Snow and bitter weather came early to Cape Cod in December, 1960. We have always bragged about the mild winters enjoyed on the Cape, but we certainly had a real old fashioned one this year. Every Saturday it seemed that the very nastiest weather prevailed, but on Monday it was beautiful. It was really hard work in this flume and in the wheel pit at ten and twelve above zero, notwithstanding our heavy winter clothing, but nevertheless about ten o’clock a welcome coffee break was taken. Time after time ice would form and congeal around our boots while we were working, and a penetrating, deadly chill arose from the wheel pit. I don’t know how many hours were spent in breaking up the ice before we could even start to work. Fortunately, no one seemed the worse for wear. We collected all kinds of lumber, materials, and supplies of various descriptions, widths, and lengths, piling all of this around the mill site. It was a great source of concern to many passers-by where we possibly could be putting all this vast amount of lumber and supplies. Those that took the time to see could readily understand the large amount of lumber necessary to go into the wheel pit and the flume. Joe Carapezza, the stone mason, was then employed and did a most excellent job in renewing the foundation and rebuilding the retaining walls, mostly out of old dressed granite blocks. These old fashioned dressed granite blocks are about two and a half feet long and about ten to twelve inches square and make a most attractive addition to the landscape of the mill. Not being accustomed to this heavy work, which was indeed difficult for a professional like Joe, you can well imagine that I gradually gravitated to an assistant hired hand, but in this weather one did not stand around and become solidified. It was necessary, for self preservation, to keep moving, and while you are moving you might as well be doing some work. We did indulge in a welcome respite at ten o’clock on a Saturday morning of adjourning to my homestead where we would have some hot coffee and doughnuts. I don’t know how many gallons of coffee and how many doughnuts we consumed over this year and a half, and I don’t know how much mud my wife had to clean up in the kitchen after we all tramped in and out. We were all very thankful to her, however, for putting up with us. Friend George is slow, meticulous, and very exacting. As for myself, I know that I am impatient and I have to do everything in a hurry. Naturally, both our natures at times clashed, but I think one was good for the other. I did object strenuously to George’s most annoying habit of suddenly standing up and shouting, “Harold, where is the rule?” I found that ignoring him did not help, so I acquired some earmuffs which worked admirably until George resorted to making signs and perhaps lifting up one of the earmuffs and gently requesting the rule. Incidentally, the rule most of the time was sticking out of his own pocket.