Hubby inherited a terrible trait from his mother... He's a worrier. He's notorious for hearing noises coming from every corner of the house and barn. And when he hears them, oh, it must be something major that will cost a fortune to repair. I know I'm supposed to be supportive of him, but most of the time these catastrophes strike, I ignore them.
Wednesday, he kept telling me that the pressure tank was kicking on and off all day and night. "Don't you hear that?" "I don't hear anything." "How can you not hear that?"
I worked in a factory for many years. Give me a break! Besides, if you can hear that over the TV, why can't you hear me call for you?
On to Thursday: Houston, we have a problem... This time he was right. It was actually the well pump he heard echoing through the pipes. (I must speak very softly.) Anyway, the spigot by the well head appeared to have a leak. Digging about 6 inches down, we could see water circulating.
Fortunately, Hubby's buddy & boss has a backhoe. That's him reaching for the propane tank with a cigarette in his mouth. That's part of my 6'5" hubby in the hole and his dad watching to make sure they do everything right.
There's nothing more fun than watching someone have to work in a deep slippery clay hole. Oh wait... yes, there is... Hosing them off when they're done!
Good thing we live far back from the road. I made Hubby strip down as I hosed the caked clay from each layer. Brrrr! Well water sure is cold!