SOMERSET — Bill and Lori Arnold have always been caretakers of their dairy farm. Now, they say they're caretakers of a miracle, tending the site where nine miners were rescued after spending more than three days trapped in the Quecreek Mine below.

"We felt very strongly that we didn't ask this to happen here. God chose to bring it here for a reason," Bill Arnold said. "I had very little to do with the miracles that took place here, but I'm very humbled and honored that it happened here on our farm."

Since the rescue five years ago this week, the Arnolds have established the Quecreek Mine Rescue Foundation, and thousands of people have come to see the yellow metal rescue capsule and other equipment used to save the stranded men.

The massive rescue effort riveted the nation for 77 hours and was, by turns, exulting and exasperating before the men were safely brought above ground on July 28, 2002.

The nine miners, working for Black Wolf Coal Co. at PBS Coal Inc.'s Quecreek Mine, became trapped by flooding water on July 24 when they breached the abandoned Saxman mine. They had been relying on outdated maps that showed the mine was 300 feet away.

Bill Arnold first heard about it after midnight on July 25, when his dog's barking woke him. He looked outside and saw men with flashlights. Perhaps a car broke down, he thought, or maybe someone was trying to break in.

He went to investigate and the engineer's news of the accident chilled him, he said.

Workers mapped out where they thought the miners were. Arnold removed a tree so they could drill a six-inch air shaft.

"We were basically drilling 245 feet, trying to hit a 20-foot target," said Arnold, who recounted the rescue while standing at the site near Somerset. "We hit it dead-on."

When the drill broke into the mine, driller Lou Bartels yelled out, "Those men are alive. Somebody hit my drill steel," Arnold recalled.

Arnold's neck hairs stood up.

"That was the turning point for me. Whatever it takes, we're going to get those guys out of there," Arnold said.

Arnold and a gathering throng of rescuers began working on the rescue shaft. But after eight hours of drilling, the 1,500-pound bit broke 105 feet down. Workers began another shaft while others tried to remove the broken bit.

Eventually, workers fished out the broken bit. Despite the torturous wait, the downtime gave rescuers the opportunity to pump out millions of gallons of water from the mine that threatened to flood the trapped men.

More than 70 hours into the rescue, workers broke through to the mine and the drill rigs were shut down, Arnold said. But the miners didn't know that because they were separated from the hole by a barricade they'd built to keep water at bay, Arnold said. They only knew drilling had stopped.

"So when they came back down to the 6-inch air shaft, which was the only thing they knew to be in the mine, they began to pound on that drill again to let us know, 'Hey, we're still down here. Don't quit on us,"' Arnold said.

It was the first sign of life in two-and-a-half days.

As workers above ground began removing the bit in the rescue shaft, miners Tom Foy and Ron Hileman heard air whistling through the barricade and began removing it, finally seeing the rescue shaft.

Using a speaker and microphone dropped down the air shaft, worker Rob Zaremski asked if the miners could hear him. John Phillippi told him they could.

Arnold watched Zaremski to see if all nine were OK. "He finally looked at me and gave me the thumbs up," flashing nine fingers, Arnold said.

Today, the miners largely stay away from the site, finding the memories too painful, Lori Arnold said. Some may visit at Saturday's anniversary celebration, she said.

Miners did not return repeated calls for comment.

Eight have sued the mine's owners and operators, claiming they knew or should have known the danger the miners were in. The defendants have asked for the suit's dismissal.

The federal Mine Safety and Health Administration found that three companies could have done more to ensure the miners' safety and proposed $14,100 in fines. A hearing in August will determine what they should pay.

The accident also brought calls to update the state's mining laws, last overhauled in 1961, but the Legislature hasn't produced anything concrete.

The state also asked the public for old mine maps to give a more complete picture of what mining activity has taken place.

Thousands have been turned in, said Joe Sbaffoni, director of the Bureau of Deep Mine Safety for the state Department of Environmental Protection. The bureau has been creating an online repository of mining maps.