A funny thing happened in Detroit yesterday. With that statement I’m taking some latitude with the city classification of “Detroit” because it takes too long to explain that I’m really talking about New Baltimore which is at the far limit of what you might call the greater Metro Detroit area. That too might be a stretch, but nobody, except for the people who live there know where New Baltimore or Anchor Bay actually is. For you Google Maps people, you can trace I-94 East from Montana all the way through Chicago, through Detroit and almost to the end point in Port Huron, Michigan. When you get close to the 4^th largest fresh water lake in the world, you’re home.

New Baltimore is where we used to live years ago and where some of my extended family still reside. It’s also one of the places that was hit with a lot of rain last week which isn’t too much of a problem since Lake Huron is massive and takes the flood water runoff pretty well. However, most homes in the area need the services of a reliable sump pump to collect rain water from around the foundation and drive it up to the city storm drains. Here is where our story starts.

My sister in law doesn’t go down to her basement very often, and it took about a week to notice that she had an inch of water covering the carpet, soaking her classic vinyl records and saturating boxes, cabinets and furniture. It was nearly a total loss in her finished basement. She was able to get an emergency plumber appointment to replace what was found to be a dead sump pump and the bulk of the water was removed over the course of the next few hours.

We found out yesterday morning, my wife’s sister in tears asking for help. With my brother in law now passed on and her kids not readily available, we packed up our car and headed south to assess the damage and begin the demolition and clean up.

Through the afternoon it was all about pushing water to the drains, cutting up the soaked carpet and getting it all up the stairs to the dumpster. Boxes and books and bobbles that were on the floor were pretty much ruined unless made of plastic and easily washable. Every piece of furniture had soaked up the dirty water, as did the base cabinets on the floor and at least four vertical feet of sheet rock on every wall.

It was a depressing day where my sister in law finally came to terms with the enormity of the damage and giving into the need to get rid of most everything that had touched the floor.

And then her grandchildren got out of school.

I have two grand-nieces from that particular family, both intelligent and precocious and as self assured as you could ever hope to find from kids at that age. At first they stayed upstairs with grandma, partly because that’s where the good after-school snacks were but also because it was a beehive of activity blocking the stairs. My son Matt joined my wife and I, along with one of my sister in law’s daughters and husband and we were wet and grumpy, carrying nasty things up to the dumpster. I can see why the girls stayed away but that lasted only for a few minutes.

The older of the two is all of about four feet tall. A skinny little thing with blonde hair and a smile that suggests happiness with a hint of sinister intent. We were at the point where the carpet had all been cut up and removed and were beginning to break apart the lower cabinets around the little kitchen area there and in the bathroom. While we were swinging hammers and even a full sized axe, she stood there close by watching, with hands clasped up beneath her chin as she slowly twisted herself from side to side. It was clear that she was interested in what we were doing, not afraid of the noise or the bits of particle board flying off the cabinets towards her legs. At one point I looked at her and asked, “Do you want to take a whack at this cabinet?”

Without a single word, she immediately reached out for the hammer I was holding.

There were a few things she didn’t have. Her footing was unstable and she didn’t know not to stand on a pile of previously demolished and slippery wooden pieces. I cleared a space on the floor and showed her how to stand. She didn’t have a ton of strength in one arm so holding a 20 ounce framing hammer was a little difficult. She figured out she needed to take a death grip with both hands. She didn’t have the ability to knock down a cabinet wall with a single swing. But that girl also didn’t have any fear.

The hammer wasn’t making the kind of impact she was hoping for but the smile on her face never changed. She asked if she could use the full size axe, just like that. A little heavier than the hammer, but she figured out that spacing her hands apart on the handle gave her better leverage. She kept swinging.

At one point she dropped the axe head to the floor holding the handle in her left hand while shaking the muscle stiffness out of her right arm. It was the wrong moment to try and explain the concept of lactic acidosis in human muscles but that’s me, uncle Mark, always looking to share information nobody had asked for.

She didn’t want to stop. She wanted to know what was next. This wasn’t just a “let me try that” experience for her. She was into it. Why not? I’m standing behind her the whole time yelling, “Yeah! Show that board who’s boss. Beat that cabinet like it owes you money.” Maybe that was a bit much but she was having a blast. After more than a half hour, her arms couldn’t do any more. She even picked up the big pieces she had just knocked down and carried them up the stairs herself without being asked. I see a construction girl in the making.

And why not? Thankfully we live in a society where women can do, or should be legally able to do whatever the hell they want. 50 years ago you didn’t commonly see female auto mechanics, plumbers, carpenters, engineers, or simply pick another male dominated employment example. While my daughters never initially gravitated to my wood shop activities, they were always welcome. In fact, both daughters are now becoming experts remodeling their own homes, getting dirty, swinging hammers, cutting wood, painting walls. Am I allowed to say “You go girl” or is that phrase restricted for girl to girl support? I mean well in any case.

But for my grand niece, damn! She meant business and she committed to absorbing the entire experience even if that meant her arms would feel like lead weights the next morning. That’s part of the experience too and hopefully it doesn’t stop her from wanting to do it again. That girl can swing a hammer.

We’re heading back to Detroit, er, I mean New Baltimore this morning to start taking down the sheet rock and insulation. Yay. Wet insulation and crumbling sheet rock? Now that’s a party. The girls will be back in school and will miss the fun of pulling big chunks of wall down. I’m sure we’ll be talking about yesterday’s demolition queen to help lighten the mood. Where is that girl when we need her?