Moving seemed to be what my family did best. I think I have written about this phenomenon before. As a child, I was confused by it; now as an adult I realized it was Mom's way of trying to find relief from her illness. Three of our moves brought us into the unenviable position of having to haul water.
The first waterless move was to an old house in the country with no electricity, therefore, no water. There was no heat in this house either, and I'm sure my kids are tired of hearing how my mother would dress me in my snowsuit to send me to play in the living room. There was a hand pump for water. In the winter, it would freeze, and in the summer, the well went dry. So water was always at a premium.
We had a chemical toilet. Unless you have done a lot of wilderness-type camping, you cannot appreciate what that means in terms of smell. And this toilet was in a shed attached to the house and reached through the kitchen. No matter how my Dad worked to keep the chemicals doing their thing, it always smelled awful when the kitchen door opened.
The second move to a house with a well took place when I was nine. This looked like a wonderful house; it was relatively new (this was war time, so it was probably built in the 30"s), and had a neat kitchen, lovely dining room, and a living room. The bedrooms were upstairs. This was the house where my sleep-walking took on a new terror, and I tumbled down the stairs in my sleep one night.
There was one drawback to this house. The well went dry in the summer. We had a sauna in the back yard, which took little water, but rinsing off was a chore. We would have to fill a pail from somewhere (nine-year-olds don't pay too much attention to the details), and when we were properly steam-cleaned, the pail of cold water would be dumped on us. It must have taken more than one pail, but I don't remember that part.
Then a couple years later, after a move back to the city, we bought the Rock House, which was built in the 1700's. That house required constant maintenance. But the most serious drawback was the well that could go dry for 4 or 5 months of the year. We would have to cart water from a spring about a quarter of a mile from the house. I learned early to bathe in a tea cup of water in the bathroom sink bowl.
Many years later, after Mom had died and Dad married again, he finally had the resources to have a new well dug. It cost $4800 and was the pride of his life. No more lugging water. No more visiting Auntie and Uncle so that you could take a REAL bath. No more using the outside toilet in the summer, being scared of skunks and racoons. No more wringer washer, using the same tub full to wash the clothes for a family of five. No more catching rain water to use for washing hair.
I have a horror of running out of water. Our well has never failed us, but when the girl upstairs stays in the shower for 20-25 minutes, I get anxious. I've spoken to her parents, but they say, "She just doesn't listen to us". Well, this year, I'LL speak to her, and if that doesn't do it, DB will have to take the bull by the horns and tell her to set a timer, or we will. I hope it doesn't come to that, but I've spent too many years in my past doing without water, and I hope never to have to again.
7:33 PM The rain is pelting down outside. Good! We are so dry around here, and the lake is so low, that it's frightening. We depend on a well, and the farmers depend on water. It is such an elementary worry, running out of water.
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