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One day, Jim, the contractor, dropped by to see how things
were progressing, so I asked him how my dad and I could
lift the top logs onto the building without the use of
a tractor. With a grunt, he asked, "Are you any good
with hydraulics?" Not knowing what he meant, and
being a woman of a few words when I am confused, I grunted
back something that he took as a, "Yes." The
next morning, I had an ancient, rusty, red boom truck
delivered before the crack of dawn (attributable to the
fact that it did not have a valid licence plate). Its
hidden limitations did not end there: it didn't always
start, it had no brakes and its only working door was
on the passenger side of the cab. Nonetheless, Dad and
I were tickled pink.
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The author works on the old boom truck, a loaner from
a contractor friend who helped with the project. |
Using the boom truck, we took our time balancing each
log on a chain and hoisting it into place. I ran the controls,
while Dad pulled the logs into position. All the while,
the boom truck sprayed hot hydraulic fluid out of cracked
hoses and leaky joints. Each time we moved the boom truck
around the building, I strategically placed old cake tins
underneath to catch the fluid for reuse. When the truck
wouldn't start, I disappeared into the engine, cleaned
the points and begged for its cooperation. Time and again,
the truck roared back to life and obliged, lifting even
the heaviest hardwood logs to the top.
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