Mid-thirties, which wouldn’t have been bad at all because it’s mostly sunny – but I didn’t anticipate the wind. I figured I’d be okay for at least a couple of hours as long as it wasn’t so cold my fingers were hurting in work gloves. Which they weren’t, and that Carhartt coat is windproof, so I got quite a lot done.
All the heavy stuff, really. A big sectional sofa – complete with two of the heavier recliners I ever lifted – and a kitchen stove all had to come off the patio and onto a flatbed trailer for transit to the dump. A defunct wind generator complete with maybe 100′ of cable had to come off a second floor porch and out to a steel pile in a more remote part of the property. That was an adventure because of the wind, which moved that particular objective from “definite” to “maybe” on account of the very rapidly spinning blades. I happened to catch it during a lull in the action, rushed up the stairs and bound the blades with a ball of (reader-provided) string I’d brought along for the purpose. Then I hauled the cable up onto the porch and off the other side where the stairs are, and then wrestled the generator and a heavy steel pipe down the stairs without damaging anything, and then carried the whole mess out to the pile since I knew the owner wanted it down from there but had neglected to ask where he wanted it to go.
By then my energy was beginning to flag but the next task involved cleaning out a carport, which at least was out of the wind. That filled the Jeep trailer again, and by the time I got that emptied I was out of steam and anyway it was pretty much noon. So I came home for lunch, and…
Somebody let it be known he didn’t appreciate my leaving him alone all morning and then crashing in front of the laptop with my back to the world instead of validating him and taking him for a cold windy walky. Uncle Joel is a bad person. We try to work around it, you know, we’re stuck with him. But there’s no point denying it.
Unless I missed some or he adds to the list, I’m about done with junk hauling. Now the project moves to brush hauling, of which there is a lot. He hired somebody to trim at least an acre’s worth of junipers and then realized he had no useable plan as to what to do with the enormous brush piles. I suggested what I usually do, which is to put them in the Jeep trailer and haul them out he-doesn’t-want-to-know-where. “I am,” I told him, “godfather to many many baby rats, born in safe brush piles out in the boonies provided by me.”