The broken electric poles were the result of a one-car accident last week. A young man swerved to miss a deer, ran off the road on the opposite side, then came back and left the road again and clipped the electric pole on the right-of-way and ran through the pasture fence. The force when the pole broke and fell pulled on the line to the pumphouse and broke the service pole, at the ground.
The electric company said we needed a street address for the service pole. I called the Postal Service. You can't call the local Post Office, you call an 800 number. It's like trying to get information in Jamaica. They don't volunteer anything and further questions are met with the same answer, "I'm sorry, the Postal Service does not assign house numbers." I finally wrung from her that I should call my 'town hall.' Town Hall? We don't have a town hall, this is a rural area.
I called the tax assessor's office, for lack of a better source and asked if they knew who assigned house numbers. Of course they did, and they knew the telephone number for the Planning Commission as well.
Now the pumphouse at the other place has its own address. I bought numbers to put on the fence post at the gate. Don't send the pumphouse any mail. We're not giving it a mailbox.
We paid an electician to put up the pole and run the wire. Of course, everything was not to Daddy Senior's specifications. He took out the breaker boxes that the local building supply people put off on them because they didn't have the right ones, replaced them with the right ones and got a refund on the substituted parts.
The Scrap Man and Daddy Senior will repair the fence. Scrap Man is young and strong and delighted to work here, learning from Daddy Senior the finer points of doing things right.