The Water Saga

It is no mystery that we have not had any rain in Owls Head for most of July. The grass is brown and crunchy; the plants need to be watered every day. In the spring, thanks to Melina’s suggestion, I installed soaker hoses with timers for the first time. We placed them throughout the five new garden beds. They work great but I still have to water the terraces which are filled with perennials. Normally perennials are hardy and can take care of themselves but when I say no rain, I mean not one drop. In the section of the garden we call the Meadow, the echinaceas, Russian sage and rudebekia bow their pretty little heads in distress and fan their leaves out like thirsty mouths. This means I have to drag out the hoses and water. I hate hoses. With all the tangling and kinks, they make me want to cry. 

As a proponent of sustainable practices, three years ago I installed two large rainwater catchment tanks that hold 350 gallons each. They are made by a company called Rainharvest, located in Cumming, Georgia. They are on the west side of the house, and two smaller, barrel-sized ones are in the front of the house. In normal conditions the two tanks and two barrels hold enough to give the garden two good waterings. We use an electric pump to get the water out of the tanks into hoses. But since there has been no rain the tanks and barrels are bone dry. 

So why not use our own water? Well – we have a well. There is no city water where we live.  

Since we bought our house twelve years ago our well has never run dry but we have had issues. Arsenic for one. So we had to install a huge filtration system in the basement to bring the water up to drinking level clean as well as test it every year. No big deal. But our bigger issue now is we are reluctant to use the well water for the plant watering because we don’t know the well capacity. Could we run the well dry? 

Bill and I call the water treatment people and ask them, how do we know how much well water do we have and can we afford to use it to water plants? This being Maine we should have been prepared for what happened next. 

They tell us to find the well head and on the inside of the cap we will find the information we need: the depth and water level. We go to find the well head. It is buried beneath an acre of shrubs near the top of our property. After I cut away the false raspberry and hack off branches of dogwood, much like Dr. Livingstone in the jungle, I find the cap. I remove it and look underneath. The spaces where this information is supposed to be is blank. 

We call the water people back with our dilemma. If you could hear a shrug on the phone, we did. They tell us if we want to know how much water we have, we have to drain it. Drain the well? Yes, let it run dry. Great. We drain the well in a drought and then we have no water at all. Our water people don’t seem to think this is big deal because the water source is beneath the bedrock. I go online to research wells and discover this is true, that well water is not surface water so it will fill right back up. But this is Maine and we have learned to be cautious of anything that no else is cautious about. So, we are pretty much cautious about everything and anything anybody tells us.

My dear husband Bill, Mr. Fix It, does not see our situation as a crisis but a challenge. He is going to find us water, come hell or high, whatever. 

First, he has to find a source, he says. He calls the water people back and asks them where can he buy water. We learn, funny enough, there is a water delivery service, a guy with a tank who services swimming pools. Bill calls. The minimum delivery is 10,000 gallons, and the guy says he knows where we live and can’t get his truck down our road (did he talk to Carlos?). Next Bill calls the Rockland Fire Department. Rockland is a separate town from Owls Head so they can’t help us. 
 
Undaunted, Bill then calls the local Owls Head Township office. They tell him there is a spring, with plenty of water and he can have all he wants. The spring is located on Ingraham Hill Road, near the Choo Choo train. 

What Choo Choo train, asks Bill? Where’s Ingraham Hill?

You don’t know the Choo Choo train? 
 

Bill doesn’t have the courage to say no and goes in search of the famous marker. He can’t find it and goes back to the Township office. They drive him there. Turns out it is a real, very badly-rusted miniature steam engine half buried in weeds on the side of Route 73, a road we take nearly every day. Someday we’ll find out the story but for right now at least we know how to find the spring and faucet. 

Bill, bless his heart, has already figured out how to get the spring water back to our house. He went online and bought a 250-gallon tank that can fit on a truck bed. He calculates that 250 gallons of water weighs about 2,000 pounds. He needs a truck that can carry that much. Once he finds it, he will fill the tank, pump the spring water into our big green tanks and voila! 

Meanwhile, I’m thinking this is most cockamamie idea I’ve ever heard of because we don’t have a truck. Bill is relentless. He asks Melina if we can use her truck and then he plans to use Wayne’s van and then he plans to ask Mr. C, who mows our lawn, to use his truck. I just shake my head and think that Bill is losing his mind but I don’t say a word. Bill, convinced his plan is going to work, not only orders a tank for his water delivery strategy, but also a third 350-gallon tank from Rainharvest. So now we have three, a total of 1,050 gallons, when full, with rain, or spring water from the Choo Choo train.

When Bill orders the tank for the spring water, from a company in Oklahoma (he tried Lowes, Home Depot, Tractor Supply, but no luck), he makes it a point to tell them that we live on narrow road with NO TURN AROUND. No semi’s (18-wheeler) or large delivery trucks will fit. Yes, you know what’s coming. 

The day before the tank is due to arrive, I am working in the garden and I see a semi coming down Ash Point Drive. I sigh a big sigh and go out to talk to the driver who has descended from the cab and is headed toward me. Unlike Carlos he does not have a look of desperation on his face because it turns out he is a Mainer and is used to this kind of thing. I go to find Bill who is on his computer checking his trades. 

Your tank is here, I tell him dourly. I don’t bother to explain the rest. 

The tank is shrink-wrapped on a pallet. The driver loads it on a hand-operated forklift, pushes it to the house and puts it in the driveway. We tell him we are sorry, that we tried to tell the company about the roads. He says they never tell him anything but he loves the garden and wishes his mother could see it. I invite him to come back anytime. Bill offers him a tip but he refuses. He’s only doing his job. I wave goodbye but don’t look to see how he gets out. A neighbor from up the road, who had stopped by to see if there would be any more “carnage,” meaning damage to the lawns, told us the driver backed out all the way to the airport, a good mile and a half up the road. 

The only minor problem is the company in Oklahoma sent Bill a 150-gallon tank, not 250 but this turns out for the best. We feel a lot better about putting less weight in Melina’s truck and not causing any damage – though we are getting very good at causing damage, aren’t we? Bill and Melina put the tank in her truck and off they go.

It doesn’t take them long so they make two more trips. Later the same day Bill and Wayne, our caretaker, go fill it up again, twice. After loading and pumping, all the tanks in the garden are filled which means we have plenty of water, ready to go.  

The good news is the weather forecast says rain.