The water softener is out of salt. Again. I can tell because the dish cloths come out of the wash with tell tale rust stains where someone used it to wipe up something greasy – you know, like you do with a dish rag.
It’s the last of the typical 5 loads of laundry that it takes to clean The Sapling. I should have checked the salt bin before I started. It makes such a difference in how the water feels to the guests and how much iron from the heavily-mined ground surrounding our well will stick to stains in the laundry.
But it’s raining, so I was already worried about the dirt I’m tracking into both the laundry room and The Sapling when I’m switching loads. There’s nowhere in this tiny laundry room to store the 40lb bags that I already schlepped into my car at Tractor Supply Company, 35 miles away.
So they’re in the shed, where I’ll now go to schlep them onto the golf cart (I’m so thankful for my golf cart. His name is Kenneth and he rarely bitches about the excessive abuse I put him through. Laundry, garbage, multiple 40lb bags of salt, trips around the neighborhood to look for elk, he just goes [as long as his battery is charged and his tires are not flat, but those are stories for another time] along with my whims.) and then schlep them into the laundry room to heft them into the salt tank.
I can. I just don’t want to.
Running your own business alone is so damn glamorous.
Building Benezette 
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