Dauble

Tree frogs chirp a frantic pre-mating serenade from the tiny spring-creek that adjoins the side yard. Chokecherry trees fill the overhead canopy with snowy blossoms. The bloom of daffodils and narcissus brightens walking paths. South-facing slopes are ablaze with the golden burst of balsamroot and the magenta of low-lying phlox.

For the past five months our cabin property has sat cold and lonely. Except for the rumbling echo of the river, the wintertime surround is quiet. Visits last no more than two nights. Gallon jugs filled with tap water are hauled for drinking and washing. Meals are typically leftovers reheated in the microwave. Dinnerware is shunned for paper plates and bowls. Water is boiled on the wood stove.

In early spring, the sun’s azimuth shifts to initiate its slow climb above Bobsled Ridge, bringing welcome heat and light to the canyon floor. Exposed basalt cliffs weep as frozen ground thaws. Whitetail deer show up to graze on greening tufts of bunchgrass. A black bear might be observed wandering along a brush-filled draw. With the last freeze of the year in the rearview mirror, it’s time to open up dormant water lines.

A shallow well, reliably fed by near-surface groundwater at a constant 54℉, is our primary water source. Turning on the water is an attentive process that begins with re-installing shower fixtures that were removed to reduce the risk of freeze damage. Cut-off valves are then opened. Next on the list of start-up tasks is to replace the small nut to the bleed valve on the well pump. Do not drop the nut into the well, in which case you will have to fish it out with a long-handled butterfly net, I remind myself.

A 2-gallon galvanized bucket filled with water from the spring-creek primes the pump. Hot and cold spigots at the kitchen sink are opened wide. I turn on the power switch to the pump. Water gurgles. Empty pipes fill. Fixtures cough and spit accumulated rust. The pressure gauge on the pump builds slowly to 50 psi while Nancy monitors water feeds to the sinks, hot water heater, and bathroom fixtures.

What follows her shout of “No leaks!” is my loud exclamation of “Yea!”

Regular issues with the cabin’s eight-decades-old plumbing always leads to nervous caution: leaks in a sink drain pipe, stuck cutoff valves, cast iron pipe in the shower ceiling and/or wall that freezes and splits. The latter debacle causes the most consternation. A damaged shower pipe means cutting out and replacing ceiling and/or wall sheetrock, followed by taping and spackling, sanding, priming and painting. These unwelcome repairs must be completed before the first hot shower of the year can be taken. Needless to say, poor patch jobs remain as evidence of previous broken pipe events.

Twice in 20 years I’ve had to solicit the help of professional plumbers. One plumber replaced a section of cast iron with ½-inch flexible hose that later failed. Another time, two plumbers showed up to repair a faulty shower valve. Knowing they had already factored travel time into the cost of their visit, I had them install cutoff and drain valves for bathroom pipes and modify the feed to an outdoor spigot. While they collected their tools, I asked for an invoice.

“I will email it after I work it up,” the lead plumber replied.

Big surprise when I received a four-figure bill. It seems I had paid for a training session. When I called the plumbing service to ask why they expected me to pay for an assistant plumber to hand a journeyman his tools, I was told, “You could have asked for one.”

I will be sure to do so next time.

Last on my list of annual spring chores is removing the wood lathe that secures poly insulating sheeting on the outside frame of west-facing windows. Bright sunlight streams into the dining room for the first time since late October. Someday I will replace these old windows with double panes.

For the first time in a decade, I remove the wire mesh window screens that are located on the backside of the cabin. It’s unlikely that anyone will notice but I brush off the dusty cobwebs. Chipped paint on the window frames and sills then catches my eye. Although painting is not on my list of things to do, I brighten up the trim with an oil-based primer. The afternoon sun filters through budding maple trees and warms my back.

No plumbing debacles this year, which leads to free time. I drain well-used water from my cattle tub spa and fill it with fresh spring water from the outdoor spigot. I play darts by myself on the deck. I take a nap. I walk over to the river and look for signs of steelhead spawning. I gather a small bouquet of flowers for Nancy. I sit in the Adirondack chair built from curved branches of seasoned fir and watch cumulus clouds roll up the canyon.

Wood smoke rises from a batch of fall chinook salmon in the cooker-smoker. The family corgi lingers vigilant, hoping for a chunk of fish to fall through an opening in the grill. With the cabin now open for the year, there’s not much for me to do except wait for the honey-sweet odor of mock orange bloom, the whir of hummingbird wings at the sugar water feeder, and the first morel of the year to show.