El pico

Off and on over the last few months, I’ve been doing maintenance at our little country place. It becomes a little inconvenient, such as today when I needed the pressure washer and realized I never brought it back after cleaning out there. Off we go!

But at least I knew where it was. The pick was different. It’s my weapon of choice for uprooting thistles, and it had disappeared. Not in the house, not in the galpón (shed/barn). I sometimes leave it in the middle of the yard when cutting grass, but I hadn’t seen it anywhere. Would someone have stolen it? Hard to imagine.

So, after washing frog turds off the kitchen sink, I grabbed the power washer, turned to leave, and voilá.

Almost like I’m playing tricks on myself.

The birds

Last couple months I’ve been spending some time with the little fixer-upper house in the country which we thoroughly redid eleven years ago, briefly lived in a couple times by others, but otherwise gradually regaining its fixer-upper status. as poorly-built structures in the country tend to do.

The last time I had been there, I was painting the rejas, or metal bars over the windows. This time I noticed bits of organic matter in the kitchen sink.

Looking overhead, I saw more in my overhead light fixture.

And more in the refrigerator.

Whatever birds they were had either not gotten very far, or were frustrated with the inadequate environment. Which is good. Nesting birds inside the house just doesn’t seem like a desirable thing.

Of course I made a note to myself: the next time you open all the windows and screens in the house for painting or cleaning or whatever – close the damn things before you leave!

A simple plumbing solution

I’ve been running longer than usual lately, so I’ll revert to “short and…” – well, come to think of it, talking about septic systems probably doesn’t qualify as “sweet.” In fact, it wasn’t at all when someone finally stayed in our little refurbished farm house and had to cover the bathroom floor drain with plastic wrap because of the smell.

When we finally got around to examining the mechanics, the problem was quite obvious. The toilet (which of course has a water trap built into it) dumps into a (how Pompeain!) concrete box. The sitzbad drain goes into the bathroom floor drain, then to this same box outside.

Uruguayan plumbing fail

So think about it: the residue from the toilet flows through this box to the septic tank (pozo negro), which then creates smelly gas that wafts its way back up the same pipe and follows the path of least resistance. The toilet is blocked by a water trap, and the concrete lid is more or less airtight, goes where does it go? Up the pipe to the floor drain, of course!

The solution was simple, and took just a few minutes: stick in a cut-off sifón (kitchen sink thingie) and make a little trap. The water in the bottom of the “U” stops gas in its tracks. (“Stop gas in its tracks!” I should be in advertising.) Anything to the right of the “U” I could cut off, but I left just because. You. Never. Know.

plumbing trap solution, Uruguay

Since I didn’t post it in my September 2013 Sitzbad post, I want to mention that the plumbing fail I describe here was balanced by ingenuity, a solution to the “geyser” problem of the floor drain when emptying the sitzbad. The next day Martín returned with one of his daughter’s glass marbles, dropped it into the bath drain, and – pim pam pum – problem solved! The marble reduces the flow by 75%, and it works!

I’ve mentioned before (I’m sure) that Uruguayans can be incredibly resourceful. Had we actually been using the farmhouse with its one bathroom, I have no doubt Martín would have sorted this, no doubt even more elegantly.

On the other hand, in testing this, when I went into the bathroom to turn on the shower/sitzbad water, one of the slate tiles on the step of his sitzbad creation came loose and dropped to the floor.

Of course.

 

 

 

Blueberries! and more

Blueberries in Uruguay

In addition to fresh (harvested before your eyes) affordable organic produce, Saturdays in November include a chance to pick blueberries.

My haul of blueberries in Uruguay

In a half hour or so, I had three kilos (6.6 pounds). Cost? Just under US$2 per pound.

Neighbor cutting our field, Uruguay

Checking in our nearby chacra, I met a neighbor I don’t know cutting our field using the tractor of our immediate neighbor, who I gave access for his cows. I was expecting to borrow his tractor and do it myself, but seeing the grass, I realize it’s much to his cows’ benefit. What he’s cutting is some kind of nasty brushy weed that the cows ignore. The grass they will like.

Reminded me of the time I couldn’t fix the fence.

My Saturday in UY

We really appreciate the opportunity, every other week, to buy fresh-as-you-can-get-it organic produce at bargain prices. Here Ricardo has just harvested a variety of acelga (Swiss chard) for us. Acelga is arguably the vegetable in Uruguay — if you order ravioli or canelones con verduras in a restaurant the verduras will be acelga. You can get it year-round. It took us a year or two to realize this was our desirable spinach substitute, since spinach is only occasionally available. And needs much more washing.

Feria Organica near Atlántida, Uruguay

So then off to our chacra nearby where the in-places knee-high grass needed cutting. A couple of wild ducks flew into our tajamar, but decided the noise of the lawn mower was offensive, and left. I had seen one on my previous trip. Other posts about the pond we created. It’s an interesting experiment in “letting nature do its thing.”

Wild ducks in our pond, Uruguay

Then there was the twice-monthly (because “bimonthly” can mean either twice a month or every two month; thanks English language) Atlántida-area English-speakers’ get together. 23 people showed up. Many lively (and funny!) discussions. Nationalities included Uruguay, US, Canada, England, Holland, and Germany. On other occasions we’ve had South Africans, Argentines, and no doubt others I can’t think of right now.


And this Saturday Occupy Couch performance art.

benji-couch

The view from the top

Last year, we installed a windmill over the hand dug well at our chacra (small farm). I got an upgrade by taking a larger-than-quoted demo unit in place of a brand new one. Hey, why not, these things last a long time. They had to disassemble this unit; win-win. Almost: sometimes when you engage it, something sticks and the tail fin doesn’t go perpendicular to the rotation of the fan blades.

In other words, it does nothing. Which it did the other day.

And the something that sticks is way at the top. Where I have never ventured. But now it’s out of warranty, so up I went the wire ladder, consoling myself that it would at least make an awesome photo op.

Which it didn’t. Oh well.

The more I looked at the mechanism at the top, the less I could understand where the problem lay. Then I looked further up, and saw the tail fin perpendicular to the fan blades. In other words, the mechanism worked. But the windmill didn’t, given the unusual and complete absence of wind. Problem solved? Ya veremos. We will see.

dogs
Careful, kitty, the Great Dane has you in the focus of his transmogrification device!

We visited with our country neighbor, Mariana the veterinarian, who boards dogs and took in the lovely dog in the upper right, Benji, whom we rescued from a neighbor’s yard (with their permission; poor thing was on a 5-foot chain and yowling all day long in misery). Unfortunately, Benji has the people skills of a database technician (due apologies, yada yada), and during his last “interview” with an enthusiastic family with kids, walked away from them, curled up under a tree, and went to sleep.

Windmills that work, but don’t; dogs that are lovely, but aren’t. Must be a Zen thing.

Our remarkable new house

We have finally taken possession of a narrow strip of farmland (5.6 hectares, 13.837901 acres) about ten kilometers inland. Most remarkable about the house is that the couple who raised their family in for twenty years or so never got around to installing running water.

The hand-dug well is only about 20 meters from the back door for your flushing convenience. I think there was a basin, since removed.

The bathroom opening (no door) lies behind this brick curtain wall, which became a pile of rubble today in less than an hour.

To the credit of the sellers – who now live a kilometer down the road in a new house with running water and a fireplace (this one had no heat source other than a wood kitchen stove in the little closet of a kitchen) – the place was clean: not a bit of crap in the house whatsoever. A few bits in that rustic (and rusty) galpon (barn), whose side sheathing consists of the sides of metal barrels that have been straightened.

Will kill for food

All my life, so disconnected with the meat part of my food supply that I’d never killed anything other than a fish to eat. Yesterday changed that. The three boys of friends’ seven suckling pigs were destined for the parrilla.

Click (or don’t) to enlarge images.

These three pigs brought their total to five so far. With experience and other adults the process went faster – but still very time-consuming. Removing the bristles is a lot of work.

Fresh pig ears and tails for the puppy.

From anus to windpipe, everything must go. Weird at first; by the third, I was used to it.

Liver and heart examined by kids. Quite an education.