Kinsler: Further adventures in game management
Neither I nor a series of exterminators could clear our basement of wildlife nor quench the evil odors that periodically blew out. And the creatures were persistent and fearless, which our geriatric cats are not. At first, we thought we could live with the situation, for nobody visits the basement except me.
I finally lost patience and did some research. Neither creature-food nor water were available downstairs to feed the colony. There was but one conclusion: inhabitants of the city sewers were coming from there through an undetected hole in our sewer pipes and thence into the basement.
So I went spelunking for treasure, or at least some enlightenment. A portion of sewer pipe, probably installed by Caesar and Cleopatra’s Quality Plumbing, was visible but soon disappeared into a stone wall. With hammer and chisel, I enlarged the hole around it, finally opening a modest peep-hole through which I observed a substantial brick wall, someone having decided that the aesthetics of our basement would be enhanced by hiding all the plumbing.
I fired up my hammer drill to remove some mortar and whole bricks from that wall until I could glimpse the big slanting 4” cast-iron pipe. It smelled particularly ripe there between the stone wall and the brick wall that covered it, so I stuck my arm as far in as it would reach, inching along with my delicate fingers to feel a large, jagged hole rusted through the top of the pipe.
Inspired, I began to break out the heavy bricks, the removal of which revealed that the hole I’d felt was maybe 8 feet long: the pipe was missing its entire top half. It acted like an open gutter and had been doing so for a generation or so. At one point, my beloved flushed the upstairs toilet and the water therefrom flowed through.
“I saw you go by,” I told her.
“You what?” she replied, becoming progressively greener as I explained.
Over the next three days I dug, demolished, and finally dealt with the ancient joints at each end of the old pipe. These were sealed with oakum, a sticky varnished rope, held in place by molten lead poured upon it. The only way to separate the joint was to apply heat with a ferocious propane torch hastily purchased for the occasion. After fifteen minutes molten lead began to drip out and the oakum caught fire. Natalie contends that I still smell like the acrid smoke thus produced.
The second pipe joint was inexplicably located in the soil beyond the basement wall, and I enjoyed an entire day tunneling through earth and rock to reach and burn it out. The new white plastic pipe looks hideous but emits neither odors nor animal life. It’ll take some work to clear bricks, mortar, and soil from the Scene of Battle.
Natalie thinks I’m a hero. And it seems we still love each other.
Mark Kinsler, kinsler33@gmail.com, continually repairs antique clocks and an antique house in Lancaster. Natalie and her two-cat Council of Supervisors preside.
This article originally appeared on Lancaster Eagle-Gazette: Kinsler: Further adventures in game management
