Grass, Paint and Beaver Dams

I was originally going to write today's blog post about "mommy guilt", but then the drive home from the office took my mind another direction.  The heat of the day (91.2F according to my home weather station), and the long bright green grass along the side of the Mass Pike that was just begging to be mowed; transported me back some 15 years.

During my summers in college I came home from Long Island and worked, and worked.  At night I worked as a waitress with my friends Katie and Kate; during the day I worked at the power plant.  It was these days at the power plant I was thinking about this afternoon.

I was an engineering major in college and my father had tried to get me an engineering internship at the local hydro-electric power plant, but all the slots were filled.  So they offered me a paying gig on their summer maintenance team.  The money was good, $10.50 an hour; real good 15 years ago for a teenage summer job.  Not that I had time to spend it working as I did.

The summer maintenance crew consisted of me and three other teen-age guys (who were all sons of plant employees).  We had a short, welled tanned Italian in charge of us - Jack.  Our duties included cutting the grass, painting, auto maintenance, paving, installing speed bumps and on - I think you get the idea.  My summer uniform was steel toe boots, jeans and a tank top.  Man, did I have a farmer tan.  I don't think I have ever tanned again like I did those two summers I worked there.

The power plant was located on a huge chunk of land, part of which was used during the world wsar for what I could only imagine.  It abutted the county jail.  I used to drive slow, on my tractor, past the inmates playing basketball, and listen to their cat-calls.  Good times, I tell you, good times.... they were always so flattering.  I am surprised they could tell I was a female considering how far away they were (the basketball courts were stacked three high in the court yard) .... it must have been my blonde pony tail.

In order to get into the power plant, you had to drive through the guard booth and present your pass.  The power plant was surrounded by three 20-foot tall chain link fences, complete with barbwire on the top and in between the rows.  I'm not sure if that was to protect the plant or make us feel secure being so close to the prison or a war relic; maybe all three.   But it was certainly a launching pad for a place that allowed your imagination to run wild.

The actual office building for the plant was rather small compared to the size of the compound.  There must have been a dozen outbuildings that were never used.  Some of these buildings were not real buildings at all, but rather solid concrete structures the size of real buildings.  Some of them had secret hidden rooms below them.  But then within some of the most nondescript building you would find 6-inch thick steel doors.  It took all of my strength of open them.  Then there were the bunkers - cold, dark and dank.  The perfect place to hide out in the heat of the day.  And lets not forget the machine gun towers; we used to store big water jugs in them.

Most mornings we would hop on our mowers and set out to mow, and mow, and mow.  But then there were the painting weeks, when we would paint a random steel door or abandon building with this muddy brown oil based paint.  I HATE oil based paint.  We had tricked out weed-whackers with steel blades on them; great for taking out the forest that was trying to invade our grass and culverts.  Ah the culverts, I got many a mower stuck in them.  I can tow a mower out of a culvert faster than I can  load a stroller into the back of my car.

That summer I learned how to do many things; oil changes, tire changes, and most importantly how to drive a full size bump truck with air brakes.  Because really, isn't that a skill we all need.

My favorite days were when Jack would hand us the pitch forks, tell us to fill up the water cooler and grab the canoe and the high water waders.  Those were "beaver dam days".  Technically we were suppose to be dismantling the beaver dams, but really we would just nap in the bed of the pick-up truck with one of us monitoring the walkie-talkie for Jack calls.

Those were the days.  I swear I can still smell the almonds.  Yes, almonds.  The area around the water cooling towers smelled like almonds.  Rumor had it someone put almonds around the ridge of the towers to create the scent.  I have no idea if that is true.

I went back for two summers, at the end of my last summer I had my wisdom teeth removed and the day before I went on leave one of the guys called me the C word.  He was terminated, and I was offered a position inside for the remainder of the summer.  I came back from having my teeth done and spent 8 hours a day reading through legal documents and highlighting some key words I was given.  I was bored to tears, what I would have given to be out on the tractor again, watching a storm roll in; the clouds blackening the sky and the lightening cracking in the woods; and hearing the sounds of the first fat rain drops hitting the hood of the tractor, and watching the deer run for cover while driving the mower back to the garage.  Storms like that just aren't the same in an office building, you can't feel the weather changing.

The next summer they offered me a desk job in the engineering department.  I went elsewhere.  Desks are nice, but some days I really miss my tractor.