The Texaco

When we first contemplated living arrangements in Torrey, we knew restroom facilities would be a challenge. Luckily for us, there is a Texaco service station one mile from the yurt. Jesse, the owner of the Texaco station, didn’t seem to mind our daily visits, but some days that one mile seemed pretty far away. So one of the reasons for building the garage before the house was to provide a toilet and sink for ourselves and work crews plus any visitors that dropped by. Once the septic system was in, this became the next priority.

The interior of the garage was basically finished by the end of July: walls sanded and stained; man door in; outlets, switches, lights, garage door all installed. Three weeks ago we put up the interior walls of the bathroom and hung the door. Next we inserted insulation between the studs and put the exterior walls of the bathroom in place. All of this was done in anticipation of Phillip Winter’s arrival. (He’s our plumber.) We had previously arranged for him to put in two sinks - the porcelain sink in the bathroom and the salvaged stainless steel sink in the workstation in the southwest corner of the garage.

But we were going to purchase and set the toilet ourselves. And that’s where we hit our next snag. Phillip had placed the sewer hole for the toilet based on 2 X 4 construction. Our contractor had framed the bathroom using 2 X 6s. This mixup became apparent as we attempted to lower the toilet into position. The wall was too close to the hole! There wasn’t enough room for the toilet to fit!

After a conversation with Phillip, we learned this was a fairly common and easily solved problem. But, at the moment, it was no consolation since that meant the Texaco station was still in our future.

We spent the next week in Logan running errands which included returning the toilet. We didn’t have to explain to Lowe’s that it was too big. They just refunded our money...no questions asked. Meanwhile Phillip brought in a toilet that fit in a snug space. When we returned, we were very happy to see ...

It has been christened “The Texaco.”

The Saga of the Yellow Submarine

Long before Scott and I could even apply for a building permit, we made arrangements for a percolation test. This, of course, is required by the health department. The results of a percolation test inform the proper design of a septic system for the disposal of waste.

Last March, our friend Bruce, a soil scientist from across the mountain in Escalante, arrived with his tools and met Scott on our property. Scott Chestnut, our contact with a backhoe, was also there with his tool. Over the course of three days, he dug a test hole, and Bruce determined the level of the water table under our property to be about five feet. Below that, there was essentially a river flowing away to the south. The “river” didn’t seem to be a problem in as much as the footings for our house would be far shallower than that, and so would the septic system. Bruce wrote up his report, submitted it to the health department, and we received a certificate to file with our application for a building permit.

Next we met with Wes Jensen, the septic designer, and John Vercoe, the health inspector. Together we discussed and planned our soon-to-be-installed septic system. This would consist of many feet of drain pipe from the garage and house, gravel, a septic tank, and a drain field. As we headed back to Logan that week, we dropped off the required paperwork and planned to return to Torrey shortly in order to go ahead with the septic installation.

Two weeks later, we arrived back in Torrey and were greeted on site by a huge pile of gravel and a tall, corrugated, plastic septic tank which I immediately dubbed The Yellow Submarine because it was bright yellow. These were good signs. They meant Wes would be there in a day or two to put everything in the ground. Sure enough, that Thursday Wes and his assistant, Whitney, showed up with a little excavator and a load of pipe. They fired up the machine and began to dig. While they worked, Scott and I put finishing touches on the interior of the garage by sanding and staining the walls.

From our vantage point, we could see that, at first, everything was going well. But soon each shovelful of dirt was wetter than the previous one. When they brought mud out of the hole, we didn’t want to look anymore. Every now then, Wes would turn off the engine, and he and Whitney would stand beside the hole and scratch their heads. Finally, when they both threw their hands in the air, we knew it was time for us to wander over and take a peek at what had developed. It wasn’t a pretty sight.

The pile of dirt which, ideally, should have been dust dry, was, instead, an oozing mass of mud the consistency of day-old chocolate mousse. The hole which should have been just deep enough to hold the gravel and our yellow submarine was getting no deeper. Instead, it was rapidly getting wider, filling with water, caving in at the edges and creeping toward our future foundation site. Back in March, that flowing river was five feet down. Now it was two feet nearer the surface and eating away our septic hole chunk by eroding chunk. I had visions of our entire building site plus the pasture disappearing into an ever widening sink hole. The yellow submarine would never submerge. It would float forever in the pool rising at our feet.

That night Scott and I kept checking the slowly rising water. By morning the level was steady, and the hole had stopped growing, but it was obvious there was no possible way our new “swimming hole” would ever hold our septic tank. When people came by that day, we offered towels and bathing suits. If they declined, there was still a photo opportunity with the yellow submarine.

In the end, it took extra time and, of course, more money, but Wes found a solution. He pumped out the water, filled in the original hole, brought in a shallower septic tank (more of a black lozenge this time), quickly dug a new hole and got the entire system in without another hitch.

Torrey's Big Apple Day Parade and Pie Eating Contest

Every summer on the Saturday nearest Independence Day, people from across the state and nation arrive in Torrey to celebrate Big Apple Days. The festivities begin with the Boy Scout Breakfast at 7:00 AM and conclude with a dance that night at the Big Apple pavilion. Throughout the day visitors, neighbors, families and friends gather to watch the parade, go to the swap meet, participate in the Little Miss Apple Day Pageant and cheer at the pie eating contest.

Since I hadn't seen any large apple orchards, I asked our neighbor why it was called Big Apple Days. She said she'd heard that, in the early days of settlement, many towns in the west held boxing matches in local arenas. While watching a match in Torrey, one of the local men said, "This is more fun than the Big Apple." The boxing arena (now the dance pavilion) was called the Big Apple ever after. And now, instead of boxing, we celebrate Big Apple Days.

Lists

Prior to each trip we make to Torrey, Scott and I make a list of things we hope to accomplish while we’re in town. We also attempt to coordinate our trip with what is scheduled for the hired crews to do. This last trip, over the 4th of July, we completed everything on our list!

For the yurt, I had purchased and refinished a fabulous, sturdy, round oak table to be used in place of our shaky camp table. That needed to be set in place. Check.

We planned to complete the entire electric fence system so Pat could put her horses in the pasture and we could bring our llamas down. Check.

We had to hang the two new 12-foot gates. Check.

At night, from the east window of the yurt, we can see the lights of Malfunction Junction, the only commercial development in town. We arrived with four cottonwoods to plant. In only a few years, they will grow to block those lights. Check.

The soil on the property is full of clay. Perfect for making plaster walls. Not so perfect for other things. The frost-free hydrant next to the yurt is squarely situated in this challenging soil. When it gets wet, we get a sticky mess. On the list? Build a four-foot square “box” full of gravel at the hydrant’s base which will disperse the excess water and keep the mud in check. Check.

As a gift when we were married, Scott and I received two “sling” chairs. Sky Chairs is the commercial name. Hang them from a tree, sit back, take a deep breath, close your eyes and relax all your cares away. In the middle of a building project such as ours, who wouldn’t need a sling chair? We have cares. We have perfect trees. They were on the list. Check.

Our list was completed. The only thing that didn’t get done was the walls and roof of the garage. The shipment of trusses was short by one. Double T did all they could and promised to return the following week.

Utilities Arrive

What A Difference a Day Makes

A little more than a week later we returned to Torrey to orchestrate the installation of utilities. Once we arrived, it was clear to us that these men needed no conductor. They had obviously worked together before. Phil Winter and his crew had already run the water line to the garage. As we drove up, Trent Hunt was in the process of digging the trench for the electricity and phone line. There was also another open trench bringing water to our yurt.

It was the next day, however, that brought out the full cast. By noon, there were more pickups and large pieces of equipment on the site than I could have imagined. All at once we were surrounded by Double T’s crew; electricians Trent Hunt and Nate Hallows; Terry Hunt and Dave Torgerson from South Central Communications; Courtney Cropper and Scott Grundy of Garkane Power; Scott Chestnut from Torrey Town and Wes Jensen who will design and install our septic system. They way they worked together was quite a thing to see.

At one point, with trenches going every which way, irrigation water began flowing from the canal down the phone line trench. Everyone grabbed a shovel to block the water, but Trent deftly saved the day with one well-placed scoop from the backhoe. By three that afternoon we had water, electricity (along with a new transformer), phone and internet.

Many of the books we read suggested it could be challenging to coordinate the installation of all of these services in a rural area. But I must speak to the friendly, helpful and professional service all of these men provided. In fact, late in the day, with an umbrella held over his head to keep the rain off of his laptop, Terry Hunt performed the last few keystrokes to confirm the successful operation of our DSL. Amazing!

I think there may never again be that many people working at one time on our house...that is until we have a straw bale wall raising or a plastering party.

Young Muscles

Prior to construction, our Torrey property was taxed as green belt. That meant the land was used to produce agricultural products. Our agricultural product is hay for horses. Pat, our neighbor, owns and operates Hondoo River and Trails, a guiding outfit that provides multi-day horseback riding trips. In the past, Pat has seen to it that our pasture is watered. She cuts and bales the hay and then puts her horses on the pasture. In exchange, we retain green belt status.

Now that we are building a house, we are required to remove one acre from the green belt property, and that will be taxed as residential property. The rest will remain in green belt. We needed to fence out the building site so Pat could put her horses out to graze.

When we first purchased our ten acres, Scott's parents bought the adjacent ten. We immediately spent many arduous days digging fence post holes, pounding t-posts, and stringing field and barbed wire around over 1/2 mile of perimeter. All of these years later, we find ourselves fencing again. But we've learned to give the toughest part of the job (digging holes for railroad ties) to someone much younger. Enter Tim....

Tim works for Pat, and she suggested Tim might be willing to dig. Sure
enough. When we asked, he was happy to dig eight 3-foot holes for railroad ties. We were equally happy to pay him to toil away while we worked on other, less labor-intensive tasks.