By the end of spring 1977 enough water had collected in our basement to resemble a swimming pond.
If the sump pump wasn’t plugged in water would inch up the wooden stairs that led to the area of our oil furnace.
I can still see my father opening the cellar door every morning in late March and early April to peer down into the darkness to see if the water was rising.
Sometimes he would slip on his tall rubber boots to wade through the chilly spring run off to plug in the sump pump.
From the top of the stairs I watched the water swishing around his legs as the light from his flashlight bounced around in the blackness of the cellar abyss.
The smell of wet earth and wood wrapped against my nostrils and onto the back of my throat.
Soon the low hum of the pump was followed by a trickling gurgle of water and my father made his way up the stairs.
As I looked down the stairs I noticed the metal bucket I had put my toy soldiers in last fall before the snow flew.
They were my outside soldiers…too dirty to bring inside to play with.
They were encased in ice having spent the entire winter in the heart of the cold basement.
I took off my socks, hiked up my pajama bottoms to my knees, and descended the stairs to retrieve the toys.
I took the bucket into the bathroom and placed it in the tub. I ran warm water over the top to free the soldiers from their icy grip.
It was really neat to watch the ice slowly melt and spring loose the figures closest to the top.
I held each of them under water for a super cleaning and tossed them into a pile on an old beach towel.
When the ice loosened from the sides of the bucket I turned it over.
The remaining soldiers looked so cool suspended in the clear ice that I almost hated to see the block disappear.
When the last of the ice melted down the drain I lifted the bucket and found it had left a circle of rust on the bottom of the tub.
I knew my mother would not be happy with my spring science experiment so I scrubbed it the best I could.
Still, I think some remnants of the circle remained for at least another week.
In the meantime I had a few more inside soldiers to play with till Spring arrived for good.
Mitch Lee, Adirondack native & storyteller,
lives at Inlet. ltmitch3rdny@aol.com