Mystery Hole

"I have a lot of work to do around here still."

"Like what?"

"I need to do the driveways.  Mulch the one in front and re-rock the other two."

"Re-rock?  I've never heard that before.  Do you hyphenate that?"

"You bet.  I love the hyphen.  I love a good hyphen and I love a dash, and I especially love the ellipses."

Today will be a work day.  When I finish this, I will head out for the Home Depot.  This seemed like a good and noble idea a couple days ago, but I am face-to-face with the monster now, and I do not feel as fresh for it.  I fell asleep on the couch last night, not even watching television,  and woke up at 11:30.  Afraid I wouldn't be able to get back to sleep, I took a Tylenol P.M.  Taking one of those approaching midnight is not a good idea if you are hoping to wake up and get to being productive.  Uh-uh. . . I wouldn't recommend it.

Already, though, I've used the hyphen, the dash, and the ellipses.  At least there's that.  

My Satruday workday, though, started on Friday afternoon.  As was reported, the neighbors had spied a hole in my mother's front yard.  Not knowing what to expect, I dutifully went over to look.  Sure as shittin', there was a hole.  A perfect hole, not sloppy.  I looked in.  It was eight or nine inches deep, and as one reported, there was a piece of pvc pipe.  

What the fuck was I looking at?  I reached my hand into the hole to feel around.  Dumb, right?  Nothing squirmed or bit me though.  I reached into the pipe with my fingers and dug out some dirt.  The pipe was attached to nothing on the side pointing toward my mother's yard.  It was on the border between her yard and the next door neighbors who live in Georgia but come down on weekends some.  They have been remodelling the house for a year in preparation for moving in. . . eventually.  

I was stymied, so I walked across the street to the handy fellow's house, the couple who always invite my mother and me to holiday dinners.  

"I HATE asking people for favors, but if you have two minutes, I'd like for you to look at something and tell me what I'm missing.  You know more about this stuff than I do."

He followed me back across the street.  He looked in the hole.  He put his hand in.  

"I have no idea," he said.  "It doesn't make sense."

"That's what I thought.  Good.  I am not as dumb as I thought."

After a minute he said, "Get a shovel.  We need to dig it up to find out."

I paused.  He wanted to dig up the yard.  I said, "I don't know," but I turned to walk back to the garage.  "Get a picture of this," I told him.  "This really isn't my thing."

I cut through the grass and pulled out the dirt.  Loe and behold, the pipe popped out.  It was simply a piece of four inch pvc pipe about two inches long.  It was connected to nothing.  

"What the fuck?"

That didn't explain the hole, though, so the neighbor took the shovel and kept digging.  About two inches below where the pvc pipe had been, he found another two inch pipe.  He dug and found it was going toward the street.  

"Ah-hah!" he said.  

"Yea, but the soil isn't swampy.  There is no water puddled up around it."

He decided it was an irrigation pipe.

"We need to turn on the irrigation," he said.  

My mother's irrigation meter/timer is from the '60s.  Nobody knows how to use it.  It is connected to a shallow well.  The neighbor started flipping and punching things.  

"Man. . . nobody knows how this works," I said.  

But he was undeterred.  For awhile.  He never got it to turn on.  I have no idea if it will ever come on again.  

We went back to the hole.  The across the street neighbor who lives next door to the other one, came over to see what we were doing.  We were three old men looking into a hole. 

"You're mother had a drain line put in for her washing machine," said the new guy.  "They didn't want to go under the slab, so they ran a new line out down the side of house."

That made sense to everybody.  

"Sure, it's a drain line.  If it were a water line, it would be under pressure coming from the street."

Duh.  

The first neighbor went across the street to get his prober, a long. slender metal rod with a handle for pushing into the ground to find pipes and such.  He started probing trying to find the drain line.  We had already dug up the yard from where we saw the pipe running to the street, but there was no pipe.  Then he spotted a clean out drain that was covered with grass.  He pushed in the probe.  Ah--the line took a turn toward the clean out drain.  

"If it is a drain line, it doesn't make sense that it blew out a hole in the yard."

"It could have gotten so backed up. . . who knows, it may have bee backing up since they put it in."

"I don't know. . . ."

He had me run the washing machine on a rinse cycle and we waited until it drained.  No water showed.  

He said he'd help me dig it up later if I wanted.  Right now, he had to take his wife to the doctor.

"I do this kind of stuff all the time.  I enjoy it.  I didn't like the way the drain lines ran at my house and I re-routed them.  Hell, it's just pipe and glue."

"I don't know.  I don't do this, you know?  This is the kind of thing where I go, 'shit, I need to call a plumber.'"

"Man, a plumber's going to cost $800.  I like doing this.  I'm a Renaissance man.  I can do it all."

I looked at him and grinned.  "A Renaissance man didn't do the work.  He knew how to do it, but he didn't dig the ditches himself.  He just knew it needed to be done."

He laughed and nodded.  Then he said let him know as he turned back to his own home.  

I filled in the holes we dug and put the grass back on top, all but the original hole.  I put a garbage can over it and put flags around it so nobody would step in.  Then I went inside, washed my hands, and got in the car to go and see my mother.  

Driving there, though, I thought about the hole.  If water had caused it, the offending pipe would be exposed and not be two inches beneath normally damp dirt.  A drain pipe wasn't going to blow a hole from eight inches below the ground.  Fuck no.  The hole was still a mystery.  If an animal had dug the hole, there would have been dirt on the grass in front of it.  Nope.  I had no idea how it got there, but I was pretty sure I knew how it didn't.  

When I told my mother about it all, I said, I'm just going to fill the hole back in.  "If a leak caused it, we'll see another hole, right?  I'm going to fill it back in."

And I will. . . with some trepidation.  

But now it is time for the Home Depot.  Today is just dumb work, nothing technical.  I kind of forget what I had in mind to do today, really, but it will come to me.  

I'd like to be on the Boulevard somewhere for lunch this afternoon, though.  And then off to see my mother.  

So I'd better get started.  Yup.