Water Woman
When Simone and I lived in Fox Island, water came with baggage. The day we took possession and turned on the kitchen tap... mud came out. Our water came from a twelve foot dug well and was often silted with flooding. Foot valves were constantly being replaced by me as I climbed down into a watery grave of darkness - on one occasion to find out later the replacement valve was indeed faulty and had to be replaced too. The ocean frequently breached the beach into our yard and salt water infected the precious source of our survival - and so needed to be pumped clean - another decent into the pit of darkness. Frost and ice frequently shifted the crocks that lined the well, and in the spring I often found floating, dead voles and other vermin. In the summer guests ran the well dry with showers they thought should be consistent with their urban experience of the eternal spring. In winter we once had our jet pump fracture a gasket owing to minus twenty five degree temperatures prevailing for at least two months. We had to break the ice in order to retrieve enough water to flush the cottage toilet, wash dishes, and make King Cole tea that tasted like rusty nails.
They were strange days and quintessential to our understanding of that precious liquid. Solace came on occasion by a mystery neighbour who regularly left a five gallon bucket of water on our back step - I referred to this person as the water fairy, and will be eternally greatfull for their kindness.
This small, incidental drawing, brought back how much work water really was to us, and how, on occasion, it takes on a presence of it's own in the morning, crystal clear as the sun shines through the glasses contents - half empty or half full.
Comments
Post a Comment