Let’s review — the 27th of June was 100 days ago. That’s when Deb, Scout, Dipstick, Smudge and I moved to The Mountain forever. From the moment we arrived, our RV was connected to a septic system, but for electric power we relied on a 3500W gas-fueled portable generator, and we hauled water from Deb’s cousin’s well a quarter-mile away.
It was 42 days into our new American Life, on August 7th, that we connected to grid power. We no longer had to juggle our consumption of electricity or run battery-powered fans just to keep the coach’s interior around 90F in the dog days of summer. Gone, too, was the tedious, thrice-weekly ritual of lugging gas cans to and from the closest station, six miles away, along with the accompanying expense of keeping the generator running (to the tune of $600 a month).
Then, yesterday, water. I have to say that we’d become pretty good at conserving that precious resource — with careful planning, we could wring five days’ usage out of our supply before making a trip to the well for more. Those runs didn’t cost us anything, other than gas in the buggy or the truck, and we managed to make the early morning ritual a pleasant diversion. But, barring an emergency, we’re done with that.
The overwhelming sense today is one of independence, which might seem odd since over the last hundred days our Life and our Home have become increasingly dependent on the grid. What I mean by independence, however, is more about footing — in practical, conventional terms, for everyday living, at last we’re standing on our own.
That’s a big deal.
I grew up on water drawn from a well. Since then I’ve lived other places that had wells (like the first house that Deb and I owned). But this is my first experience with a new well, and that comes with a bit of a learning curve.
Ours is producing plenty of water. The pump’s working just fine. For a while, though, we’ll be dealing with sediment in the water.
That’s natural, of course, and it’s perfectly normal. There’s no telling how long it’ll take for our well to “clear,” and until the grit goes away we’ll be changing filters diligently and cleaning screens and faucet aerators regularly.
It’s just part of the deal.
Funny story about the hydrant, by the way — the first time we used it, when I shut it off, water spewed from the base of it where the standing pipe joins the supply line. Deb took a picture and texted it to our well guy, letting him know that there was a leak that needed fixing.
He replied that what we thought was a leak actually is a “weep hole” doing its job. When flow is cut off to the head, that orifice evacuates water in the standing pipe, which is what makes the hydrant “frost-proof.” We’ve used literally hundreds of hydrants like this one, but because the weep hole is below grade (buried, that is), we’d never seen it work before.
This is how we learn.
A brief word about the steel box enclosing our well — it’s ugly. There’s nothing rustic ir subtle about it. It doesn’t “fit.” Truly, it looks like a mysterious alien craft from a 1950s B movie.
We considered siding it in cedar planks and letting them weather naturally, but its irregular surface would make that difficult to do well.
I think we’ve settled on painting the thing to mimic its surroundings. We’re not going for Cartoon Camo, but we’ll scuff, prime and paint the enclosure so that it recedes into the space it occupies.
So, for all intents and purposes, our fifth-wheel now has “full hookups,” same as if we were at a commercial campground. We’re still in an RV, though, still glamping, and we’re not relieved of the responsibility of dumping wastewater.
The adventure continues, but our situation no longer resembles boondocking. That makes things easier.
Showers this morning were an unmitigated joy. After I dumped the tanks I left the gray valve open, and each of us reveled in not having to worry about the fresh water running out. It’s the simple things.
Thus refreshed, we gathered our dirty clothes and drove to the laundromat. The stuff was out of the wash and beginning to dry when I saw that the time was 12:55pm.
That’s when I slipped my phone into a Mission Darkness Faraday bag, closing it securely. Deb did the same with her phone, as well as her smart watch, our MiFi brick and Smudge’s tracking device.
Around 1:22pm, our fellow launderers’ phones started bleating with the expected FEMA EAS test. Ours didn’t. We smiled.
For the record, Deb turned off her devices before placing them into her Faraday bag. I did not — I pulled up the Mission Darkness app and told it to record signal strength while my phone was secured.
When I checked the readout afterward, a graph showed that the device truly had been sitting in the dark for that hour. No cell signal. No Wi-Fi. No Bluetooth. Nothing.
Ozarkansas did indeed get the rain that was predicted for today, but I don’t think anyone expected how heavy it’d be. By the time we left the laundromat and headed north toward a gun shop near Midway (Deb wanted one more box of ammo for her deer rifle), it was comin’ down so hard that my Silverado’s wipers couldn’t keep up.
This weather, which is forecast to continue throughout tomorrow, is perfect for us right now. It forces us to slow down. It tests some of the work we’ve done. It brings our wooded world closer, asking us to notice what’s right in front of us.
And with temps in the low 60s this afternoon, it had us rummaging through closet and drawers for hoodies and fleece.
We know what all we have left to do here. I don’t believe we can say what we’ll do next, beyond closing the trench between the cabin and the well and restoring our driveway. I certainly don’t know what tomorrow will bring — other than rain, of course.
That’d be fine, by the way.
Take care of yourselves, Patriots. Stay calm. Stay sharp. Stay free.
#WiseUp #LibertyOrDeath #Ungovernable
#LetsGoBrandon #FJB