Brad and I love our plumber. Mike’s on the spot whenever we need him, like the time Daisy came out of the northwest bath and said, “When I pulled the plug in the tub, water came out of the toilet. That’s not right, is it?”
Mike installed big dehumidifiers in the basement and replaced the lead trap under the guest bath sink after it let loose all over one afternoon. He moved the dishwasher water supply once we determined that its proximity to the exterior wall meant it spent most of the winter frozen. He worked here every day for almost two weeks during the winter bathroom renovations.
Last week, I decided to get serious about watering the lawn. When I tried to turn the sillcocks on, I found I had improperly closed them in the fall. Mike came by and fixed all but one, which had problems lower down in the line, which is intended to feed the barn. In its place he put something temporary, until we come up with a plan to address the larger system. He’s a real partner in our renovation.
Brad had to call him after working hours a few days ago. None of the faucets were giving forth hot water. Mike came by first thing the next morning, but the problem had resolved. This afternoon, it happened again, and I called Mike. He raced right over, but again, by the time he got here the problem had resolved. He replaced a part he suspected might be at fault, but the old one looked just fine. I asked if it could be a pressure thing with the sprinklers, as my lawn watering was the only thing that had changed recently. He said, “I’ll look around a bit for a cross connection, but I don’t think that could be it.”
Mike never sits down in the kitchen. He’s a guy on the go. But he sat down on the rickety three-legged stool and said, “Your plumber is your problem.” When he set in the temporary sillcock in the back yard, he hooked it into the hot water line.
I only wish the long, luxuriously hot sprinkles I’ve been giving the lawn had helped grow grass.