Pete Jones Pit: 2
Having made a careful study of exactly where to locate Pete without burning down the woods (again), the choices were few. In fact, the only good choice was on the right side of the cooking patio ... right where the wood rack was located.
That also happens to be the location of the underground power line to the well. OK, nothing to do but relocate both. The power line was a snap but the wood rack was another thing. As usual, ole Dave built the rack with no intention of ever moving it. The posts were set deep in concrete. They did eventually give way to the persuasiveness of my sledge hammer and the dig was soon on.
Before digging, I had made an investigation of how big a hole to dig. I called Nahunta Pork Center for advice. By the silence on the other end of the line I would guess they had never been asked how big to make a barbecue pit, but I explained that I would be cooking pigs about the size cooked at Wilber's and Skylight Inn. Then the fellow asked we a question for which I was totally unprepared: "Are you cooking them with the feet on or off?" I surmised as to how most of the ladies would probably not take kindly to picking a pig with the feet still attached. "OK, then, 42 inches by 60 inches, inside." I checked photographs of the pits at Wilber's and Skylight Inn, counted bricks, and concurred with his recommendation.
By end of day the hole was dug, the footings poured and the first blocks in the pit wall set.
The hard work is done; the rest is fun.
Early in the morning while it was still cool, I went to the junk yard to requisition more materials for the pit. As I was sorting through the scrap iron, a man I had never seen before approached me asking what I was doing. I told him and asked what he was doing. He whipped out his badge, explaining that he was an agent with State Environmental Agency and that it was illegal to scavenge in a junk yard. Well, you could have blown me over with a feather! That just ain't right.
Now, you understand, I pay Alleghany County plenty of taxes (for land, house and, yes, view) and the dump is about the only service that I use with regularity. Plus, when I built the house, I had to pay a fee (in addition to the taxes) to put construction refuse INTO the dump. The way I figure it, the dump owes me a whole bunch of stuff, having paid for the goods twice already. But, being uncertain of the validity of the bureaucrat's assertion and not wanting to put my relationship with the guys who run the dump at risk, I decided discretion was the better part of valor at that point in time and retreated.
I kept expecting the sheriff to show up at the house at any minute and arrest me for stealing stuff from the junk yard, but he never did. Could be, though, that my dump days are over.
Stay tuned. Someone may yet have to go my bail!
That also happens to be the location of the underground power line to the well. OK, nothing to do but relocate both. The power line was a snap but the wood rack was another thing. As usual, ole Dave built the rack with no intention of ever moving it. The posts were set deep in concrete. They did eventually give way to the persuasiveness of my sledge hammer and the dig was soon on.
Before digging, I had made an investigation of how big a hole to dig. I called Nahunta Pork Center for advice. By the silence on the other end of the line I would guess they had never been asked how big to make a barbecue pit, but I explained that I would be cooking pigs about the size cooked at Wilber's and Skylight Inn. Then the fellow asked we a question for which I was totally unprepared: "Are you cooking them with the feet on or off?" I surmised as to how most of the ladies would probably not take kindly to picking a pig with the feet still attached. "OK, then, 42 inches by 60 inches, inside." I checked photographs of the pits at Wilber's and Skylight Inn, counted bricks, and concurred with his recommendation.
By end of day the hole was dug, the footings poured and the first blocks in the pit wall set.
The hard work is done; the rest is fun.
Early in the morning while it was still cool, I went to the junk yard to requisition more materials for the pit. As I was sorting through the scrap iron, a man I had never seen before approached me asking what I was doing. I told him and asked what he was doing. He whipped out his badge, explaining that he was an agent with State Environmental Agency and that it was illegal to scavenge in a junk yard. Well, you could have blown me over with a feather! That just ain't right.
Now, you understand, I pay Alleghany County plenty of taxes (for land, house and, yes, view) and the dump is about the only service that I use with regularity. Plus, when I built the house, I had to pay a fee (in addition to the taxes) to put construction refuse INTO the dump. The way I figure it, the dump owes me a whole bunch of stuff, having paid for the goods twice already. But, being uncertain of the validity of the bureaucrat's assertion and not wanting to put my relationship with the guys who run the dump at risk, I decided discretion was the better part of valor at that point in time and retreated.
I kept expecting the sheriff to show up at the house at any minute and arrest me for stealing stuff from the junk yard, but he never did. Could be, though, that my dump days are over.
Stay tuned. Someone may yet have to go my bail!
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