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Farmette foul-up

It's a misty, moisty day at the farmette. Yesterday was practically summer, so Rob and I planted a lot of the veggie garden. Three varieties of potatoes, peas, onions, radishes and lettuce. And I put in some hollyhock and Irish bell seeds beside the toolshed. Can't wait.


The tulips are blooming in full force. I forget every fall where I put in clumps. This spring, it's quite evident that I love the red ones. As you can tell by the bouquet I put together this morning.


Our shitty luck got shittier last week. Literally.


Our septic tank backed up into the shower stall off the kitchen and made an unholy mess. On Saturday, naturally. It was a wicked rainy day, and the plumber we called just checked the tank and declared it full.


Cripes. It was our own fault for not having it pumped out regularly over the years. Sooo, we had to install the little pump we use for when the basement floods (infrequently) and vigilantly empty the stall (well, that was Rob's job) until Monday, when we could get the nice folks from Wiltons to pump out the tank.


Except even that didn't solve the problem. It was so bunged up that we needed another plumber to come in and snake out the intake and outlets of the tank. Luckily, Sandy Hamilton had the equipment and the two professionals to get the job done.

It may not sound like much, but we couldn't do dishes, shower or flush the toilet for more than two days. Plus, the broken rib was still giving me grief.


Which meant we went old school rural by taking our whizzes behind the garage. I timed my number twos for morning and noon so I could pick up some Tim Horton snacks and leave deposits in their nice clean bathroom. Rob used a bucket.


Yikes. What a nightmare. We really take for granted the modern conveniences. And we never want to go through that again. We've now scheduled pump-outs every four years with Wiltons.


In the middle of all this the dishwasher's pump kakked and the part still hasn't come in. It's small beans compared to earlier in the week, but will be another expense. Oh, well. It is life in the rural lane. Until next week.


Gratuitous cat photo courtesy of Fred, who now insists on being carried over to the sink from the laundry room table so he can sip from the tap. Precious prince.




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