Oil Spill!

A nearby house, built in 1900, sprang an oil leak from its fuel tank in the basement; the dripping oil was transported via a water-filled trench from the basement to the backyard where it bubbled to the surface, which slopes directly to the Schoharie.  Since the Schoharie is protected better than the Queen Mother's virtue, a dozen state and local agencies sprang into action, even though it was the middle of a raw, rainy night. 


The DEP must have a love-hate relationship with oil incidents: it hates them because spills and leaks threaten the waterway it is pledged to preserve; and yet it must love them in some way, because all the knowledge and training provided at taxpayer expense to its deputies, and its raison d'etre, becomes valuable, urgent and justified.


Such was the case I witnessed: hazmat repsonse teams, DEP patrols, containment units, and many others who didn't wear identification or uniform, criss-crossed the two acre parcel on the banks of the Schohaire for two days. Now, a week later, there are still booms in the backyard absorbing what they can, oil barrels ringing the circumference of the yard, yellow "crime scene" tape surrounding the fenced-off perimeter and regular visits from those cute little hybrid green-and-white sedans.


I'm afraid to discard the leftover olive oil from tonight's dinner.