Sustaining our Water, Part I: Finding the Problem

It took 4 full days without water to shame me into action.  I noticed the washing machine on drip fill, then became more suspicious when the toilet made no sound after a flush.  The subsequent trip to the sink confirmed it: the water was down.

And this could mean only one thing.  I was going underneath the house.

The water bowls were empty...

I called my husband who was away for 2 weeks up north on business.  He had water up there I was pretty sure, and after 15 minutes without a drip or a drop I needed vicarious contact.

“You have to go under the house and check the volume tank,” he said.

“I know that,” I said, “But I’m not going under there.”

“It’s 18 inches underneath, you’ll be fine.”

“Nope,” I said, “It’s been too warm.  Bugs.  Ants.  Things are moving in.”

I emailed a neighbor – her husband would do it, I was pretty sure.  After a few minutes with no response I called another neighbor.  Not home.

Our trip to New Jersey the next day loomed in front of me.  I couldn’t leave the farm with no water – we had a housesitter coming, the sink was piled high with postponed dishwashing, and my laundry for the trip was half done and turning sour in the machine.

I circled the house and peered underneath with a flashlight.  Looked like dirt, nothing crawling.  I went inside and found a sheet I didn’t mind losing.  Back at the foundation, I spread it out as best I could underneath the house without actually going underneath the house.

I got on my hands and knees and pushed the insulation curtain aside, then panicked and jumped up to check my shoes for ants, hit the back of my head on the top of the door, and knelt back down on the sheet.  My four year old walked up behind me and sat down on the ground.

“What are you doing?” she said.

“Going under the house to fix the water.”

“Is under the house where the water lives with its mommy and daddy?”

“Yep.”  I adjusted the heavy flashlight so that I could keep my eye on the largest of the holes in the dirt, just in case.

“Can I come?  I want to visit the water.”

I thought about it and decided she probably wasn’t strong enough to lift the reset rod on the volume tank.

“No honey, mommy is going to do this all by herself.  But thank you.  I’ll teach you to go under the house as soon as I can.”

“Okay mommy, I’ll sit here and make sure no scary stuff gets you.” 

Thanks.

The pressure on the water tank gauge read 90, which was right where it should be.  Stupid thing probably didn’t work.  I banged the gauge to see if it would move, then banged it just because I was mad.  I jiggled the lever that makes the water flow when the pump turns itself off for reasons that have to do with low volume in the tank, but which I still don’t fully understand.  No sounds of water flowing, no humming of any engine that might be associated with water pumping – but also no bugs or animals that might like to live in a dark place under stuff.

I remembered that Bob always checks the fuses when house-things start going wonky.  Not the laundry room-residing gray box easy-to-reach fuses.  These are barrel fuses, the ones that look like bullets and snap into place and if they blow you can’t just flip the breaker, you have to get a whole other fuse from the store no matter how dire the emergency that precipitated the fuse-blowing in the first place, and you have to crawl under the house and change them.

I was already there, so what the heck.  I shined the flashlight and cleared the area around the fuse box about 10 feet away, and went in.

“Mommy!” She was shrieking.  I’d forgotten she was there.  I turned around and crawled toward the opening.

“Honey, what’s wrong?”  She was sitting on the entry cover holding her knees to her chin.

“My dress is stuck.”

I looked to where she pointed and saw that the toile of her 25 cent thrift store princess dress was indeed stuck around a small nail.  I couldn’t reach her without coming all the way out, and I wasn’t sure I would go back in once I hit the open air.

“You can pull it, it’ll come off,” I said.

She whimpered.  Covered her face.  Sobbed a little, then sat bolt upright dry eyed and said, “If I fix my dress can I come visit the water?”

Jeez, this kid.  “How about if you visit the water and the bubbles together in a bath?”

“There’s a bath under there?” she jumped up, forgetting the nail and ripping the dress.

“No honey, tonight – this afternoon if you want – when mommy fixes the house and we have water you can take a bubble bath.”

“Oh.  You can go back under now mommy.”

Under I went, changing both fuses and retrying the pump.  Nothing.  Not so bad anymore, I hadn’t seen a single creepy thing aside from the general creepiness of the whole thing.  I wondered if people ever lived in the space under a house.

By now it was getting late in the day.  Chickens had no water, dogs had no water, and people were out of milk, water, and almost out of juice.  I called Bob and packed everyone up to go to the grocery store where we bought water and juice and ice cream and potato chips.  My friend from down the road called and said they were coming over to see if they could help, and they would bring a container for more water if we needed it.  I was sure it wouldn’t be necessary, but what the heck?  Sure, I said, bring it.

The neighbors came, and Dudley went in with me and looked at all kinds of wirey stuff, and determined not only that there was no problem Under the House, but that I would probably electrocute myself sometime in the near future if permitted to work with electricity in any form.  We determined that another call to Bob was probably necessary, and Barb talked me into staying in town rather than leaving and worrying about the water all weekend.  Phew.  I honestly didn’t want to leave anyway.

I told Bob he had to come home.

“Did you go under the house?” he said.

“I did, then Dudley did, and then I went under again, and there isn’t anything wrong under there.  Everything is okay and the pump isn’t coming on.”

So through some here and there, Barb and Dudley left me with instructions to call if I needed water or anything else, and Bob started home from somewhere on 95.  It was about 6 pm on Thursday.

I made an instant decision.  No more being without water.  We’d take it from the roofs, the rain straight into a bucket, and we’d find a spring.  We’d have an outdoor shower and an outdoor kitchen area.  Our garden would be watered with graywater.  This would never happen to us again.  I was embarrassed that after all of my preaching to others, I was caught so off guard.

When Bob got home we would plan.  Or he’d sign on to what I had already planned.  And that will be another story, soon.