The Well

David E. Larsen, DVM

Growing up in Southwestern Oregon, water was abundant. The majority or houses used spring water piped into the house from nearby hillsides. Many of those same houses would have a hand dug well in close proximity  to the house. These well were mostly never used and dated from a time when piping water from a long distance was a difficult task.

We moved onto the farm above Broadbent in December of 1949. The house water came from a spring, high in the hill, and it was a snowy and cold winter. We were able to keep the water from freezing by keeping a constant flow at the kitchen sink.

There was a hand dug well beside the house. The soil had a high clay content and the water from the well tasted like the clay. We never used the water from the hill.

In the late summer, the spring would dry up and we would use water from the river for the house. We would carry water from town to use for drinking water.

Now there is more concern with the use of surface water for drinking water. But in many houses and farms in Southwestern Oregon the practice is still common place.

When I was in high school, my brother recruited me to help dig a well for his brother-in-law who had just moved a trailer house onto some hill property. 

The three of use were able to dig a well about fifteen feet deep in a few hours. At that level we had three or four streams of water coming into the well. We guessed the inflow was about five gallons per minute and that it would be adequate for two people. Besides the water made any more digging almost impossible. Plus we were concerned about going deep because of the risk of a cave in. 

This well served my brother’s brother-in-law water needs for the two years they lived on the property. When they moved, I have no idea what they did with the well. Leaving it would have been a potential death trap for anyone or anything that might happen to fall into it.

After high school and two years of college, I spent 4 years in the Army. Then six years back in school to finish by bachelors degree and my degree in veterinary medicine. During these years I was far removed from well water. 

When we moved to Sweet Home in 1976, we bought a house on Ames Creek. The house had a drilled well that served our growing family with  an adequate supply of water for the several years we lived there with no problems.

In 1980, we moved to a larger house on a hill on the east side of town. The hill was known for water problems. Our neighbor beside us had a well that was six hundred feet deep. The neighbor behind us had three wells the barely met their needs. Ours was a drilled well, sixty-five feet deep that never failed our growing family of four kids and two adults.

After living in that house for twenty years, the county decided to straighten the road. In their construction, they did some blasting. Not long after that our well sputtered for the first time. It sputtered for a day and then it went dry. We were out of water.

We waited for a day. Thinking the well would refill and everything would be fine again. That next day, when we turned on the faucet, there was not a drop of water.

The next day at the office, I filled Dixie in on the details.

“Looks like our well went dry,” I said. “We raised four kids in that house without a blink. But the thing sputter yesterday and this morning there is not a drop of water.”

“That’s terrible!” Dixie said. “Have you called anybody?”

“I have a call in to a well driller,” I said. “I hope he calls back today. At least it is not the middle of summer when most wells go dry. He might be looking for work.”

“My Dad witches wells and has a pretty good reputation,” Dixie said. “I will see if come up and witch it for you.”

“That would be great,” I said. “Not that it matters, but how much does he charge?”

“I know that he won’t take a dime from you,” Dixie said. “It was never a business for him.”

Saturday morning, Dixie and her father, Gavin, showed up right after breakfast.

“Gavin, I hear a lot of people think a lot of witching water,” I said. “But I also hear a lot of folks who think it’s a bunch of malarky.”

“Well, I do pretty good at finding water,” Gavin said. “And you might need all the help you can get. This hill is well known for water problems.”

That was all that was said. Gavin set to work, back and forth across the hillside behind the house. For the middle of February, the ground was reasonably firm. 

I followed along behind Gavin and Dixie. Finally, the two bent copper rods in Gavin’s hands swung a bit.

“Did you see that?” Gavin asked. “That is just a little slip of water, we will keep looking.”

Gavin went up to the old well. The rods didn’t move a bit.

“No water here, just a dry hole,” Gavin said.

Gavin finally found an underground stream of water that he followed down the hill to our graveled driveway. He followed it right into our large garage. When he came out of the garage to scuffed some gravel with his foot.

“Put a stake right here,” Gavin said. “Your best water is right over there in the middle of the garage. But you can’t get a drill rig in there. This is the best spot outside of the garage.”

***

The first thing Monday morning Ed pulled into our driveway with his drilling rig.

I went out and talked with him.

“I had this place witched the other day,” I said. “He said to drill here where I drove a stake.”

Looking around, Ed rubbed his chin.

“Well, that’s good, because that is the only place I can get rig set up,” Ed said.

“What do you think about with water witching?” I asked.

“When we hit water, everyone thinks it is pretty good,” Ed said. “When we drill a dry hole, everyone thinks it is a bunch of bull shit. I suppose you know bull shit, Doc.”

“I know bull shit, professionally speaking,” I said. “But I also know Gavin. So this is where we will drill.”

“It will take me some time for me to get set up,” Ed said. “I will give you a call when I have something to tell you.”

It was about two in the afternoon when Ed called the clinic.

“Doc, I am at thirty-five feet, and I have water at about 3 gallons a minute,” Ed said.

“So, how functional is that for us?” I asked.

“Well, it can work,” Ed said. “You will need to get a tank to pump into and for just the two you, that will work pretty well. You might need to be careful with your water use if you have a crowd of people show up.”

“Can we go a little deeper?” I asked.

“We can go deeper, but sometime if we go deeper we will lose the shallow water,” Ed said.

“Okay, why don’t we go another ten feet,” I said.

“Ten feet, I will be there in half an hour,” Ed said. “Then you will want to go ten more feet, ten more feet every time I call. We are either going to drill this damn hole or not.”

“Okay, drill the damn hole,” I said.

I did not hear from Ed again that afternoon. When we got home, the well drilling rig and Ed were gone. There was a pipe sticking up out of the ground where Ed had been drilling. 

There was a message waiting on the house phone.

“Larsen, you are the luckiest SOB there is,” Ed said on the message. “At 90 feet I hit so much water I couldn’t measure it. Probably, a hundred gallons per minute, but I had to register it at fifty gallons per minute. Absolutely unheard of on this hill. You need to call Star pump, and they will fix you up. I will send the bill.”

Photo Credit Omar Al Faruq on Pexels