Wednesday, January 25, 2006

Well, Well, Well . . .

That’s what’s been going on up at the site the past two days. At end of day, yesterday, I heard we were at about 300 ft. Maybe that would be impressive for football or a sculpture or a swimming pool. It’s daunting if drilling for water. It’s a number you don’t want to hear in connection with getting the Code’s 5 gallons-per-minute quota. In fact, living near a lake, it downright ticks me off that we hadn’t met that quota sooner. But we’ll have running water and that’s, in Martha Stewart’s proverbial way, a good thing. Now . . . how to get it from the well to the house?

My mother was eager to hear when we’d be drilling the well. For the longest time I’d heard about the well-drilling that went on for-EVER at Red Top Dutchess Farm and Stables when my grandparents owned a house in Hopewell Junction. If I remember rightly, they had water for awhile until the sale went through and then they didn’t have it. So they had to drill a new well. According to my mother, it was taking a mighty long time for them to hit water at the farm. Long enough for the well-drilling guy to make his own coffee daily in the kitchen and become referred to as Uncle Philips instead of Mr. Philips. I don’t know how many feet they drilled and I don’t want to know. Some things are best left unsaid – the depths of one’s well is one of them.

I don’t know the names of these guys and I don’t want to know them either. I wouldn’t want to jinx things. Here they are nonetheless . . .




















And proof that there’s roof. See the little bitty bit of green peaking out on the gable? That’s real roof, not tar paper which has been the bane of Dirk’s life for nearly a year now as he’s battled the elements. (For past history and amusement, see The Tempest and Blue Socks in September archives.)













I’ve finished the bag. I just need to twist the cord for the closures and make an insert and I’m ready for the Playground. Photos to come later; I don’t know where the camera went. Probably to Puerto Vallarta.

The moebius is lying about somewhere waiting to be picked up.

Thought for the Day: Don’t burn your bridges ~ especially if it’s the only way back to where you came from.

1 comment:

Ruth said...

300 feet???? Oh dear gods. That, to coin a phrase, sucks. Our well in Union Vale was 150', but when they put in that golf course some of the wells in the neighborhood went dry. That also sucked.

So what's the estimated date of occupancy now?