Ditches

I was through with hiring contractors. I needed to solve the problem of water flowing towards the house and studio. So I figured out where the problem areas were, carefully read instructions on how to make drainage ditches, bought some perforated plastic drainage tubing and worked out a system: a French drain for the length of the front of the studio and buried plastic drains to perforated drains from the back of the house gutter pipes.

I called up the manager of the men's mission in town and had him find two good laborers for me. I picked up two men at the crack of dawn and we spent the day digging trenches together, laying drainage tubing and gravel and then covering it back up. I bought us all a big pizza lunch and after work snacks. They were two of the best workers I had throughout and you know they weren't expensive.


In the above photo, you can see a pile of of shoes and boots. I do not want to tell you how many pairs I went through over the course of the building! Dirt inside the shoes and boots. Dirty feet. Dirty floors.

Dirt

Who knew that I would become one with dirt? For a while, I swear that I was channeling a dirt farmer from 1930's Oklahoma.

I raked up all the straw and hired someone else to come in and re-grade the yard. Water continued to accumulate and there were still little holes around the yard. I also discovered that the guys who originally "graded" the lawn had used rocky subsoil to replace my earthworm rich topsoil. When I called the original "grader" back to discuss the problems, he came back long enough to scream at me in my own back yard, telling me that I disgusted him. His exact words.

I walked back and forth up and down the yard pulling up emerging rocks. Admittedly it became my obsession. There was something fun about getting all muddy and dirty and something satisfying about doing back-breaking outdoor work in early summer heat. I ate huge farmer breakfasts after a few hours of dirt work in the morning. When I would finally quit in the evening, there was nothing left to do but put my feet up.

First Grading

Here's the scene after the first grading. You know there's something coming up if I'm talking about the "first" grading. But it looks all right from here. As soon as the guys finished grading, we spread clover seed, scattered hay and then it rained. Actually, we got a lot of rain. Then I noticed a few small lakes. You can see the depression from one below.





















This was not the only depression. There were at least three places that accumulated water during rain. I also could not help but notice that the water would run toward, not away from the house and the studio.

Oh, I wish I had a copy of Carl Hiaasen's Stormy Weather so that I could quote the paragraph about the truckload of "construction worker" cousins from Tennessee... I happened to be reading that just about this time and it was a life saver.

Before Grading

The yard was pretty ripped up from the trucks and the trenching. I'd remembered J. telling me that I'd have to have the yard graded after all the trucks were through. I did not know anything about grading. All the trucks were through. I was still under the mistaken impression that people who advertised themselves as professionals knew what they were doing. I was about to make my biggest mistake.





















Do you ever look back at an action you've taken and wondered why, when your better instincts were telling you something was wrong, you did not pay attention? I certainly have. My next door neighbor recommended a man to grade my yard and I should have looked further.

I also should have educated myself more about the process and brought in at least a second opinion but for some reason, I did not. I even had a chance to back out because before we had set a date for grading, I just happened to look out the kitchen window to see a crowd of guys with shovels and rakes coming up the back yard from the alley. I told them to come back after we'd made an appointment. That was my chance to back out but I didn't.