Since most of the trailers were unoccupied for weeks at a time, the first indication of things gone wrong was the river of ice greeting the lower-in-elevation office personnel.Ĭrawling under the trailer, through a sea of mud once I broke through the skin of ice, I was confronted with saturated fiberglass insulation that had been wrapped around the plastic piping. The overwhelming ammonia from the decomposing chicken poop, deposited by several hundred thousand birds cramped three-toacage, was always an affront to the senses! There was also a horde of flies to contend with during warm weather.Įvery winter during the worst weather, one or more of those mobile homes - a misnomer given their absence of wheels - would have its skirting blown away or forgotten-to-be-repaired, leaving a gap for old man winter's frosty breath. I'd spent more time in the henhouse than I ever wanted while repairing water lines on previous visits, and I would bet that romantic notion of handpicking eggs was shattered the second an unsuspecting vacationer stepped over that threshold. "Farm fresh eggs you can gather right from the hens." Several questions were asked on using electric heat tapes.Ī memory long tucked away in the back recesses of my mind rose to the surface: It was a bitter-cold winter, and the worksite was an egg farm that housed a number of dilapidated house trailers billed as a "Farm Vacation" for big-city dwellers. MY AUGUST column about winterizing plumbing systems (pg.
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