As I have mentioned before, I live in the country. OK, for the logic sticklers out there, yes, everybody lives in a country, but I live in the country. And for you Americans, no, I don't mean that I live in the country, as in the one and only country worth living in, by which you would mean America. Sheesh.I live in a rural area. How's that? That nest, which we think never made it to prime time, is right at the edge of the yard, where it becomes forest. The verge, I believe that would be called.
So, the country. My own nest, by which I mean my husband's house, depends on a septic system and a well to handle water and plumbing issues. Because I have lived my life to this point on public water systems, I am experiencing a new type of culture shock.
Fortunately for you, I can't bear thinking about the septic system yet. (You'll know when I start.) However, I am consciously learning the vicissitudes of living with a well. The ups and downs, as it were. The ins and outs. As in "out of water." As in, "How can we be out of water in a spring as wet as this one?"
The well pumps water from deep below the surface of the earth into a cistern (you can call it a tank but I like the word "cistern") inside our basement. We monitor the amount of water we have by looking at the cistern. (It holds X gallons, where X might be 350 but I can't remember and in any case, I don't have a frame of reference for how much water that is.)
The amount of water in the well itself remains mysterious. What we do know about the level in the well itself also comes from examining the cistern. When the level of water in the cistern falls to a specific point, it asks the well for water, and the well sends water. How much the well sends indicates, somewhat, how much it has.
If the cistern fills to the top after it asks the well for water, the well had a good supply of water. It may NOW be empty, but it at least had a lot when the cistern asked. However, if the level of water in the cistern rises only a little bit--especially if the level remains below the point at which the cistern asks for water from the well--the well is basically dry. It's sending what it has as it gets it, and it ain't getting much.
I know all this. It's logical. There are pumps. I've drawn diagrams. I've done scenarios and role-playing and if-then statements and flowcharts. I get it. However, some aspects of this process still test my ability to reason logically.
For example, it makes sense that in a dry summer, when the water table is low, our own water supply is also low. There just isn't that much water to go around. Yup. Got it.
So, in a spring and early summer like this one, when it rains nearly EVERY FREAKING DAY not that I'm complaining, our own water supply should be HIGH. Lord knows the roads are washing out and the very beach is weeping.
However, we don't have a lot of water, except what's POURING DOWN FROM THE SKY AND FLOWING THROUGH THE BASEMENT, and here's what I want to know: how is this fair?
As Dr. Phil would point out, that's actually not a question, much as "How could you do this to me?" is also not really a question. They're statements, made into questions by outrage and tears. And grammar. But really, they're just other ways of saying "Woe is me."
And of course, logically, I do understand the answer to the question. The well fills slowly. The water that fills the well filters through 40 feet of clay. (My husband repeats this fact when I am still in the "woe is me" stage. I have no frame of reference for this, either, but apparently that's a lot of clay.)
Even when the well is filling as quickly as it can, it fills slowly. And the most important concept, which I tend to forget: the well can NEVER fill MORE quickly than "as quickly as it can," which means "slowly." Sadly, the well CAN fill LESS quickly than "as quickly as it can," and it does that in dry summers, when the water table is low.
So: Woe is me, for wet is our basement and low is our cistern, and the logic doesn't lie.
