MARY'S IN THE WELL

Writing about Nellie in the window well reminded me of the time niece Mary fell into the well at the farm.

Toddler Mary with her mother Joni

It was the summer of 1963. My sister Joni was staying at our house with her little girl, Mary, just 22 months old. Mary was a solid chunk of a toddler – sorry, but that’s part of the story. And Joni was very pregnant – also part of the story.

We called it the well, but it was – and still is – a cistern. It was dug by my uncle, Ernest Robinson, in 1936 to give my grandparents a water source at the back door. Originally it had a wood cover, but about 1960, my dad replaced that with a cement cover and fashioned an opening with the top of a garbage can. The garbage can lid became the cistern’s lid.

So, on this summer day in 1963, we went to the farm – Mother, Daddy, Joni, Mary, and me. I was 14. I don’t remember the specifics of why we were there, but perhaps we were cleaning the house for Papa Portfors’ birthday party (late July). We hadn’t been there long when somehow Mary wandered onto the cistern. Suddenly she grabbed that garbage can lid and looked defiantly at her mother. (You know how two-year-olds are.) “No, no, Mary!” Joni said, and with that, Mary threw the lid and took one step back, falling straight into the cistern.

Well, there was nothing pregnant Joni could do about it. Nothing was said, but Mother moved calmly and quickly. “Vance, Vance,” she called to my dad – and he wasn’t far away. “Mary’s in the well.” While Daddy came running, Mother grabbed the old handmade wooden ladder standing nearby and carefully let it down into the well so that it was in place when Daddy reached the cistern. Down he went into the darkness.

Of course, for a few quiet moments, we didn’t know what was happening. Had Mary sunk to the bottom and Daddy would have to dive for her? Just how would this play out? But shortly Daddy called out, “Here she is!” and then, “I have her,” and we were so relieved. He later said he found her on her back more or less treading water. He grabbed her by the front of her dress and lifted her up to Mother. We quickly wrapped her in a towel and set her on Joni’s lap. We were all dazed initially, but eventually Mary began to cry, and I think we even thought that was positive.

Mary

We always felt it was a miracle that Mary wasn’t hurt on her way through that opening. And there was no coughing or sputtering, so she evidently didn’t take on water. 

So, the story has a happy ending. Mary grew up to be a delightful lady with a lovely home and family of her own. KW

“NELLIE’S IN THE (WINDOW) WELL”

Nellie after nerve-racking event

I keep tabs on Nellie. She tends to wander a bit when left to her own devices, but she doesn’t hear well enough to heed our call -- and/or she doesn't care. So, if she wants to go out, I go with her. Mike is a little more – well, lax.

Last night after dark, Nellie was “helping” Mike clean birds, and as that operation wound down, she disappeared. She can be gone in a flash, let me tell you, and like a kid, she knows when your attention is elsewhere. Usually when this happens, she returns shortly, but an hour went by and she wasn’t back. We were concerned, and I was quietly beside myself.

Before we went to bed, Mike and I drove through the neighborhood looking for her. Sometimes that works but not this time. Tired though I was, I was unable to sleep and stayed up until midnight watching for her. Mike left the kennel ajar in case she ambled up in the wee hours. When she wasn’t here at dawn’s first light, we knew she was either trapped someplace, or something unthinkable had happened to her. You know, she’ll be 15 on September 11, so the unthinkable might happen anytime. She’s no longer a valuable dog, but she is a beloved pet.

This morning, before I was even dressed, I checked at the neighbors. Then I got dressed and skirted around the field behind our house – no easy feat. And it’s so maddening because she could be just around a corner and I wouldn’t see her. I tried to think like an old Shorthair. Mike also watched for her when he took Bess for her morning exercise. (Bess, by the way, showed an extreme lack of concern.)

Mike and I met back at the house and planned next steps. Nellie wears contact info on her collar, so he thought someone might call, but I just couldn’t sit and wait. I said I would take another walk. Mike suggested driving, but something in me said I wouldn’t find her that way. So, I walked a neighborhood loop, up one street and then over and down the next, peering in yards as discreetly as I could. The only activity was someone mowing a lawn and the police making an arrest. (“You’ll have to sit in the back seat, and I’ll need to cuff you.”) I was just about home – just passing the first house on our block – when I heard a scuffling sound, a whine, and a high-pitched yelp. I knew it was Nellie, and I couldn’t approach that house fast enough. There she was in a deep window well, obviously no worse for wear but wanting out in the worst way.

But – I knew I had to get help. She can’t help herself much, and if I got into the well to boost her out, then I risked being trapped. Just imagine that – Nellie would dash on home and probably never tell Mike that I was stuck in a window well nearby. Someone at least had to know where I was. So, I ran on home for Mike and let him do the work. He got in the window well, boosted Nellie out, and then handily jumped out himself.

Once out of the window well, Nellie was home well ahead of the rest of us. Mike had said that if she was trapped, she would be thirsty. This proved to be the case. I think she spent three minutes at the water pail. Then she licked a plate, curled up on a pillow, and went to sleep. KW

BACK TO GILBERT

A southerly view toward Cottonwood Butte

We had just been to the farm on Tuesday, and you’d think that would hold us for a while, but we received word that our contractor would meet with a third-party consultant (ordered by the insurance adjuster) at the farmhouse Friday morning to discuss costs. We didn’t have to be there, but we both feel it’s a matter of showing interest. Mike said we would leave town directly after yoga (we’re addicted to yoga now), so the dogs napped in the back of the pick-up while we stretched at the park.

We were the first party to arrive at the farm, but the contractor and the consultant appeared shortly, and it was soon apparent that they didn’t need us. As discussion ensued between the two of them, I moved off to water and Mike continued sharpening the lawnmower blade. We didn’t want to be in the way, or worse, to interfere.

The Farmhouse -- post-harvest, 2018

It just feels strange to totally turn my home over to someone else. I appreciate that our contractor expects to negotiate for us – I certainly don’t want to do it – but I’m ready for it to be over and to have my house – and my things – back. The work is slow for a couple of reasons: 1) the remote location, and 2) we have another place we can live. “Oh, this is a second home,” they say, and it’s just natural to put it on the back burner. And then -- they are just plain arguing over the costs.

Another view to the south

The weather has changed, reminding me that school has started and county fairs will soon convene. I’ll soon exchange Americana for pumpkins and witches on my display stand. I wanted to bring some of my decorative Halloween items to town from the farm. I know where they are. I could see them, but no way could I get to them. Fortunately, I have things in town as well – and if I didn’t, oh well!

Mike and I didn’t linger once we’d finished our work. Before we left, I picked one small yellow summer squash which I fixed for supper. 

Oh! And if you missed it in the comments, the water stain in the upstairs hallway was just that -- a water stain. Big Mike the Contractor had pictures showing that it was there from the beginning of the project. KW