Going for Water

When we were reading the mountains of paperwork involved in buying our new place, we discovered we had a spring with holding tanks and grandfathered-in water rights on adjacent BLM land up the hill. The fellow who lived in the house told us that about once a year, we would need to go up and clear out the pools of leaves and debris, and check the pipes in case an elk kicked them loose, to get the two 1550 gallon holding tanks filling to feed the water faucets in the yard. Excited for the adventure of cleaning out our own spring, my partner, son and I headed up with shovels and rakes on weekend morning to see what we would find. 

The description of how to find the spring was right on, and after following the path up through our woods and an old road through the BLM forest, we found a green, leafy oasis with two large holding tanks in the middle and the sound of gurgling water all around. 

The two pools didn’t take long to find by following the piping, and we shoveled each one out to clear the screen covered intakes and get water gurgling through. My son suddenly exclaimed from up on top of the first tank that he heard water rushing in. It took a little maneuvering to adjust the intake pipes, but soon water was coming in steady and strong. 

It was music to our ears to hear the water rushing through the pipes and the tank filling up steadily. 

We came back to check later in the day, and that first 1550 gallon tank was full!

Now our only issue was the mainline, which was indeed kicked by an elk
and broken, so we did a little digging in the mud and diagnosis, determining that we will be working that out with a little help from
our friends, and should have water in the garden very soon. This also
means more trips to the spring, which I look forward to immensely.

The whole experience reminded me of one of my favorite Robert Frost poems, “Going for Water.” My daughter had it as her third grade Birthday verse at our Waldorf School, so it has been a longtime household favorite around here.

Going For Water

The well was dry beside the door,  
  And so we went with pail and can  
Across the fields behind the house  
  To seek the brook if still it ran;  
  
Not loth to have excuse to go,
  Because the autumn eve was fair  
(Though chill), because the fields were ours,  
  And by the brook our woods were there.  
  
We ran as if to meet the moon  
  That slowly dawned behind the trees,
The barren boughs without the leaves,  
  Without the birds, without the breeze.  
  
But once within the wood, we paused  
  Like gnomes that hid us from the moon,  
Ready to run to hiding new
  With laughter when she found us soon.  
  
Each laid on other a staying hand  
  To listen ere we dared to look,  
And in the hush we joined to make  
  We heard, we knew we heard the brook. 
  
A note as from a single place,  
  A slender tinkling fall that made  
Now drops that floated on the pool  
  Like pearls, and now a silver blade.

~Robert Frost