Working at the Cabin

That summer, Grandpa and Dad built a fence around the property to keep deer and other animals out of the garden and the yards around the cabins, although they didn't include the wash along the north side.  It was full of big rocks and there wasn’t anything they could do there except hang up a tire swing for the kids to play on. 

Every day they brought water from the spring that was about 1/2 a mile down the creek.  It was good, fresh water, but it was a lot of work driving down, filling up jugs, and then carting them way back to our place.  As soon as they could, Dad and Grandpa began digging a well.   They chose a likely spot close to the base of the hill.  Dad dug and dug, until the hole was so deep you couldn’t even see his head.  It was hard work, and dad was tired every night when he climbed out of the well.  His muscles ached and he was covered with dirt.  Some people would have wondered how he could call this a ‘vacation’, but Dad actually seemed to enjoy it.   The only real problem he had digging the well was when the generator caused the hole to fill up with carbon monoxide.  Dad passed out, but Grandpa got him out OK.

 The hole was 12 feet deep when water began flowing in and Dad had to stop digging.   That should have been good, but for some reason the well filled up with sand and didn't work right.  It was sure frustrating to have worked so hard for nothing, but in the end he had to move out away from the hill and dig another well.  This time Dad dug down about 17 feet, but when he reached water it was good and soon filled the bottom of the hole.  He and Grandpa put a pipe down into the well, covered it, and attached a red hand pump.  That was the sweetest, coldest water anyone ever tasted!  Keith and Gale got such a kick out of pumping the handle and watching cold water gush out.  It splashed into the old bucket Grandma left sitting beside the pump, and then they scooped up handfuls and washed their faces or got a drink.  It didn't take long for the kids to learn how to pump with one hand and hold a cup with the other so they could take their drink with them while they ran to play on the swing. 

There was a spot at the foot of the hill that looked like a good place to build a root cellar where Grandma could store vegetables and food to keep it cool.  Dad had lots of dynamite left over from working at Grandpa Johnson’s mine, but Mom wasn’t very happy at the idea of using it.  She remembered spending the summers at Grandpa’s mine in Utah when she was a little girl, and the stories he told about the dangers of dynamite.  The miners would put multiple charges down in the mine, with fuses of different lengths.  Then they would climb out of the mine, light the first fuse, and count as each charge blew up.  The danger came when not all of the charges blew.  Probably it was a dud, but there was always a chance it might blow up when the miners went back into the hole.

Dad assured Mom that it was safe to use dynamite on the hill.   He was experienced with it, and he told her there was nothing to worry about since they would only use one charge at a time.  Still, Mom took Keith and Gale down to the creek to play when Dad got the sticks of dynamite out. The problem was that Dad didn’t know the soil was very tight there, packed with thousands of small rocks and pebbles.  When the dynamite exploded, it threw rocks everywhere, including at the tent which wasn’t very far away.  Rocks also hit the trailer and broke one of the windows.  That was when Dad decided to give up the idea of a root cellar.