What brought on the memories of the well sinking was looking at it a couple of days before I posted the story. Dad put another tile on top of the sunk ones and another lid on top of that. Mom now has a birdbath sittong on the top which is about ground level. Once again the earth has sunk a little around the tiles. Probably take less than a wheelbarrow full to fill it in.
Dad was claustrophobic (scared of being trapped in a small space) and more than a little scared of heights. Neither of which slowed him down any. He always worked the top tier in a tobacco barn, and plumbed my grandmothers house when I could barely fit under it. But I got the worst a$$ whipping of my entire life when he was working on the pipes in that old well. I feel another story coming on.
The top tile was about three feet above ground and the pipes to the house entered about three feet below ground level. To work on them Dad would put a four-by-four across the top with a ladder hanging from it. No safety belts or anything, just crawl down the ladder and tie a thick rope on the pipes. The other end was attached to the tractor drawbar. Once the rope was attached he would pull the well pipes loose and exit the well. He would be moving faster than I had ever seen him move when he came out. Then fire up the tractor and slowly pull out all 120+ feet of black pipe and finally the pump. Reverse the prcess to put it back. An OSHA inspecter would have a heart attack to watch the procedure but at about ten years of age I thought it pretty cool.
One day we had pulled the pump out and Dad had repaired it. I had slowly driven the tractor forward and he fed the pipe back into the well. Tractor was stopped, brakes set, and Dad held the ladder while I shoved the 4x4 through it. He climbed down into the well and I started putting the lid on top of it. I thought it was funny and it was obvious that the top could not be covered with a 4x4 across it and the top two or three rungs of the ladder sticking out. Dad did not think it funny (understatement of the year). I probably got the top a foot on when he came flying out grabbed me and whipped my a$$ as hard as I had ever got, not that I got that many.
Mom came out to see what was going on and when Dad told her she knew better than to laugh but wanted to. He couldn't get back down the ladder into the well and had to call my uncle to do it. Uncle thought the story was funny and gave me a five dollar bill which made Dad even madder at me.
I wonder now what kept him from panicing and falling in. And it makes me respect him more knowing that he fought his fears to actually get down in the well in the first place.
Dad was claustrophobic (scared of being trapped in a small space) and more than a little scared of heights. Neither of which slowed him down any. He always worked the top tier in a tobacco barn, and plumbed my grandmothers house when I could barely fit under it. But I got the worst a$$ whipping of my entire life when he was working on the pipes in that old well. I feel another story coming on.
The top tile was about three feet above ground and the pipes to the house entered about three feet below ground level. To work on them Dad would put a four-by-four across the top with a ladder hanging from it. No safety belts or anything, just crawl down the ladder and tie a thick rope on the pipes. The other end was attached to the tractor drawbar. Once the rope was attached he would pull the well pipes loose and exit the well. He would be moving faster than I had ever seen him move when he came out. Then fire up the tractor and slowly pull out all 120+ feet of black pipe and finally the pump. Reverse the prcess to put it back. An OSHA inspecter would have a heart attack to watch the procedure but at about ten years of age I thought it pretty cool.
One day we had pulled the pump out and Dad had repaired it. I had slowly driven the tractor forward and he fed the pipe back into the well. Tractor was stopped, brakes set, and Dad held the ladder while I shoved the 4x4 through it. He climbed down into the well and I started putting the lid on top of it. I thought it was funny and it was obvious that the top could not be covered with a 4x4 across it and the top two or three rungs of the ladder sticking out. Dad did not think it funny (understatement of the year). I probably got the top a foot on when he came flying out grabbed me and whipped my a$$ as hard as I had ever got, not that I got that many.
Mom came out to see what was going on and when Dad told her she knew better than to laugh but wanted to. He couldn't get back down the ladder into the well and had to call my uncle to do it. Uncle thought the story was funny and gave me a five dollar bill which made Dad even madder at me.
I wonder now what kept him from panicing and falling in. And it makes me respect him more knowing that he fought his fears to actually get down in the well in the first place.