
I had never faced stuff like this
before, and without preparation;
none of it had been announced
to me. As far as I knew, you
turn the faucet, and there's the
water. Not in these parts, but
it was all good. I was totally
alone, and totally estranged, as
well, from anything right then
connected to my past - those
faucets AND hard-roads,
pavement and parking as well.
Like a Toreador, one learns
the moves while on one's feet,
or one will surely be gored!
-
I've mentioned the huge slab of
rock previously, and there it was.
I was standing on it. It was pretty
astounding, just the ancient thought
of protruding rock upon which
some crazy human had built a
house : Like cheating a God to
get free basement flooring. I had
to just see it, and stare at it awhile.
I'd never seen anything like it, and
the thought, as well, that 25 yards
away the same sort of rock and
formation had water trickling out
of it from some massive and
subterranean water-secret which
water became our drinking supply.
Full circle stuff indeed! Again,
no one ever teaches you this stuff,
you can go right through 15 years
of schooling and never face this
off. It's no wonder that one of
the courses I later signed on for,
once I got to Elmira a few years
later, was Geology. Too much to
be missed, and I wanted all of it.
-
One time, later (my wife and infant
kid didn't show up there for some
number of weeks, so I had all this
rime to acclimate myself into things,
so I could act, when they did arrive
like a know-it-all who knew all this
crazy stuff unknown until a few
weeks before. One time this busy
real estate guy showed up, yapping
away. He said he'd known the
Parmenters (previous residents),
a guy by the name of Denton, or
maybe it was Roy, I forget,
maybe it was Roy, I forget,
(first name) who had also been
the tax collector for the area, for
a while. That explained the side
entryway and lamp, where the
tax office used to be. It now was
just cold and empty, with two
pianos in it and a glass wall to
view out - like some run-down
but once high-class mountain
hostelry. The guy starts saying
what a great, strong and solid
house it was, wasn't about to go
anywhere, and then he takes me
downstairs and takes out a large
belt knife so he could show me
what he meant. I was confused
as all get out, figuring it was
already curtains for me and
some stranger was about to
slice me to death and then
leave me, quite dead, on that
ancient slab of rock I was just
bragging about. Well, that didn't
occur, and what he was doing
was showing my how solid
and strong the beams underneath
the house were - which he did
by hacking into each one with
that knife so as to show me how,
unlike many other homes, the
wood had no give, was not stuff
or crumbly, and held itself strong
and stable even as the knife-point
jabbed in. Yeah, man I was then
convinced, and I told him so. I
figured he was going to make an
offer to but the place, and double
my money for me, but nothing
came of that. My learning curve
was just beginning its upward
arc, and he soon left.
-
The furnace itself, down here, was
a huge octopus. A stop gap measure,
to be sure, probably beyond all
codes and fire measures, if any
existed. I had a NYC friend, before
this, who had this cockamamie idea
for heating a house - if he ever
bought one and got out of the city
(he never did) - that consisted of,
in his version, what they did in
Finland and other parts of
Scandinavia. I never believed him
about that anyway. But, his idea
was that in the basement, once
Winter sets in, a person should
just start a large, controlled-burn,
wood fire, and let the continuing
heat from the wood fire in a pit,
replenished and always underway,
filter up the warmth and heat. His
point was that if this was done
correctly, in a little time the house
would be established and warm,
and then maintain itself. I never
asked him what he thought about
carbon monoxide or any other
fumes and gases - but I've never
heard of any piles of dead Finns,
so maybe it was safe. Anyway,
in this house they'd tried pretty
much the same idea, but inside
an old crazy coal furnace. But
they's used fuel oil. The old
coal-burning guts of this monstrous
furnace had been removed, and,
with a few asbestos panels, an
oil-burner nozzle and unit had
been installed, with a tank feed
from the oil tank, in another part
of the near-area. But, no fans or
blowers of any sort had been put
in - so that what one had was a
huge money pit, gobbling and
burning up the fuel oil (granted,
OK, it was then 18.99 cents per
gallon, but so what, in those days
that was par, and it was money
burned. no real heat ever did float
up, or maybe only a 40-degree
day little. All I ended up doing
was supporting the local fuel yard
in Troy, PA - which yard had
extended me credit for crucial
fuel, and which I paid on at the
end of each month by just driving
over to the office and walking in
with some money. That's the way
the whole first Winter went, and
then we did have a whole new
refurbishment, and unit, and fans
and blowers too, put in, at about,
as I recall, 850 bucks. And that
was the end of my Finland
experiment too.
-
Denton, or Roy, Parmenter? He's
dead now, up the top of the hill,
where's there's a little graveyard of
all the people who used to live
on the hill. 'Cept me, I hope.
No comments:
Post a Comment