“The best is the enemy of the
good,” wrote Francois–Marie Arouet, a philosopher born in Paris
I was made aware recently
of a problem with the water at our house. Apparently, the water coming from our
well has taken on an unpleasant odor, so say regular visitors to our home who
feel comfortable enough to help themselves to the water coming from the tap,
and comfortable enough to point out its perceived shortcomings. The residents
of the house, had not noticed.
Has it come to this I
wonder? Is this a sign of me becoming like my grandparents? I used to notice an
unusual aroma when I visited my grandparent’s home as a child. I wouldn’t call
it unpleasant, yet I cannot imagine it would sell very well as cologne or air
freshener.
I went on the Minnesota
Department of Health’s website to learn how to clean a well. Although it seems
doable, there are plenty of warnings. Electrocution is always a possibility
when dealing with electricity, but it’s shocking how quickly the situation can
become dangerous when water is thrown in the mix.
I drove to town to
purchase some supplies. Fresh laundry–type bleach is recommended, as well as rubber
gloves and a hazard–materials suit. I’m kidding about the hazmat suit, but my
wife, Rhonda, did warn me about “not wearing anything I care about.” That
pretty much describes my entire work–around–the–farm wardrobe. It may improve
my appearance if I spilled bleach on my pants or shirt.
A funnel was also a
suggested item for the project. Apparently, splashing beach around carelessly
is to be avoided. I briefly considered using one of the funnels I have laying
around for adding fuel to the tractor and lawn mower, but then I remembered
something about the need to keep drinking water safe for human consumption.
After I got back home with
my bag of tricks, I examined the well cap to determine how I was going to
remove it by loosening the bolts that secured it. Since I hadn’t attended the
class on how to choose the correct wrench size, I gathered four from my
collection and returned to the well site.
I got close on my first
try. Of the four similarly sized wrenches, I was missing a 13/16, the one I
needed that I didn’t have – lucky thirteen. I tried a couple monkey wrenches
for laughs (both right and left–handed) and a large channel lock pliers. Still
there was no movement of the bolt other than a slight rounding of the edges,
With much of my Saturday
down the drain, I was still no closer to fixing the problem. In the short story,
“The Skylight Room,” O. Henry wrote, “You know you can see the stars even in
the daytime from a bottom of a well.” Figuratively, I was gazing into the other
end of the abyss. No light, just darkness. For now I was content with leaving well
enough alone.
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