Got up yesterday morning a little later than usual and hobbled from bunkhouse to the Great Room at Refuge Farm. The phone was resting quietly by the powered chair, which was one of the devices that had called out for emergency back-up electrical power so I could extricate myself from its warm embrace in time of emergency.

That project had dramatic change this week, including (at times) a full working party of husky men and as many as five trucks from the installation company strewn around the gravel drive. Plus occasional mildly disapproving visits from the County Inspector. Hurricane Ida’s remnants passed over (and around the work) which added complexity and minor anxiety, since the change of season is only a few weeks away.

We try to lay-low during the start of The Deer Season, at least until those who hunt have worked out their marksmanship in acceptable directions.

All that activity reminded me it was time to attempt a project of my own. I have been meaning to get to it for a few years, as the Boys periodically remind me. Simple, really. A pal and his lovely bride decided to cash out of Northern Virginia and their joust with the transition to life’s latest stage (another project) and relocated to The Villages down in sun-drenched Florida.

To lighten their load, he bestowed upon me a framed portrait of Che Guevara and a set of antlers that had belonged to someone else. Both had been resting in the back of the Panzer for some time, and there was uncertainty about which should be mounted above the door to the Office complex adjacent to the Motor Pool. In the end, a simple majority voted for mounting real bone rather than the portrait of the noted bone-head.

The spread of work was beginning to interfere with other temporary storage options, and with most of the workmen temporarily off the property, the Writer’s Section took a vote and pointed in my direction. “Hang the freaking antlers and get ready for the season to come.”

When Rocket, Loma and DeMille all agree on something, there is a certain gravitas conveyed. I nodded, grimly, and began to plan for a task that (in the old days) would have involved a stout hammer, a standard foot ladder, and some sturdy nails. Ten minutes, tops, not an afternoon with Infirmity compounding challenges to the planning process. The simple act of negotiating the stairs down off the back deck are now a challenge even on good days.

Parts required to accomplish the minor task involved the step ladder, located in the cubby hole in the laundry room, the inert cordless drill requiring a charge on one of the depleted batteries, a suitable screw to align with the groove-and-keeper on the back of the plaque on which the bones were mounted, keys to open the sleeping Panzer and free the bones. All while attempting to minimize the number of trips up and down the back stairs.

I blush at how something so simple began a matter requiring only slightly more preparation than the evacuation from Kabul. First, “find drill.” Then, a modest search of two piles of disassociated but related items in two widely disparate locations, and in eventual triumph, a plug identified to charge a depleted battery. While trapped in the involuntary waiting period for the miracle of transference of electrons (or whatever they are), reading a note in the big (and still motile) chair, while hoping some of the laws of physics still worked.

A pal in another part of Florida wrote about the level of emotion flying about in the current post-pre-pandemic America. We agreed everything in this country has high emotional content from interaction with the pandemic precautions. He described seeing an incident of road rage while he was going about his business in Tampa. A 50-ish lady had cut someone off, and the 50-ish guy who resented it pulled over behind her. Both exited their vehicles waving and cursing at one another.

I shook my head at that behavior and reminded myself to keep the cursing to a minimum. With fifteen minutes of electrical activity on the battery, I decided to actually accomplish something not involving other 50-or-60-ish people. That required collection of the stepladder, uniting the inert drill with the battery pack, the long trudge with both down the stairs to unlock the back gate, position ladder at the foot of the office doors, return gingerly to the Panzer, pop the back gate, retrieve antlers, and position the component project parts in generally central locations amid that big green plant thing with blades as sharp as knives and enough of them to tangle the feet.

Simple, right? I was contemplating what one of those casual falls would do if the antlers interceded my progress to the ground. It being a couple weeks before the hunting season starts, I estimated a puncture wound from antlers would get me fairly rapid attention at the hospital complex across town. During some of the required movement an errant chunk of larger-gauge gravel nearly demonstrated the entire medical-rescue scenario, and I realized the trusty cane would be needed to provide a tripod offset to the unintended but abrupt and imperative factor of gravity.

I dragged myself back to gate and stairs and eventually back into my comfortable chair to think. That biologic-electrical process only took a half hour or so, and I realized I had successfully left a sensitive electrical device in an exposed outdoor space. There would be consequences for a failure to actually complete something. Management at Socotra House looked at me skeptically, but I rose, grabbed the cane that would be key to success, and advanced once more to stairs and down to gravel.

I don’t know if you have perched yourself a couple steps in the air, relocating center of gravity to where NBA stars normally carry it. Inserting fingers into the thin lattice in the board work while hoisting the surprisingly heavy drill above the head, struggling to stay in vertical mode while leaning what weight I could into the solid oak plank, attempting to drill with a slight downward angle precisely above the counterpoint in the door. Then finding the elegant long screw in the pocket of my shorts while disengaging the drill bit and replacing with the Philips head driving bit, all of which activity required balance and integrity to upright positioning.

Then back down the steps to fish for the antlers askew in the grass, back up the steps, and waving the prongs against the wall above my head. That required use of both hands for positioning and positioning weight against door for stability, hoping for some respite from that gravity thing.

It only took a moment of physical uncertainty and conscious doubt before the inanimate things came together. A sigh, release of hands from curved bone, and hope the whole thing did not come crashing down on my head. Nothing happened, which in this case was a good thing. Then back down the steps, retrieval of the cane, and the complex reverse gathering of tools, bits, stepladders and impedimentia. All now directed back toward the farmhouse in generally good order. Drill disassembled, replaced neatly in storage box, stepladder returned to special nook.

Management seemed surprised the disparate pieces had been returned to their disparate places.
I assured them the antlers had now assumed exactly the same status as the generator:

“Installed. Awaiting inspection.” I will check in the Spring.

– Vic

Copyright 2021 Vic Socotra
www.vicsocotra.com