Well Well

For those of you who aren’t aware, Texas can get kind of hot. Not hot in a “oh my, this is uncomfortable” sort of way, but hot as in “I wish someone would tell me to go to Hades so I could cool off” sort of way.

When we lived in New York, I could whine that I was dying from heat if the temperature hit 85 degrees and I’d get plenty of sympathy. Telethons, fundraisers, anything it took to help keep Greg cool.

Down here in Texas? You aren’t allowed to complain that it’s “hot” unless your pets are among those spontaneously combusting on the concrete.

Walk around Texas long enough and you’ll see plenty of ashy pet-like outlines emblazoned on the roads and sidewalks. Sometimes, a singed leash will dangle over a makeshift memorial cross that was pounded into the scorched earth with a sledgehammer.

Everything is so crisp around here in the summertime. The grass crunches as though you’re walking on peanut brittle, birds have trailing whisps of smoke behind them, and deer have been known to mug people carrying water bottles.

Fortunately, summer only lasts about 10 months out of the year so we just have a few more months of unbearably oppressive heat to endure. Then, we can once again enjoy the seasonal blur that I call “Fallwinterspring”. Up north we had four seasons. Here, we have two, because I feel a season should have to last more than a few weeks to qualify for its own name.

Right now, it’s just plain hot…and dry. Tinderbox dry. I’m afraid to shuffle my feet when I walk for fear of starting a brush fire from the friction. The county has what is called a “Burn Ban” in effect from now until the second coming because officials know that one spark from a burning brush pile, fireworks, or a campfire can mean the destruction of anything not surrounded by water. Which is…well, everything.

We are in the midst of a severe drought, we’ve seen record temperatures that haven’t been met since the 1850′s, and the lakes that aren’t at controlled levels are at record lows. Driving through lake country is depressing because hundreds of docks are rotting away in knee-high grass due to some of the lakes being at only 42% capacity.

104+ temperatures from an angry sun and droplets of rain from stingy clouds have created a major problem. The water table is sinking, the creeks are barren, and some of our neighbors have watched their wells go dry.

Saturday morning, we turned on the faucets and had no water. Just air and sputter. My wife panicked when it suddenly dawned on her that she had forgotten to turn off the sprinkler from the night before.

Friday night she was out watering our outdoor plants and she turned on the sprinkler to water the palm trees.

Early the next morning, when she realized that she had forgotten to turn it off, she assumed that her blunder had drained our well of water.

Her reaction was priceless. She immediately sprinted through the yard to turn off the sprinkler but it never dawned on her that she was still in her skivvies. As hot as Texas is right now, seeing my wife sprint through our yard in panties was far hotter, and equally hilarious.

It seems there was simply no time to don clothing because the 10 seconds that would take could mean the difference between two drips of water and none.

As she cried and called herself all kinds of names I was still trying to get the vision of her running around the yard half naked burned into my brain for eternal access.

Ever the optimist, I figured the well just needed to recharge itself, but 8+ hours later we still had no water. I didn’t panic until I was told that I wouldn’t be able to have mashed potatoes with my BBQ chicken because there was no water to boil. It was now time to call someone.

I tried everyone in the book who had 24-hour emergency access, but apparently, this only meant that I’d have 24-hour access to voice mail. Just as we were prepared to abandon ship and hit a hotel, a friend of ours stopped over and suggested we call a neighbor for help since they had experience with this kind of thing.

We called in the reinforcements and the husband and wife wonder duo walked me through a few MacGyver-like fixes. Moments later I heard the rush of roaring water and screams of delight from my wife. Here we thought we’d either be shelling out several hundred dollars for a new pump or several thousand dollars for a new well. Fortunately, neither happened. All is well with our well. We have a well well.

In the end, even amongst the panic, worry, and outdoor debauchery, we each learned a valuable lesson.

My wife learned that even if she fails to shut off the sprinkler, our well and pump system knows to shut itself off.

And I learned that my wife is willing to streak if she’s panicked.

Don’t think I’m not already hard at work planning something chaotic.

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