Everything’s Jimmed

Nick and I have a week left of our stay in Sylva, North Carolina and we’re already sad about leaving. We’ve reconnected with old friends, made some colorful new ones and discovered an excellent wine bar in which to spend lovely happy hours. Nick loves being in his hometown, likes being famous. People come up to him and say, “You’re Nick Searcy! I loved you in Justified. Sorry to bother you.”

We’re considering this month as practice. When Marie and Jim, Nick’s mom and dad, no longer care to maintain this huge house on thirteen acres, they will most likely retire to their second home in Siler City near Mitzi, leaving the mountain home to Nick and his sister. So, in addition to helping out with some of the maintenance, we’re testing the waters to see if this lifestyle fits us. Nick doesn’t want to go back to California at all. Hopefully, we’ll start spending six months out of the year enjoying the slower pace of life in the mountains. Nick’s parents said we could just have their place and they would go to Siler City whenever we wanted to come. 

“If we did take over the house,” Nick told his Dad on the phone in October, “we’d eventually want to do some major renovations.”

“I don’t care what you do with it. Tear the shit out of it,” Jim answered in his flat drawl.

Before leaving for Siler City two weeks ago, Marie said, “Leslie, I want you to think of this place as yours. Do whatever you want to it.” 

“This is your home,” I said. “I can’t imagine touching it.” I had, however, been chomping at the bit for decades to get my hands on this house. Every time I visited, I imagined what I’d do with the place if it were mine. With some updates, it could be wonderful, spacious and comfortable. Mitzi and I already had big plans for opening up the closed-off seventies kitchen to the den and I’d fantasized about expanding the front porch and deck above it to make it more conducive to sitting in a porch swing and drinking a glass of wine while enjoying the expansive view of the sloping yard and fog-covered mountains in the distance.

“Before you guys leave,” I said to Marie, “do you want to show me what I need to worry about while we’re here?” I knew she was anxious about leaving us in the house. I don’t think it was because she didn’t trust us to take care of it, it’s just that in the forty five years of habitation, they have done so many DIY projects that each one has its own foibles and possible dangers. I wanted to ease her mind by learning the ropes. Marie began the tour in the office (the converted garage) and continued guiding me through the house and then around the property until every safety issue was covered.

#1 — The Subaru. Marie and Jim take his truck whenever they travel to Siler City, leaving their two cars in Sylva. We were welcome to drive them, but she was worried about us driving the Subaru because she’s sure it’s on it’s last leg and might break down any minute. The biggest thing to remember is that it must not be driven at high speeds and Nick shouldn’t go floor-boarding it like his dad has done to every vehicle they’ve ever owned.

#2 — Heating Systems. Though a heat pump covers the heating and air upstairs, the old electric wall heaters were left in place in case of power outage. The bottom floor is still heated with wall heaters and each one has to be adjusted for each room. Marie was worried that we’d push something in front of the units, creating a fire hazard. We practiced sitting roughly on the sofa to make sure it didn’t scoot back.

#3 — Electricity. Marie pointed out both breaker boxes. She had disabled all electricity outside because she was afraid someone would get electrocuted. Through the years, Jim had run all the lines himself, burying them willy-nilly, running to whatever he needed electrified. In Nick’s family, this technique is known as Jimming It. In my part of the country, we call this jerry-rigging. On the Searcy’s property, you can’t throw a stick without hitting something that has been Jimmed. 

#4 — DO NOT DIG. Refer to #2.

#5 Water. The well pump, which services not only their house, but also the three houses up the hill, is old. Marie is worried that it could go out any minute, leaving four households without water. She didn’t say whether or not it had been Jimmed.

#6 Gas (the biggie). Nick and I told Marie that we were looking forward to wintertime in Sylva, sitting in front of a roaring fire in one of their two fireplaces. 

“Now, don’t try to use the fireplace in the den,” she warned, leading me into the dark panelled room, “because smoke comes out the bookcases.” I said I could see how that would be alarming. “Jim burned such huge fires in there over the years that he cracked the chimney. I told him not to do that, but he doesn’t listen to a word I say.” She shook her head and led me to the living room. 

“Now, Leslie this is a set of gas logs we bought a long time ago for $100. They’re old and I’m not sure they’re safe. I don’t even know if there’s a shut-off valve because the gas line comes in the back of the fireplace and I can’t get back there to see.” She leaned down, trying to point past the logs. Anxiety radiated off her. “See, it should come in through the side, but it comes in through the back instead. And do you know why that gas line comes in the back?”

“No, why?”

 “Jim did it!”

A couple of hours later, Jim and I sat at the glass breakfast table eating Honey Nut Cheerios. “So, Jim,” I said. “Do I need to keep an eye on that well water pump?”

“The what?” he asked, mouth full of Cheerios.

“The water pump. Marie says it’s old and it could go out any minute.”

“They ain’t nothin wrong with that water pump and if it goes out, you call the well guy and he’ll come over here and fix it.”

“It’s a lot of responsibility providing water to three other houses. If it goes out, they don’t have water.”

“Well, ain’t nothing you can do about that. One time over on Searcy Mountain, my well ran dry and we was supplying water to twenty-four rental houses we owned. I had to get the well diggers out there and they dug down 400 feet and didn’t hit no water.” He laughed at the memory.

“Oh, god, how stressful.”

“He said what do you want me to do and I told him, keep digging, and he dug down to 500 feet and still didn’t hit no water. He had to keep on digging and had to go all the way down to 550 feet to finally hit some. Took a week.”

“Ugh. Well, I’m nervous because Marie told me I need to worry about the pump.”

“Aww, Marie would worry about a gnat if it flew by her.”

Over the last two weeks, Nick and I have cut ivy away from the garage and brush away from the roof, rolled two tires down to the barn, blown and raked leaves off the pumphouse roof, picked up old wood fencing laying around the place, painted outdoor tables and doorframes, made numerous trips to the dump. I tried to hose the driveway down but when I turned on the outdoor water faucet, nothing came out.

“I had to shut off the water outside,” Marie explained. “Because the fountain Jim made is broken. It’s been Jimmed.” 

In my opinion, the most important order of business was tending to the fencing around the property. The wood fence encloses much of the property and is meant to look elegant, like something you’d see around a horse farm or the rolling hills of a dairy farm. Instead, parts of it are covered in lichen, sections lean here and there, rotted boards have been replaced with bright new pine, and ivy creeps up the posts. I don’t even need to mention who built it. Of course, I’m Yankee-ish in my ways so I needed to tread lightly. 

“Jim, do you have any left-over stain for the fence?”

“What? Stain? For what?”

“The fence around the property. Those new boards stick out like a sore thumb and I thought I’d stain them.”

“We never stained that fence, it just got old. You don’t need to stain them boards. They’re fine.”

“I think they’d look better if they were weathered like the old ones, don’t you? I googled it and found a way to age wood with steel wool and vinegar.”

“Me and Marie went to get some stain and they wanted $30 for one can so we just said ‘Hell with it.’”

“Well, I’ll buy the stain.”

“All you need to do is git you some walnut hulls and break ‘em up and boil ‘em.”

“Okay. Where do I get walnuts?”

“They ain’t none.”

It was difficult to fight that logic. Jim would always choose the path of least resistance. It just doesn’t make sense to do unnecessary work. I can understand why Marie has thrown her hands up all these years and just let the whole place be Jimmed.