Well, we're in. The last week has been a little rough. We slept here for the first time last Wednesday night, boxes everywhere, mattresses on the floor, and no drinkable water. We had to drill a new well, which was done the week before our move. But the new well (think: large shiny red drilling rig expertly avoiding the willow in the back - but happily crushing a few thistles! - massive noises from the drill, rivers of clay and water, finally, liquid gold at 320 feet!) needed a pump, and electricity. The plumber did not do this until Thursday and Friday (somebody in the family - ahem - was a little grumpy about this) - finally Friday, a few days after our move, we had water to drink from our very own well. It's a measure of our trepidation that no one in the family wanted to be the first to take a drink. I think it also shows how disconnected we are, in general, from the source of our sustenance. Before, in all the places we lived in, water came from a faucet. Now (now?), for us it's coming from the earth, our earth, and we can see the well from the back kitchen window, and we saw them drill the hole it's coming out of, and put the pump in, and we heard the backhoe that dug the six-foot-deep trench for the pipe to get it into the house.
So, after all that solid evidence that something was coming out of the earth (not to mention the nitrates test the drillers performed), I decided I would be the first to take a drink. It was good! Really good water. My older daughter eyed me a little suspiciously that night when I told her she could use our water to brush her teeth.
"Go for it," I told her. And she did.
That well water beats bottled by a mile. Sounds like you are on the road to being settled. Where is this fabulous farm house? Love hearing about your family. Love, MB
Posted by: Mary Barbara | 08/13/2009 at 04:52 PM