This drought had Washboard crying in his beer the other day. No, it wasn’t because he had no water for the washtub, it was the back roads….let me explain.
Washboard had retired from a life of ease on the Rail Roadbed crew. It seemed that being away from home, on call, and dodging runaway trains had finally got the better of him, so he drew his pension and settled into retirement. After about three months boredom overtook him…. And then there is the suggestion that perhaps marital togetherness got to be a little too much after Sweetie retired as well.
So Washboard went looking for some alternate, post retirement, double pension dipping, get out of the house, suitable employment. He found it. One of the municipalities was looking for a grader operator. What a deal. Air conditioned and heated cab, with an entertainment system where he could play all his favourite hog rastlin’ music at full volume without Sweetie complaining about his musical tastes. And at lunchtime he could park in the shade of big tree and have a good peaceful snooze.
All fall he could tour the backroads scouting the best hunting locations. And in the winter plow a little snow and enjoying plugging up the entrances to the snow machine trails without ever once getting a chilblain.
“Why I was out of the house so much when I do get home it’s just like a second honeymoon,” chuckled Washboard fondly remembering his misspent youth.
I had wondered about all the maintenance he would have to do on that machine and asked. ‘After all, layin’ in the mud and dirt, changing cutting edges on the blade, is a nasty job.’
“No problem they have carbide teeth on the cutting edge and if you keep the blade up a bit they last forever,” breezed Washboard dismissing my concerns.
“But what about the icy roads?” I wondered aloud.
“People just have to drive more cautiously. Can’t go ripping up the carbides for a bit of ice,” Washboard reasoned.
So what was the problem now?
“It’s this Covid thing. Nobody will talk to me. Can’t go for a coffee and the road is hard and dusty and I can’t cut the potholes out. I grade and grade and they complain and complain about dust. Those backroads are nothing but canyons of dust. And there’s nothing I can do about it until we get some moisture,” whined Washboard not his normal cheerful self at all.
“I’m so depressed. Nobody loves me anymore,” he whimpered as a tear or two leaked from each eye.
Well Washboard I can sympathize with you, but remember this is the Rainy River District. Willard up in Blue has been reported praying for rain. He has adamantly refused to pray for rain since doing that once in 1973 before the flood of the decade arrived and the animals started gathering two by two.
So cheer up Washboard, I am sure you’ll be up to your grader axles in mud sometime soon and there will be no end of washed out culverts to replace.
