The 14 cubic yards of concrete arrives in two trucks with a huge German Mack pumper to deliver it. We have scrambled through the morning plugging holes in our footer forms and praying that the whole system will hang together under the pressure of the concrete. Then we relax in the pit waiting for the crisis, a bit too overconfident I guess. But we are as ready as you can be for a few tons of concrete.
Then it arrives and pours down the pumper funnel into the channel of our boards. Along one wall we realize that we didn’t put enough posts. In another one of the 2 by 8s comes away from its post. I am in charge of the vibrator, which buzzes like a giant stinger in the concrete mix, forcing out the air bubbles... I'd hate to have to do this job, forcing concrete into a form, without the pump and the vibrator! This is like childbirth: you can’t go backwards and you just pray that the landing will be a good one. It's a crisis which lasts until the concrete sets and you can do no more. For two hours after the concrete is poured we smooth it out and the MB cuts a key the size of a 2 by 4 in it to provide stability for the 4 foot wall we will build next. By early evening we are on our knees and the MB is incredibly angry with his vibrator which earlier had decided, right after all the trucks were lined up, to fail to start. The MB is exhausted and decides to take it out on his machine. I caution him about being too hasty, too angry but he manhandles his vibrator out of the pit, pulling me with him. I stumble over roots and feel like a feeble 65 year old.
We are now the owners of a footer in Cape Breton, and a very nice footer it is too. The building has set down its footprint. To celebrate and recover, we are treated by DC to an enormous choucroute which we wash down with white wine. Luckily the MB has calmed down.
No comments:
Post a Comment