I returned to the farm Sunday morning to finish the hydrant project we’d begun the day before. I asked Justin to do most of the walking to retrieve tools as my heel was worse than ever. We had down time when the plumber realized he needed a fitting he would have to return to his shop to retrieve, so spent frustrating time trying to identify the myriad of water shut-off valves in our main supply closet and what they actually shut off. Amazingly, after twenty years in operation, none had ever been labeled.
Once the plumber returned and repaired the leak, we backfilled our hole with gravel, tamped it down and covered where once there was concrete with the horse mats. “I’m pretty sure you and I are the only ones who will know and the next time repair work needs to be done, we’ll do it without a jack hammer,” I said.
My heel was on fire, but like the man I am, I whined only constantly as I drove to the store to pick up burgers for dinner. On the ride, I called Jason. “Would you mind coming over a little early and cooking the burgers? My heel is killing me and I’d like to just put it on ice once I get home,” I said.
“Dad...is that you? Sounds like a little girl whining, is all,” he replied.
I could use a little respect, but don’t expect to get it from the people who know me well.
I wrapped my heel in ice at 2:30 and kept it there until I couldn’t feel anything below the ankle. I managed to go over my Adirondack High Peaks trail guide and figure out where I’d be hiking next Friday. It was looking more and more like I’d be going alone and with the heel issue, I decided that I’d keep it to a shorter, less formidable hike, instead of the 15-miler I’d planned for Mt. Seward. I think I’ll save that one for the only guy who can out-whine me when John and I return mid-August.
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