When the first hard freeze hit, icing caused the pumping rod on the windmill to noodle up. When the fan continues to turn, the captured rod can't slide up and down, and begins to twist. It can get amazingly distorted, preventing it from functioning after the ice melts. Bad things happen if this isn't caught soon enough. We know this, yet somehow the first hard freeze always catches us by surprise. This year wasn't as bad as past years, but we still had to straighten the rod. This is bad enough.
On the ground, Aly and I have the top sections of rod on a looong rope lowering it down (no photo obviously because it's reaallly heavy, and I can't be taking pictures which they keep yelling, this being an exciting part). Aly and I eventually get the rod down and beat it back into shape. By this time, there is a little breeze, and Wilbur is getting nervous. We haul the rod back up and he gets it reconnected. At this point he was supposed to climb onto the box at the end of the tail, and change the 5 gallons of hydraulic fluid that keeps things turning smoothly; this is quite a trick for a young guy on a still day. He’s not young, and the fan is beginning to strain at the chain. The fan will have to grind away, as we decide to save this task for another day.
Back on the ground, the three of us try to get the sections of rod hooked back up. This is another tricky part. The unchained fan is turning erratically despite the brake. This is moving the top section of rod. A couple of years ago, I helpfully aligned the two sections while Wilbur and Aly were looking away, so as to quickly thread the sections together. When the two sections bumped, the fan drove them together crumpling the top back into the “S” shape we had just spent some hours fixing. I was unpopular for some time after that, but learned an important lesson—never show initiative when repairing a windmill. This time the sections joined smoothly. We are always surprised when this happens.
Chores are unrelenting during the winter. Most are not as dangerous as working on the windmill, but there’s often a little frisson of anxiety when working around farm equipment. We bring in our own wood for heat, and we each have our own chain saw—mine is the smallest, but it gets the job done. All that wood has to be split, and Wilbur split his fingernail in half the last time he used the splitter. We weren’t surprised when this happened as he tends to bleed on every job; if these were the days of blood sacrifice, this place would be a temple.
It’s gotten cold again (windmill’s disconnected-yay), and it’s snowing, so we’re using more propane in the greenhouses (boo). We have lots of tanks that need to be kept filled, because if the two propagating houses freeze, months of work is lost. This is Wilbur’s job, another case of know-how. After he dealt with the propane, we all bundled up and went out to put the snow blade on the tractor. Pretty soon, he’ll go back out to plow the half mile of drive. If it gets bad enough, Aly will join him on her tractor. They have the tractor know-how. I’m just the cook. It’s good to have people with know-how.
Got to go; just got the second section of scaffolding up on the wall we’re building. When we get time, we work on the interior. Chores...