A Precious Resource

Monday was, as I remember, the day Dad hauled water. He had a 300 gallon water tank on the back of the 1 ton truck that he used for hauling. Every Monday, if I remember correctly, Dad would take the truck to town to fill the tank with water to be hauled home. When home, he would back the truck up to the basement window,  clamp the hose onto the tank, put the hose through the basement window, and let  the water pour into the cistern in the basement. If it was cold outside, Mom would have to boil a kettle of water for Dad to pour on the hose to let the water through. The  basement was a scary place for a young girl like me.  I would avoid it whenever possible. But sometimes, for whatever reason, I would be near enough to the basement cistern to hear the water coming in.  That water, all 300 gallons of it,  would have to last our family of 5 for 1 week - until the following  Monday,when,  rain or snow or sun, Dad would repeat the hauling adventure.

One summer, when I was a little older, but still a young girl, my brothers were given the dubious task of digging the hole for the new, bigger cistern. They dug a hole 14 feet deep by 8 feet wide. It took them the entire summer.  They dug by hand, 1 pail-full of dirt at a time. "The reward," my brother Lloyd told me as we were reminiscing, "was that we would be able to have baths."   Sheeshh- what did we do before that?  This was the same brother that told me he would give me 2 bits if I jumped into the big hole after it was dug, then refused to pay me until Dad intervened. I remember being very disappointed when I got only 1 quarter. In my mind, 2 bits should have been 2 quarters.

With this bigger, 2500-3000 gallon cistern, Dad didn't have to haul water every week. But we still had to conserve. It was instilled in us.  We never took water for granted.

Fast- forward 30 years to the farm where I now live with my husband, Danny. He is the 3rd generation of his family to farm here.  His grandfather, Olaf, immigrated in 1909 from Norway. He left his beautiful, rugged homeland for the cold, hard prairies of North America. He homesteaded on a small plot of land with no trees, no buildings and no water.  He had his water custom hauled. Danny's Dad had a small cistern. He even had a crew come in and drill for water. They drilled to a depth of  425 feet. Nothing. So, when my husband and I took over the farming operation I knew that, once again, I would be conserving water. My husband hauled water once a week in our first years of marriage. If it was cold on "hauling day" I would boil water!  When our children were quite young we had a newer, bigger cistern installed.  5000 gallons! Danny didn't have to haul once a week anymore. We could manage, if we needed to, for 6 weeks. I was so thankful that I grew up having to conserve water.

In 2009, when the farm was 100 years old, we decided to try and drill for another well. This time we tried in a different location in our yard. The crew drilled 480 feet. They hit water at 440 feet, but went 40 extra feet to allow for the screens. The new well was up and running for our farm's 100th anniversary celebration. It was hooked up hours before the weekend celebrations began.  And what a celebration it was!

I am extremely grateful for the safe, delicious, accessible water that we are fortunate to have. I will never take it for granted.