Suddenly, I'm the handyman.

One day late in May I phoned one of my favourite people up in cottage country.

“So, Ray, I’ve got a long list for you, you ready to do some work?” “Nope!” (stunned silence on the phone) “Nope? Whadd’ya mean, nope!?” “‘Cause I quit, I’m too old for this and I’m just not going to do it anymore.”

The feeling that life on Rebel’s Isle had taken an irreversible turn for the worse sent a chill up my spine and into my brain. There was a faint buzzing sound - kind of like a dial tone when a call is abruptly disconnected. Anyone remember dial tones? If you follow this saga you’ll know that I have an almost infantile dependence on Ray Harvey, all around cottage handyman. As a handyman Ray has his flaws but they are small and forgivable. And one thing we all know is Ray’s as reliable as the rising sun. There was never any need to ask when Victoria Day rolls around if the water was in, and when I closed up after Thanksgiving the water system was always drained and put to sleep for the winter. You never had to ask. And when a problem occurred you could call Ray and he’d jump into his floating workshop with never a whine about this being Sunday afternoon. So I took the news badly, even though I didn’t let on. The good, compassionate and caring me poured forth saying all the right things: “Well, Ray, nobody deserves a rest better than you, and I’m just grateful for all you’ve done, blah, blah, blah...” The real me all the while thinking who’s going to do the water? Who’ll come a-running when things break? What about my list? I kept all that to myself as I slipped into damage control. “So, Ray, any ideas about who might take over your cottages? I’d be interested in your recommendation.” That put him back on his heels a bit. I don’t know, but something tells me he hadn’t thought this all the way through. We cottagers may be a dependent bunch but we are not easily dismissed. As the summer wore on I think Ray’s resolve was worn down by all his cottagers' whining because when closing up time came along there he was once again frog-walking and belly crawling in the crawl spaces, taking out the water. Seems he’d tried to find a replacement Ray but couldn’t. And it never occurred to him that it was our problem, not his. I knew this couldn’t last. When you start pushing past eighty even the best of us has to slow down. When Spring came around it was time for Ray to make it real. His wife delivered the ultimatum when I phoned, “He’ll put in the water one more time, but that’s it. No more. He’s not doing the Fall” Nor should he, thought I, the pasture beckons for our dear friend. Then a terrifying thought struck. We’ve run out of Rays. He couldn’t find another handyman because there isn’t one to be found. That in mind I made a deal with two people. The deal with Ray was instead of him putting in the water this spring let’s do it together, show me how and I’ll do it myself from then on. The deal with me was, grow up. Join all those guys who look after their cottages all by themselves. Thus entered a new phase of life on Rebel’s Isle. Learning to do the water.

After the fourth time I banged my head against the floor joists under the cabin I resolved to buy a hockey helmet. Why anyone would want to do this twice a year is one of the mysteries about cottage country labour I will never understand. Years ago our honourary grandfather, Jim, installed a simple hose and clamp water system. “Paul, when are you going to let me put in a proper system for you?”, as if I’d been stalling him for years, “I’ve got a good used pump and Darryl has a shower he wants to get rid of!” He had us for sure at the word, “shower”. We were two years into cottaging, and bathing in the lake had lost its feral charm. We dreamed of a hot shower. The system he installed has lasted close to 28 years, and it works but not always well. A hose and clamp water system is by nature a set of leaks waiting to happen. As the pump turns on and off the water pressure surges and the whole system writhes like a den of snakes and eventually something shakes itself loose. And hose is not like pipe. Hose runs in slack loops all about the cottage’s dusty underbelly. There’s a low spot in the line that runs the full length of the cottage and it will freeze if not disconnected in the Fall. I believe this was discovered when the burst hose sprayed all over one Spring. I don’t know that because I wasn’t there.

I’m there now. I’m flat as I can make myself in the under cabin dust. I am on my back with a propane torch in one hand and a nut wrench in the other. The torch is to soften the hose, the wrench is to tighten the clamps. The clamps, two of them, are there to reconnect the low spot in the line that has to be unfastened each Fall so the line will drain, and reconnected every Spring so the line will make showers, teeth-brushing, and use of the toilet possible. This has been going on for twenty eight years!!? Why not just run a straight line of pipe with a bit of a slope to it? It’s a mystery, but I’m going to fix it this Summer. Stay tuned folks, I sense the approach of a learning experience. But I digress. Right now I am under the cottage sneezing dust and spider webs because Ray took me up on the deal. He even brought his son along to assist just in case. I was true to my word about doing the work with his instruction but I wound up doing more watching than working. Just as well. I was allowed to screw on the foot valve, and forgive me if I drop some terms like foot valve and pressure tank without explaining. There’s only so much room here. Foot valve installed, Ray put on his waders and stepped carefully among the slippery rocks to lay the water line in the brutally cold spring lake. (Note to self: buy some waders) Priming the pump.

We are a hushed and serious group gathered under the cottage, gazing at the winter-dormant pump. This is an annual ceremony called the priming of the pump. Priming in pump lingo means first water. Water must fill the pump before it can be made to work. There’s an old folk song about this that speaks to the serious business of priming the hand pump at a desert water hole. It’s a life and death matter. At the base of the pump is a bottle of water with a note attached from Desert Pete: “You have to prime the pump, you must have faith and believe; you have to give of yourself before you’re worthy to receive; drink all the water you can hold, wash your face, cool your feet. But leave a bottle full for others, thank you kindly, Desert Pete”.

It’s a tense few moments as Ray connects his hand pump to the pipe. (note to self, buy a hand pump) As he works the lever back and forth we can hear the intake hose gurgling and sputtering until the water bursts forth drenching us in the holy sacrament. This was my time to actually do something. Gently I spun the pressure tank, a bright blue metal bulb with a rubber diaphragm inside that tells the pump when to turn on and off, onto the pipe at the top of the pump. Then came the moment when we switched on the pump and watched as the needle slowly rose in the pressure gauge to 50psi and the pump fell silent. And then the needle began to slowly drop, the pump switched on but no more water flowed. Quickly turning off the pump so as not to burn it out, we began again. Now I’d like to tell everyone that we encountered and solved a problem but really all we did was remove the pressure tank, reconnect the hand pump, get ourselves even wetter as we primed the thing again. The second prime took and there’s no explaining why. I’ve a lot of new experiences ahead of me and this was just one of them. I conclude for now it’s a mystery. The day was over, the water was in and Ray and his son left Rebel’s Isle in the hands of the new caretaker. We’ve got no water, call Ray!

The following weekend was spent elsewhere and that’s all the time the pump needed to lose it’s prime. What did I do? I called Ray. It’s a reflex. He had left me with the words, “And if you need help you can still call me.” which I took to mean don’t call unless it’s serious. But we needy people don’t easily let go. The phone message went something like, “Sorry to bother you but the pump seems to have lost its prime and I don’t have a hand pump, can I borrow yours?” knowing full well that he’d bring it over and wind up fixing things for me again. Lucky for both of us that I didn’t get through to him directly. As I settled in to wait for his call this antsy feeling crept over me. I didn’t have a priming pump so I felt lost. Then I began to think like a handyman. I don’t need a pump, I need to get water into this thing somehow. Water can be carried in a bucket. Aha! Never mind that pouring from a bucket into a 1” pipe spills a lot of water and makes a lot of mud to kneel in. It took a while but I filled the pump, reinstalled the pressure tank, hit the switch and woo-hoo! We had water! My call to Ray saying “Never mind, I got it handled” must have been sweet relief to him. To me it was the verbal version of a shit-eatin’ grin.

That would have been enough “my hero” stuff for one weekend as a fledgling handyman but I’d ambitious plans. The Sun-Mar composting toilet had lost its vent fan last year. It went poof just as it was becoming clear there would be no Ray around to install a new one for me. The replacement fan assembly arrived at our home in the city complete with instructions that made no sense at all. So I felt a little bleak about this thing but somehow up in its natural setting it didn’t look so bad. Sitting in the pine duff staring at the old burnt out part with the new one close at hand I began to imagine how it must have gone together. I didn’t need those useless instructions, before my eyes was a living manual. Reverse installing, I visualized the last parts that must have gone in, and I began to pull it apart, peeling it like a virgin bride to reach its inner parts. Soon all its pieces were arranged neatly in order on the ground at my feet and I understood it all.

Can’t say the new assembly went in without incident. Once the last piece was attached with all twelve of its stainless steel screws tightened just so, I noticed this black rubber gasket still in the box. Funny, the old assembly didn’t have a gasket. Or did it? Did Jim get this far along with the first one before he noticed the gasket, just like me? And did he then decide the gasket wasn’t necessary? Or maybe the design has changed? Yes, that’s it, the first one didn’t come with a gasket. Jim would never leave out a part, would he? I’ll never know, but I pulled the thing apart again and installed it with its full rubber gasket. It’s all together now and it works. I’m not going to crow over this, I know something awful lies in wait for me and I don’t want to mess with my karma. Whatever the new challenge, I will face it bravely as chief handyman on Rebel’s Isle. But I can’t say I really like doing this stuff. I’d rather go kayaking or fishing or just about anything else-ing. I’m sure not going to go belly crawling or frog walking under anyone’s cabin but my own. Note from Annie: “The rest of you are safe!”