It is thirteen degrees with a wind that drops the chill factor to well below zero. Not unusual for winter but something never fully anticipated. A friend who moved due to some economic challenges left behind an unoccupied mobile home. Not a big deal—just shut everything down. That is, till winter shows its full wrath.
I learned firsthand when we moved into our home during a similar winter in the late seventies just how vulnerable sewer and water pipes can be. We were required by our lender to have a water test. Our realtor ventured into the freezing home we were purchasing and ran water for about 20 or 30 minutes. He needed to get what he thought would be a clear fresh water sample for testing. Unbeknownst to him our future home’s drain into the septic system had frozen solid. (Normal heat generating bacterial activity in the tank had ceased due to lack of use.) Believe me a fully flooded basement in January is a nightmare. As a result, I developed a healthy respect (bordering on terror) for frozen pipes.
It was evident that my friend’s mobile home was vulnerable and the only solution was sufficient heat to keep pipes from freezing. A tank of heating oil at a cost of hundreds of dollars was out of the question. Seventeen days ago we put a stopgap investment of ten gallons of kerosene into the 260 gallon tank. As of eleven o’clock last night that ten gallons of fuel was still miraculously maintaining a minimum thermostat setting of fifty degrees. Reminded me of a story I’ve read about oil lasting indefinitely in another time and place.
About four o’clock this morning I woke with a start as winds created a real commotion outside our home. I got up with a real apprehension that my friend’s mobile home was vulnerable to these winds and frigid temperatures. I walked outside into a clear expanse of sky where there wasn’t even a single cloud to help retain any last remnant of fleeing heat. Even the stars appeared to be shivering as they shimmered in the cold night sky. Once daylight broke I drove to my friend’s mobile home and quickly found out that my apprehensions were well founded—out of oil. I’d read that running water doesn’t freeze as rapidly as still water. Fortunately, I’d let a slight trickle of water running from each of the faucets. It was so cold I couldn’t hold my hand in the trickle for any period of time, but it wasn’t frozen solid the way I’ve feared.
There’s now another ten gallons of kerosene in that big tank thanks to the help of a friend. Hopefully the mobile home will sell before that is gone or is it too much to hope for that spring will come soon? I did once again make sure that the water was running and am forever grateful that the running water probably saved us last night.
As I often do in similar situations, once I got home I sat (thawing out) and reflected on the frigid situation and how it applied to life. I didn’t look up the root of the word frigid but suspect it’s a combination of freeze and rigid. I thought about my heart. My natural heart has some spots that are rigid due to an event almost seventeen years ago that I thankfully survived. I am very mindful that I can’t chance having that condition expand if I am to have normal life-giving blood flow.
Then, I thought of my other heart. I realized that just like the pipes in the mobile home, there needs to be a flow through it to avoid becoming “frozen” in this frigid world. Yes, there has to be something constantly flowing into and perhaps, more importantly, out of it to avoid conditions that will make it vulnerable to becoming hard and frozen. Perhaps I’ve been equipped with a natural “safety valve” as long as I don’t take matters into my own hands and try to shut off the flow. There is something to be said for the heartwarming flow and all that it accomplishes.
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