A Tale of Woe and Poop

Last year, when winter first started, we had a major emergency at the farm house.

The sewer line backed up, a solid unmoving clog, down the septic line. When we first moved in, something similar had happened and the basement flooded then froze and could not be addressed until it unfroze. Now we know what to look for, what to smell for, what to do before it floods. Trust me when I say we take it seriously.

This dedication paid off- we caught it before the water met the spill line of the drain. So there was that. However, fixing the problem was more complicated. Sometimes we can flush a septic tab and all is well, sometimes pushing water all at once works, sometimes we have to rent the big snaker thing from the local hardware store.

None of those worked. I started calling Roto Rooter folks. Suddenly I was 15 phone calls in and this dawning horror of a suspicion descended......our county seemed to be off limits by contract, too far to drive, or xyz excuse for anyone in the septic or plumbing business to service. 30 calls in, I began to realise that my suspicion was in fact true.

I am not kidding.

At that point we were two days in of not being able to do dishes or laundry, including cloth diapers. Bathing was out of the question. Chad was showering while standing in a bucket bin thing and dumping it outside in the morning. We could flush each toilet exactly two times each day and the water level stayed safely not flooding.

On day two, it was an inconvenience. Until Holly started throwing up.

Day four my hair started turning grey and falling out and I was sobbing near constantly. Sounds dramatic?

Of all the tragic, horrific, unbearable things that have happened to me in my life time......day six of this septic issue was the one thing that stood a chance at murdering my resilience and breaking me. I have had three children cut from my body in emergency C-Sections, one without proper anaesthesia. Survived a septic blood infection from a ruptured appendix coupled with custodial neglect as a child.  Survived.

Let me tell you that I am not kidding when I say that this particular situation was so much worse. On day six the pipes froze and other things started that only my female friends can understand the horror of the timing of.

Like every other crisis in my life, when I reached that breaking point, unshowered and broken, I rallied. That's just in my blood. I needed someone to come out and fix this, or tell ME how to do it myself.I think I may have made a few vaguebook posts about sledge hammers and or power augers. I actually rented the power auger. The biggest one. I hauled it home in the back of my Volvo station wagon.

It didn't work.

I drew on the resources of a small town.

For those who don't know, the hardware stores are the social hub of folks who farm, fix, and know things. I called all three and asked for them to tell me who they would recommend (they sell folks the supplies, so they should know!) and the second question, who might know where the friggin septic tank was located. You see, the location of the tank and not just the type, was crucial and several folks I had already called said I needed to verify this before they would drive a pump truck out.

One and only one name was given to me. That one happened to be one I had already called, left a message on their machine, and six days later had not heard back from. I, of course called them again, but I also started calling local construction companies. It may or may not have been in my head that bulldozing the entire house to rubble was my only option.....and those who know my deep love for this farmhouse will know the depth of the horror we were at that point ankle deep in.

My next step was to go down to the local Hyvee at lunch time and stand near the buffet and ask really loudly if anyone knew anything about the Wells Pond Farmhouse Septic tank location. Folks down here cannot contain themselves when they have special knowledge and I knew that if anyone knew? They would tell me or find someone who would. It would be the social event of the day. We did not get to that point, however. I will keep it as a potential strategy of desperation if I ever need it.

Lucky for me Mr. Only Guy in Lucas County Allowed to Do Septic work finally called me back, perhaps due to social pressure? I don't know. That same day Chad rigged up hoses to drain grey water from the washing machines into rubbermaid bins and then out the second floor window and downhill to the ditch. Bonus, the same hoses could be used to drain the bathtub. We had switched to paper plates and Chad washing pots in a bucket too.

I was super excited to find out that this same guy installed the tank....30 years ago. Excited because 1)not the original 1900 system! and 2)HE KNEW THE LOCATION.

My panic washed away and drained to the road, I was more clearheaded. Mr. Septic Guy said he'd be right out.

Five days later? Still not at our farm. I called and asked when I might expect someone, anyone?
* FYI I survived those next five days because once we had the grey water situation figured out, normality and even a sense of purposeful adventure set in. Plus, I threw away the set of sheets that was vomited on, and could finally wash all the other bedding and towels.

The septic company secretary, when she called me back, sympathized and said she would send a sub contractor. Then she added something I only wish I could leave out, but for purposes of making this account accurate I cannot.....It is probably just rats in the drain, honey. That used to happen there, it is an easy fix if we can reach the nest.

Let me summarise what she said, just so you can understand the horror. Rats. Plural. In the drain that goes into my house and has open access in my basement while we monitor water levels. Rats. NEST OF RATS. 

(to be continued)
(Oh yes, I did.)