In the process of rehabbing the house I bought four years ago, my son-in-law mentioned that I needed to have a sump pump put in my very wet and odorous crawlspace. In order to do that I needed to raise the level of the crawlspace because it was below the footing (whatever that meant). He gave me the figures, and I ordered two tons of stones to be delivered to my driveway. I learned quickly what two tons of stones looked like. The day after it was delivered, I had one of those “calling all friends and family, and bring your tools (in this case wheelbarrows) type of days.”
We woke up to a miserably hot and rainy morning, not the kind of day conducive to the work that had to be done. My brother-in-law and I were the first ones on the job, looking at the vast piles of wet stone. I, for one, wanted to cry. It wasn’t the first time that summer that I had that feeling, so reluctantly, I picked up a shovel and started in. Fortunately more family members and friends filtered in. The first job was to cut a couple of holes in the subflooring so that stones could be dumped down into the crawlspace. Two people were shoveling stone into the the five or six wheelbarrows waiting to be wheeled into the house and dumped into the holes. My father had the easiest job, sitting in a chair and communicating between the stone transporters and the four or five people in the crawlspace spreading the stones over a 1000 square foot area.
I will never forget, and will be forever grateful to the fourteen people who slaved on a hot, humid Saturday for many hours doing a miserable job. Everyone there was truly exhausted, but I didn’t hear one complaint. Instead, there was a lot of laughter and comradery. Now, four years later, it is one of those fond memories that none of us will ever forget. Of course, if they were ever asked to go it again, I have a feeling most of those people, including me, would make sure they had very important other plans that day!