Don’t stick your finger inside a garden hose. It’s stupid.
When we first moved into our house six years ago, I decided to wire the whole place for a computer network, TV – the whole bit. And being the kind of do-it-yourselfer with no actual common sense, I decided I was the perfect guy for the job.
About four hours into it, I was crawling through the (appropriately named) crawlspace, when I got wedged under a beam and was stuck, face down in the dirt. At first, the force with which I was wedged seemed to be all that was keeping me there: after a moment, however, the beam felt to me like the entire weight of the house was on my back. Having just signed a 30-year mortgage, the metaphor was not lost on me.
So now, after battling the elements around the house for two weeks, I now see why they call the outdoor areas of prisons “The Yard.”
Let’s not even talk about moving the fence: that’s a discussion for another day. I’m just talking about what should be the normal maintenance of a normal yard, with all the modern conveniences and labor-saving options installed. And yet, everything seems to contradict everything else. Nothing makes sense.
Take the pool, for example. When we moved in, we had drainage problems in the back yard. So, for umpteen thousands of dollars, we had a complex drainage system installed. Then we decided we wanted a pool, which is essentially a hole in your backyard where the water doesn’t drain. But to put it in, we had to have the complex drainage system taken out and moved. Okay, par for the course.
But it’s not. The overflow to the pool doesn’t drain (which we found out in our recent torrential Southern California rains). One of the drains in the yard drains into the overflow. The downspouts from the garage make the drain by the grill gush out like a geyser, and if you throw a leaf in one drain, it could turn up anywhere. Plus, there’s a hole in the ground that only seems to jet a slurry of mud directly into the pool.
But hey, I can do the Rubik’s Cube, right?
I have made it my credo to embrace complexity. Our understanding of the world doesn’t come from the likes of Dr. Phil: I go in knowing how knotty the problem can become, and proceed unafraid.
I will spare you the horrible details, but suffice it to say I bought a 50-foot drain snake and started flossing my backyard. I couldn’t tell what was where and which was what, until I struck upon the idea of shouting into the drains and having my family members listen at the other ones, like the communications system on a World War II submarine. Mapping it out, I realized exactly where the clog must be, and how to dislodge it. I would jam the garden hose down that drain, force it along until it got to the clog, and let the force of the mighty Los Angeles Department of Water and Power do the work for me.
All was going well until the hose got clogged. I tried to clear it with my pinky, the results of which can be seen above.
As I watch the red sky, just after sunset, I pray it doesn’t rain for the next few years, which should give my drains enough time to dry out. Then I can get that air compressor hose down there, and really clean it out.
