BACKTRACKING
The Old Well
By
Terry Hogan
The
old well is gone. Do you remember
it? Cast Iron? Shallow well? You had to work to get
the cold water out to drink.
Usually there was the communal galvanized tin cup hanging somewhere on
the well or nearby. Sometimes the
cup was bright and shiny. Other
times it was rusty and dented from someone who didnŐt know better. If the well wasnŐt used often, you had
to pour water down the top to wet the leathers so that it would create enough
lift to bring the water to the surface.
That was one of my first learned ironies – you had to have water
to get water.
The
water was icy cold and crystal clear.
Perhaps it was because it was a time when we worked and played outdoors
in the summer heat. Nothing like a hot day to make the water feel all the
better. Our well was high in
iron. It made really dark ice
tea. It made really good coffee.
When
I was a kid, I never talked about our well to my friends. We lived at Lake Bracken and that
sounded pretty good. In fact, it
was pretty good. I had a lot of fun growing up there and met a lot of good
folks who became friends. Nevertheless, the well was a secret, as far as I was
concerned.
We
had running water in the house, but it was lake water. It was OK for doing laundry, flushing
toilets and washing dishes. But it
was not good for drinking. We and
our neighbors shared a common hand pump well for drinking water. We had a large white enamel pail that
was permanently rust stained inside for drinking water. It was my job for many years to carry
the empty bucket up to the well and pump two full pails of water, and dump
them. Then pump a third, and
carefully carry it down from the well to the house. The third bucket was considered
clean and clear.
Although
this seemed like a lot of extra work, it was based on practical experience I
suppose. I once pumped out an
American Toad from the spout of the well.
I have no idea how he made it there. But out he came in the first
bucket. That made me a believer of
the three-bucket rule.
Even
the Lake Bracken Golf Course (then known as the Knox County Country Club) had
hand-pump wells strategically located around the golf course for the benefit of
the golfers and the hired help who mowed the fairways and the greens. This was
mostly back when people walked the course carrying their clubs. I can recall at
least three hand pumps along the course.
There may have been more.
The most visible one was located to the east of the club entrance where
the road made a ŇYÓ. If you took
the right fork, you went to the club house that used to sit along the lakeŐs
edge. If you took the left fork,
you continued easterly on the road that took you around the east end of the
lake. The well is now gone, but
the little triangle of land between the roads where the well sat, still
remains. It looks a little out of
place, if you donŐt know its history.
The
old well where I grew up is gone too.
It was replaced by a well with an electric pump that supplies all the
water to the house. There is no
more white enamel pail sitting in the kitchen with its red rust inner coating.
Probably
the water from the electric pump taps a deeper aquifer than the hand pump
well. Because it serves so many
more uses, it probably has to tap a greater yield source. Perhaps it is just my imagination. Perhaps it is the glorification of the
past by memory, but I think the old well, now long gone, tasted better and made
better tea and coffee.
When
I was a child, my grandparents had two pump wells on the farm. One was in the yard and stood proudly
below the large windmill. The
second was a small hand pump that was located on the counter in the
kitchen. I remember sitting
at the kitchen table, waiting for Grandpa to come in at noon time and wash his
hands at this hand pump. That signaled it was time to eat. The noonday meal was the big one back
then, especially for farmers. Work
was still largely manual. I never
knew where the water came from. I
never thought to ask. It may have
been from a cistern, given its indoor location.
So
why did the wells go? A couple of reasons, I suppose. For private homes, it became a matter of convenience. For
the ones on the golf course, it may have been the federal Environmental
Protection Agency. These little
hand pump wells, being open to public consumption, became regulated as a
Ňtransient noncommunity public water suppliesÓ under the Safe Drinking Water
Act. The regulations imposed
cumbersome testing and reporting requirements to show that the ground water was
as safe as treated Mississippi River water.
I
miss the old shallow wells with the hand pumps. They served good water and served the purpose. Now donŐt get me wrong, I donŐt think
every thing old was better. My
grandparents also had an outhouse.
About the best I can say for it was that it was better than nothingÉbut
not much.
9-13-05
tmh