Well, This Doesn't Suck

Day 254: Well, this doesn't suck...but it should. That's my wellhead. Ninety-something feet below its little blue hat, the pump which supplies my household with water isn't doing its job. I've been without water since Friday afternoon, unless you count the mud which flowed briefly from the tap Saturday morning, so thick with particulate matter that an inch in a bucket hid the bottom entirely from view. We had a few drops of rain on Saturday, enough that I could gather two bucketsful from a downspout for a flush and a hair-wash, ignoring the tea-coloured stain from the roof's asphalt shingles and contamination from bird poop and pollen.

I'm no stranger to this. For almost eighteen years in my previous home, household water came from the sky. It was gathered into two below-ground cisterns which at full capacity contained 8000 gallons. That 8000 gallons had to see my husband and me through the months between April and October, during which time the collection system had to be shut down because of dust generated from the gravel road. We learned to conserve. You bet we did. Even using the Little House Out Back, there were a few summers which saw us dangerously short of water.

When I moved here, I thought my water woes were over because I was on a well. Ten years into my occupation of the house, the well went dry and had to be re-dug. While trying to find financial aid, I spent six months hauling water in carboys, buckets and bottles from any source I could find, every single time I left the house. If I wanted to bathe, it had to be heated on the stove; you can't fill a hot water tank manually.

Since Friday, I've been back on camp conditions. The well-drilling company's serviceman is supposed to get here Friday. What will happen after that is a huge unknown. For now, though, if you're headed my way, please bring potable water in any quantity. The commodity most Americans take for granted is unavailable in Crow's own little third-world country.