Today, an ode to a small, slimy, oft overlooked device that is a cornerstone of storm survival.
The Sump Pump
ALL HAIL THE SUMP PUMP!
As has been plenty reported in the news, the American west is getting one hell of a series of storms.
And as I've mentioned here on the blog plenty times, I live near the bottom of a hill.
What that means is the rainwater doesn't stop here, but it all has to pass me by on the way down.
Occasionally it can get trapped on its journey wending downward toward storm drains and ultimately, the Bay.
The evening of the first big storm, I said to The Good Man, "you know, I want to get under the house to check to be sure we're not getting water."
See? My spidey senses were going off. Something told me something wasn't right.
But I thought, "nah, it's probably fine" and went on about my life. The thought of strapping on the wellies and going outside didn't sound as good as a nice hot cuppa in the warm house.
So another day rolled by, and then another. Yesterday I was out bringing in the garbage cans when I said to myself, "well, the wellies are already strapped on and I'm half damp. Let's check under the house."
Well, sure enough, there was water. Not so much as to cause damage, but it was getting there.
If left alone, it surely would have risen enough to cause harm to my carefully curated collection of bridesmaids dresses (I believe there are ten, at last count) and my can't quite part with it Ikea furniture that didn't make the cut after The Good Man and I shacked up together.
Ok, fine, I don't have much in the way of treasures stored, but it's *my* junk and I'd like to keep it dry!
I looked at the sump pump wondered, "why isn't this doing the job it was hired to do?"
Then I noticed. It wasn't plugged in.
Well there you have it.
I remembered sometime during the summer the landlord and his son were over here working. They'd unplugged the pump because they needed the outlet for the power tools they were using to re-do the unit next door (duplex house, dontchaknow).
And hell, back in July, there was no real rush to plug it back in.
In January, I leapt upon the cord and shoved it in the socket but quick.
What? Nothing? Is the pump broken? Holy crap, this is chaos! Whatever am I going to do!?!?!
Then my brain, finely hewn by my land grant education, got around to mentioning to me that I might wish to take the pump off the concrete and place it ever so gently into the pool of water.
So I did.
Oh sweet mystery of sump pumping at laaaaast I found you!
That little pump worked non-stop to get all of that water out. Oh sigh of contentment.
Now my heart warms as I hear it kick on every ten to fifteen minutes to remove more water.
Oh happy slimy sump pump, how my satin and sequined and overly bowed dresses love you so.
Here it is, my actual fabulous device! I heart it!