When we first moved into our little house in Locust Valley, we began to see little puddles of water in the basement every time it would rain severely. So Hubs and I drive over to Home Depot [thank God for those carts that look like cars for the girls!] to find a solution. At first we were going to break the ground in one corner and install a sump pump. But then a guy who had had a similar problem with his basement gives us different advice.

“If you want to truly waterproof your house, especially since you live on a hill, you should attack the real problem.”

“Which is??” 

His eyes twinkles with that spark that I’ve seen many a time with Home Depot employees. These guys, generally speaking, love to talk about a project, how to do it, and what supplies you’ll need.

“Come with me.” As we walk over to the aisle of insulation and things, he begins to explain what he did to his house and how we should do the same to ours. “The wall that the water rolling down the hill hits is the wall you need to tackle. You dig down to the foundation, paint it with water-sealant, then slap a layer of Bituthene [pronounced bich-you-thane]on it, insulate it while you’re down there, then fill it all back up.”

“Bich-u-what?” That sounds a little vulgar, is what I’m thinking. Hubs ignores me and begins measuring how much of this black paper that reads the curse-word embedded name all over the other side.

Before we get in line, we pick up a few new shovels. I think we already have a few at home.

“So how deep do you think we need to dig exactly?” I’m not sure I should ask the question, but I do anyway.

“To the foundation, like the guy said.”

“But isn’t that like, I don’t know, a buzillion feet deep?”

“It’s probably only six or seven—” Hubs adds several pairs of work gloves to our cart.

“Six or seven!?! Do you how long that’s gonna take?”

“Yes.” Hubs is picking up pink, outdoor insulation now. “That’s why you should start texting our friends. Now.”

“But we want them to stay our friends, right?” I’m skeptical as to Hubby’s method of keeping friends. But I comply and begin making calls, sending emails, and texting every able-bodied guy and gal we know. Simply because I don’t want to do it all by myself. I actually don’t mind using tools, working in the yard, even laboring with shovels, because I did it growing up with my dad. I just didn’t want to do it alone.

So the weekend came and a bunch of friends showed up. And we began digging. And digging. And digging. We fed our hard working diggers and reminded them every hour, on the hour, just how much we loved them and would be indebted forever to them, promising a lifetime of meals whenever they popped in, and just kept digging. And digging. And digging.

Because the hole had to be both deep enough to hit the bottom of the foundation, but wide enough for Hubs to stand in it, so he could actually apply the layers of waterproofing materials. Several weekends later, we were about two-thirds done when my parents arrived for a visit. And Dad suggested we rent a backhoe to finish the job, because we still had to refill the holes once the first steps were done. But hubs had never driven a backhoe. And that’s where my dad and Hubs have a lot in common. They both reason that if you can drive a car, you can pretty much drive anything. It’s just a matter of trial and error.

Well, error showed up that night when Dad hit a water line. [And why is it that after that night, every TV channel seemed to play that “Call Before you Dig” commercial several times a day?] Anyway, we met our neighbors that night. All of them. Because we needed help. One guy who owned a huge pipe wrench came to the rescue, because the chaos was straight out of a bad movie. Hubs was standing on a ladder in the hole when he heard the sound of water. Then he looked down to note that the hole was quickly filling up. He needed to get out. Fast!

Meanwhile, I ran downstairs, and the basement wall being waterproofed looked dangerously wet, with spouts of water pinging out of holes here and there and soon everywhere. I didn’t know what was more critical. To move items to dry ground or plug all the holes water was entering from. Needless to say, the  night became a nightmare. Except that we were all wide awake.

The neighbor with the super-strong pipe wrench joined a few other men with muscles and together they manipulated the pipe away from our house toward the street. Then the Water District guys showed up and turned off the water. And that meant that the whole street lost water access for the next day or so while they fixed it. And as we zipped off to return to Home Depot to rent the biggest wet vac they had, I heard a lot of chuckles and jokes amongst the crowd that had gathered to see what all the commotion was about. The one that still rings in my ears when I think about that night is: “The doctor on a backhoe. Never before seen anything like it. A doctor drivin’ a backhoe.”

So even though we made a mess and had a spontaneous block party around 10:00PM that night, Hubs earned the respect of some new friends that night.

And the guys and gals who helped us dig. They didn’t disown us. Change their numbers. Or move out of town. In fact, the opposite happened. They came over more often. We always had a good time, even if we were shoveling dirt, painting walls, spreading gravel or roasting marshmallows.

So when the tree house crisis came to a head, and we were struggling with a deadline, my Dad happened to be in town. And Hubs and Dad spent an entire three days removing all the appendages from the tree house and scheming and strategizing just how to best move the tree house that last foot or so to meet the required setbacks. The best part: my Dad actually is an engineer! So much better than any Home Depot consultant if you ask me! 🙂 And Hubs loves learning from him. When I think about the fact that Dad officially retired just a couple of months ago, I can’t help but smile. Because I know my Dad has so many more years of hard work and creativity to still give. He inspires me!

So after Dad left, the second phase awaited us—the actual move. Luckily, the Town Inspector was impressed with all the progress we made so he extended our deadline by a month. Yeah! But it still had to be done. So once again, hubs asked me to call in the troops. The friends who have faithfully helped us with so many house projects. So many of which have involved shovels. And digging. I still can’t believe they keep coming back. But they do! And some new friends we’ve made more recently even showed up. Nothing like fresh blood! …Kidding.

All the blood, sweat, and back-breaking scoops do not have a price on them. Hubs and I know that feeding our friends is nothing compared to the hours of generosity these guys and their spouses have granted us.

We all watched the Lorax one night when it got dark and the digging stopped, and as the closing song pumped through our speakers, I looked around the living room and thought to myself, this is my garden. These are the peeps who color my life. And I love them so very much. 

I will never say it enough, but I’ll say it one more time, for the CyberWorld Record: Thank you from the bottom of our hearts. For Digging. For us. ♡♡♡

**What is the craziest thing your friends have done for you? Have you ever met your neighbors in a moment of crisis?

**IF you LIKED this POST, you MIGHT also LIKE:?–>
“Operation Save the Tree House”
or
“If You Build it…”
or
“My Underwater Valentine” introducing My Hubs: Adventure Seeker