by Curt Kovener
After I flushed, I heard an extra gurgle or two and for a longer period of time.
That’s odd, thought I.
But the septic tank hadn’t had any formal attention (that’s the most polite way I can say it) since I bought the place back in that other millennium.
You should know that the house at the wilderness sits on a ridge and the septic tank is down about 40’ in a valley in back. I had grown accustomed to the post flushing sound of ploop…ploop…ploop heard via the plumbing vent. But now there was one less ploop and some prolonged gurgling.
Mayhaps it is time I call the septic tank pumperman, I think.
To get to the tank in the valley, multiflora roses, green briar, saplings and 10 years of storm damaged downed trees and limbs needed to be cleared to make room for the septic tank truck.
Not having any idea how wide and tall of a path was required; I called a Brown County based septic tank service. I figured that they would be more familiar with navigating hills & hollers with trees that are found in the wilderness.
So I called the septic tank company to find out how big of a path I needed to clear.
“We use a Freightliner truck,” the lady who answered the phone said in response to my question.
“That…that…that’s semi size,” I stammered.
“Yes, but its just a straight truck,” she said.
I thought (but did not verbalize) that I did not care about its sexual preference. I was still envisioning how big of a hole I would have to cut through about 100 yards of trees, tree debris, and briars.
So much of my weekend was spent with a weed whacker, mower, and chainsaw making what I hope the septic pumperman will determine to be a fine roadway to his (ahem) ‘honey hole’.
Hopefully the noisy roar of two-cycle engines will eventually restore the reassuring post flush ploop…ploop…ploop.
