The other day my husband Calvin and I were examining our sun-seared lawn (it’s a unlovely shade of burnt umber). On a slope under the magnolia tree, Cal found a hole. “Look, we’ve got a sink hole.”
Cal assumed the sink hole came from a water leak. About a year ago, our water line began to leak. Just imagine what that does to your water bill—when the leak’s underground you don’t notice it until the bill comes. After you recover from the heart attack when the water company tells you that you’re responsible for the cost of the water that leaked, you kiss your wife who had the intelligence to get pipe insurance, which though not covering the cost of the water, does cover the cost of the backhoe that is going to rip up your front yard. Thankfully, the line was replaced. They did leave the yard a disaster, but that’s another story.
Back to the “sink hole.” I said to Cal, “No, that’s not a sink hole. It’s a Luke hole, though it’s a second cousin once removed to the water line problem.”
You see, the water line repair people didn’t remove the old line. They just buried it a few inches below the surface. The cut end of the line worked itself out of the ground, and Luke hit it with the lawnmower. The pipe took a chunk out of the blade. Luke was displeased. He got out the pick-ax and shovel—he didn’t know it was the old water line. By the time I wondered what was taking Luke so long to mow the lawn, he’d unearthed a fair amount of the pipe.
“Um, Luke,” I said, “that’s not going to work.” He assured me it was. I explained that unless he wanted to dig up 30 or 40 feet and use the hacksaw, it would be best to rebury the pipe. He did. Then the rain came and washed away some of the loose dirt. Now we have a “sink hole.” And it’s the water people’s fault.
P.S. I want to thank everyone who encouraged me on my revisions!! Writing is such a solitary pursuit that it’s great to have people cheering me on.