Mr Murphy visits the farm.

It seems as if the author of the "anything that can go wrong" cliché has found the farm. And he definitely let his presence be known. This is the first house we have lived in that has an oil burning furnace. The furnace works absolutely wonderful and does a great job of heating this old house. There is just one requirement, however. I am used to strolling over to the thermostat, putting said thermostat on desired temperature and expecting very shortly for the warm air to come flowing merrily through the vents. Winter arrived quickly last week here in coastal NC. The temps decided to bottom out, so it was necessary to make that stroll over to said thermostat and turn on the heat. After waiting several anxious moments for that wonderful rush of warm air, nothing was happening. No noise or rumble from the heater and NO warm air rushing from the vent. After scratching the noggin a few times it finally came to me that this was not an electric furnace that derives all its power from the local power company. This furnace needed oil. Oooops. I went outside into the very cold air, checked the tank, and lo and behold, the dipping stick came up dryer than a camels throat on a summer day in the Sahara. And the temps were not stopping. They were on a downward spiral that wasn’t going to stop anytime soon. I decided it was time to call some local oil companies to schedule an immediate delivery of the heating juice. How does that little saying go, Failure to prepare on your part does not constitute an emergency on my part. Seems as if the sudden arrival of ole man winter here in the south triggered the same response from most all the folks with oil furnaces. Only thing is, most of these folks knew to call at least 3 or 4 days in advance. I was told that my much needed oil would be there in at least 3 to 4 days, just as the temps were warming up again. See saying above. The fact that its not the least bit amusing or fun to be cold in your on home caused me to get on the phone and call some friends I had recently made that might have some suggestions, other than heading for the local Howard Johnson's. The first person I called was the one that came to our rescue. A nice guy that has been living here in NC all his life. He just happened to have a 250 gal fuel tank that was on a portable trailer that I could pull behind my truck. He told me to come on and get it. Needless to say I was thrilled. I arrived at his place post haste and found the tank and trailer. Yes, you guessed it. Mr. Murphy had realized that I was headed that way and of course, he got there before me. One of the tires on the trailer had a very large hole in it. As most of you know, rubber tires with large holes and holding air are not compatible. The cold in my bones and the numbness of my fingers was not going to let me give up. I  made a call to a local tire store that sold used tires, and lo and behold, he had a tire. It was now 4:35pm and he closed at 5. Faster than a speeding bullet did I make that trip to the tire store, and yes, I made it just in time. I must have outrun Mr. Murphy. With newly installed used tire I drove back to the trailer, mounted the tire and headed off to get some heating oil. I called my wife, told her that I now had oil and was headed home to fill the tank and that soon, wonderful warm air would be rushing through our very cold heat vents. You must know by now that Murphy was listening to that call and he wasn't finished with me yet. I arrived home, filled the tank and went inside and turned on the heater and put the thermostat on roast, well done. As I stood there shivering with anticipation to hear the wonderful rumble of the heater start up, and feel the first rushes of super heated air, all I did was watch my breath as it turned into icicles as it came from my frozen lungs. No rumble from the heater, no rush of heat. I am now perplexed. I slowly stroll out to the mammoth oil furnace, pull off the door to the controls and peer into something I know absolutely nothing about. Its now somewhere around 8pm. Knowing that if I placed a call to a heating company this time of night, the cost to fix whatever Mr. Murphy had messed up would be tripled. Heating and air folks don't like to be called out at night unless your are willing to pay off their mortgage. I finally gave in for the night, hung my tail between my legs and sauntered off into the bedroom to hide under a mountain of blankets and quilts.
Morning arrived with a chill in the air like never before. I think the temps had dropped to the legal drinking age in Georgia back in the early 70's. Somewhere around 18. It was now time to call in the pros. After the first three companies I called, I refer back to the earlier saying. Remember it. Now I was getting worried. Cold, plus broken heater, plus a visit from Mr. Murphy was getting to be to much to bear. I made one more call, said a prayer, and it worked. We had a heating guy on the way. Turns out it was the "brain" of the heating unit that had gone bad. I can emphasize. The part of the heater that tells all the other parts to work. After a couple of hours, and two second mortgages we had that wonderful rumble of the heater and super heated air rushing once again throughout the icy cold vents. I also learned a valuable lesson that morning. Never, I repeat, never say or even think, What can go wrong now. Murphy can read minds you know.
After I let my body parts warm up for a bit, it was time to go out into the cold and feed and water all of our critters. We have several four legged critters here, most of which are rescue animals. I got everyone fed, then it was time to water. I turned on the faucet at the barn, and no water. OK, it was cold and I figured that maybe just the spicket was frozen and needed a little time to warm up. I got a 5 gallon bucket and made several trips from the house to the barn . The barn and pastures are on well water, its free, The house is on county water, you pay. I waited until the afternoon, returned to the barn, because the temps had actually risen into the tropical like 40* range and I surmised, hmmm, that the pipes should be thawed. I turned on the spicket and could have swore I heard a voice say, did you think you were going to get off that easy. Murphy. I went to the well house and turned on a spicket there and noticed that the pump did not come on. Oh No. I went inside to the panel box and noticed that the breaker to the well pump had faulted. I turned it back on, and before I could get out the back door, I heard a click, and yes, it faulted again. Now it had started to rain, and the temps were hovering just above that 32* mark. Needless to say my bones felt every raindrop. I went back to the well house and determined that something in the pump just wasn't right. Great summation, huh. I took the well pump loose, rushed to my local small pump repair guy, who actually was able to fix the pump and have me going down the road in short order. Maybe, just maybe things were looking up now. Remember, Murphy can read minds. I reinstalled the pump, primed her up with water and hit the switch. She sounded wonderful, all except for the rush of water coming out from one of the hoses where water is not supposed to be coming out. I talked about Murphy's mother, then proceeded to surmise what the problem was. See surmise in earlier post. A faulty clamp on the hose was the problem. Now something I left out. The well house is a small enclosure over the pump, with maybe enough room for a small dwarf. I am 6' and 230 lbs and don't take well to bending like a pretzel. My body makes me pay for doing that in agonizing ways. It was off to my local tractor supply to get the clamp I needed to fix this problem. Got the clamp on, turned the breaker back on, hit the switch and the pump ran. It filled the holding tank then turned off as it was supposed to do. All is well? Don't forget, when Murphy visits, he stays for awhile. I turned the spicket handle that lets the water run from the holding tank, through the lines and out to the barn. And run it did, out through the many, many holes in the PVC pipe just 2 ft from the tank inside the well house. Did I  mention I talked about Murphy's mother, I did again. It was time for a second trip to the local tractor supply section to get connectors, PVC cement and pipe. My brain has now decided I am slowly trying to kill my body and it is trying to shut me down. It decided that if it would send many messages of pain through every nerve and joint that I would give in and return to the mounds of blankets and covers that were utilized while Murphy had control of the furnace. No, I was determined to beat Murphy and send him on his way. I returned to my little hobbit of a well house, turned into a pretzel once more and proceeded to repair all the broken pipes. About 2 hours and three hissy fits later, all pipes were repaired and water was once again flowing from the well to the appropriate spickets. As I attempted to stand up; note here, at my age I don't need psychotropic drugs to take a trip, I just stand up real fast, my body let me know again, that in cold rainy weather it does not like to be confined in small wet spaces for long periods of time. However, I had the satisfaction of knowing I had beat Murphy. I once more commented on his fatherless birth and made one more comment about his mother, then I sent him packing. It was time now, to go inside to our WARM house and seek shelter from the day by crawling under the mounds of blankets and covers and head off to dream land, where I dreamt I was a plumber and wore my jeans two sizes to small around the waist.....more to come...