Still on a “remembering Grandpa” kick, folks. Funeral was today; this is what’s on my mind.
It was not until very, very recently that I found out apparently not all sump pumps are Rube Goldberg-like contraptions. So I’m told.
My grandpa’s house has been described as “the house that almost works.” Everything kind of sort of mostly works, if you tweak it a certain way and don’t use it too much. This has always been especially true of the sump pump; basement floods in that house were a common story to me growing up. This here is the sump pump that my grandpa, an engineer, rigged up.
It is a 2′x2′ square hole in the ground. There are spouts directing several steady streams of water into the hole. The hole fills with water. Pumps trigger other pumps. When a float (the kind in your toilet tank) says that the water’s gotten to a certain height, the whole 3-4′ deep hole full of water is pumped out through the vertical pipes you see. And the process begins again.
This whole cycle, from bottom of hole to 3 feet up, takes about five minutes.
It’s actually kind of meditative to watch.
Christmas, 1950. This is the image they used on the family Christmas card.
L to R. Grandpa, Mom, Uncle Lloyd, Uncle Charles, Uncle George, Grandma.
This is my grandfather about 4 years ago celebrating his 89th birthday.
Click here or scroll down to yesterday’s post, but see what I mean about his hands?!