When Wynn wrapped up his teaching job at Millville Elementary in the spring of 1983, we were finally ready to move home to Mink Creek. He hadn't been able to get hired in Preston. His master's degree wasn't an asset to a struggling school district that could only afford to  hire less-qualified teachers, but he had secured a position for the coming fall at North Cache in Richmond, Utah and the commute wasn't too bad.
   We moved our belongings into the house, but it was really so cold and old that we continued to live outside for the summer. We were up at dawn and working until the sun went down. Lynn Nelson's log house had to have our main focus and it was rising log by log in the front yard, but we also had to be able to live in the old house by wintertime and there was no inside plumbing that worked.
   We had an outhouse which was falling apart and full of bees, so when the children had to go, they would always plead with me to let them go "where the cows go" which was out in the field instead of using the latrine. We had been "stockpiling" building materials in the chicken coop for years. When the Layton apartments we managed were gutted and remodelled we started collecting everything that was reuseable. We had a couple of toilets, a hundred windows, some playground equipment. and lumber. People started hearing the rumor that we were in need and willing to work for the used stuff and we just became little pack rats taking whatever was offered and storing it until we could install it.
  Wynn strung a clothesline up for me and we set Grandma Allen's old wringer washer up by the outside spigot. A long extension cord brought power from the house. I had to use "Cold Power," detergent because it was the only powder that would dissolve in the icy water of Strawberry Creek. We'd fill the washer with water from a hose, plug it in and watch it dance around the lawn merrily agitating. Eight year old Hannah ran each newly washed article through the wringer and seven year-old Kate caught them and made sure they got in the basket. Five year old Josie picked each one up and ran it over to me so I could hang it up on the line. We tried trading around jobs, but Kate and Josie were always getting their fingers caught in the wringer which brought the whole process to a grinding halt, and two year old Landon was just busy getting as wet as possible.
   When the hose wasn't in the washing machine, we would snake it through the kitchen window into the sink to do the dishes. Wynn painted an old water heater black and put it up roof height, (he got this idea from reading "Mother Earth News,") this delivered hot water right into the house. A garden spray nozzle was attached, the hose was reinserted through the old bathroom window and voile we could have a hot shower. Wynn proudly marched into the bathroom, shut the door and disrobed to give his new invention a trial. We were all eagerly awaiting a report and our own turns. There was a resounding wail of pain as he pointed that nozzle at his innocent pink flesh and squirted a stream of 220 degree water all over himself. Oooops! There was a major flaw in the design. There was no way to mix in cold water. We learned to wait for prime time, when the sun went behind the west hill and the night breeze cooled down the tank, then we all lined up for the shower.
   Wynn got a used toilet installed, so I could quit running outside in the middle of the night with the small children. We thought there was a septic tank somewhere, but it turned out to just be an old clay pipe running straight to the creek with every flush, so a septic system before winter had to be managed in the budget somehow.
   We patiently worked through one challenge after another. The plumbing was just the tip of the iceberg. There were more challenges ahead. There always are. And if you make them a fun adventure you are having a Mink Creek kind of day.