Even boardwalkers fall in the ditch

by Katie on February 15, 2011

A new round of night irrigation started last night, and for some reason, we always have plenty of stories when we become creatures of the night.

We took turns making the changes throughout the night, although neither of us really slept in between. That’s the nature of it:  sometimes it works, sometimes it doesn’t.

The final change was mine at 4am. Everything was going along smoothly.

…Until I went to cross the ditch for the second-to-last time. There was a board right in front of me, so I stepped down.

It started to slide down into the ditch.

I tried to stop myself from following it, but my weight had already shifted too far forward.

Before I knew it, one whole leg was fully submerged, and the other was quickly following it, just because I was off balance and couldn’t gain any traction on the sandy bank.

I was hollering, “Aaaah! Ohhh! Oooohhh! Aaaaah!” the whole time, watching both my legs slide into the ditch in slow motion, realizing there was nothing I could do to stop it.

When I reached the point of being submerged, practically to my waist, I was finally able to scoot myself out of the ditch. When I stood, and felt the chilly air breeze across my soaked sweat pants (which are a comfortable size too big and therefore wanted to slide down to my knees with every step from the weight of the water), and took a step in my squishy socks and shoes, I’m pretty sure I stood still wallowed a bit in self-pity before carrying on with the task at hand.

The whole drive home, all I could think about was my wet feet and how I had been looking forward to returning home to lounge in my comfy sweats and have a cup of early morning coffee before the rest of the world began to stir. And how it was not an option now that I was soaked to the skin in irrigation water.

Defeated, I left my shoes outside, made puddles on the rug from my socks, and hung my pants on the coat rack at the door.

Brandon heard me rummaging around for dry sweatpants, and when he finally came-to enough to get actual words out (prior to that, it was mumbles and grunts and how I imagine cave men probably communicated), he asked me how my water change had gone.

“Hmph” is probably the closest thing to what came out of my mouth, only it was more in whine-form.

“What happened?” he asked, immediately coherent.

“Both my legs slid into the ditch…”

“Oh, Baby, it’s cold out there.”

“Yeah, 37 degrees is what the truck said when I got back in.”

“Oh, yeah, that’s cold,” he said, very sympathetic-like. “Well, climb in all the way on that side of the bed over there for ten minutes or until you get warm, then you can get close to me and go back to sleep for a few hours.”

“Brandon, I was just soaked up to my waist in 37 degree weather. I’m pretty much wide awake at this point. I’m up for the day.”

But he eventually convinced me to get back in bed. And I’m glad he did. When your day starts like that, it needs a do-over.

After I climbed into bed (way away from him, as instructed), he asked how I had “slipped” into the ditch. I told him about the board. And he responded with, “That’s why I don’t use the boards.”

“But Brandon, you fall in more.”

And then I heard snoring. Still not convinced it was real.


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