When we need healing or relaxation, we repair to sandy places to plop our careworn bodies beside oceans whose rhythmic roar drowns out our worrisome whispers, and whose unfathomable hugeness gathers us up, washes us clean.
Bereft of water, I considered how accustomed I'd become to what is for many people a luxury. In a world in which more than a billion people lack safe drinking water, it was "stunning" news last summer when the United Nations reported that 52 percent of the Earth's population finally has running water at home. A Salvadoran co-worker, hearing of my "plight," snorted. Back home, she said, her family hoards water because the nation rations it. Folks get running water for two hours daily.
"I'm so spoiled," I admitted.
"The entire United States is spoiled," she shrugged.
Damn right. And I wanted my water back.
The plumber who said that our water stoppage was the result of a dry well added, "You'll need a well-drilling company to make sure." A well-drilling company? Where was I, Southfork? This being 2004, we discovered, there aren't many well-drilling companies -- and only a couple work in hoity-toity Montgomery County.
One that does sent a technician who peered down into the underground well pit and informed us that he'd have to drill another well elsewhere on the property -- to the tune of "at least $5,000."
The second company to arrive was Easterday, which has worked in these here parts -- that's well-speak -- for decades. Their technician listened to our description of the suddenness of the stoppage and the plumber's numerous tests. He lowered himself into the well pit and poked around.
Emerging, he said, "I don't think your well is dry." One new part -- to the tune of $278.50 -- and voilà:
We have water. Our toilets flush. My husband impresses dinner companions with his encyclopedic knowledge of shifting water tables and average Montgomery County well depths. For three whole days after discovering the well hadn't run dry, I was giddy with happiness.
Now -- although I'm consumed with thoughts of holiday shopping and why my cell phone only rings when I'm negotiating a turn, carrying groceries or paying a cashier -- this modern girl hasn't forgotten an age-old truth:
You really don't appreciate your water till your well runs dry.
